"He must be a stranger."
"No," replied Abner, "he rode the hills before we came into them."
"Indeed!" said Dix. "And what kind of a horse did he ride?"
"White!" said Abner.
Dix got some inkling of what Abner meant now, and his face grew livid.
"What are you driving at?" he cried. "You sit here beating around the bush. If you know anything, say it out; let's hear it. What is it?"
Abner put out his big sinewy hand as though to thrust Dix back into his chair.
"Listen!" he said. "Two days after that I wanted to get out into the Ten Mile country and I went through your lands; I rode a path through the narrow valley west of your house. At a point on the path where there is an apple tree something caught my eye and I stopped. Five minutes later I knew exactly what had happened under that apple tree. . . . Someone had ridden there; he had stopped under that tree; then something happened and the horse had run away—I knew that by the tracks of a horse on this path. I knew that the horse had a rider and that it had stopped under this tree, because there was a limb cut from the tree at a certain height. I knew the horse had remained there, because the small twigs of the apple limb had been pared off, and they lay in a heap on the path. I knew that something had frightened the horse and
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