there had been any plot afoot the dwarf had not been in it. So long as
the plane was in sight, all the farm-workers stared open-mouthed. None
of them loved the master, but none dared comment on his fury now or ask
a question. His gun was in his hand and his eyes were bloodshot. His
open mouth worked. They had all seen the beautiful girl who had now been
snatched away so amazingly, and there was plenty to talk about and
wonder about for months to come on the Carder farm. Rufus Carder, when
the swift scout plane had become a speck, tore at his collar. The veins
stood out in his neck and his forehead. He felt the curious gaze of his
helpers and in impotent fury he turned and walked up to the house. His
mother, still in the kitchen, saw him come in and started back with a
cry. His collar and shirt flying open, his face crimson and distorted,
his scowl, and his gun, terrified her almost to fainting. She sank into
a chair. Her lips moved, but she could not make a sound.

"What did the girl tell you!" cried her son.

She clutched her breast, her lips moved, but no sound emerged.

Rufus saw that she was too frightened to speak.

"Don't be scared," he said roughly. "All you've got to do is to tell me
the truth." He made a mighty effort to control his rasping voice. "Did
you know Geraldine was goin' away?"

Mrs. Carder shook her head speechlessly.

"Sit up, Ma. Talk if you've got any sense. What did the girl tell you?
Why was she dressin' up every day?"

"I--I thought"--stammered Mrs. Carder, "I thought she wanted to look
pretty. I--I thought you were goin' to marry her. She never told me
anything. Gone away?" Some curiosity struggled through the old woman's
paralyzing fear. "How could she go away? She hadn't any hat on." She
spoke tremulously.

"Come up to her room," said Rufus sternly.

He flung his gun into a corner and strode toward the stairs, the shaky
old woman following him.

Up in Geraldine's chamber he stood still for a moment scowling and
viewing its neatness, then strode to the closet and opened the door. Her
shabby suit was hanging there, and the pale-green challie gown she had
worn in his office. He grasped its soft folds in crushing fingers. The
gingham dress in which she worked every morning was also hanging on its
hook. Her hat was on the shelf. That was all. Her few toilet articles
were neatly arranged on the shabby old bureau. He opened its drawers and
tossed their meager contents ruthlessly, searc