ut you know men in my profession have to go slow.
A mistake is a serious thing in the eye of the law," he said, offering
his hand in a friendly fashion.

"There's nothing wrong up at the house, sir; but I wanted to tell you
something I think you ought to know, in case the time comes when you
might want to find Jim Dilks and his gang and they were not at home,"
began Darry.

The constable quailed a trifle, then grew stern.

"Big Jim or little Jim, which?" he said, anxiously.

"The boy who has tried to make things so warm for me. He and his crowd
have a shack in the swamp, where they camp out from time to time. That's
where you'll find them when wanted."

"Sure that's interesting news, lad. Can you tell me just where to look?"

He heaved a sigh of relief--then there was not any need of immediate
haste, and Hank was a true Southern "cracker," always ready to postpone
action.

"Leave the path along the creek just where it makes that sharp bend. A
fallen tree marks the spot. Head due south until you sight a big live
oak, the only one I noticed. The shack lies under its spreading
branches, Mr. Squires. I thought you ought to know. Besides, I told Jim
and his crowd I meant to inform you."

"What! you saw Jim there, and his crowd with him? I wonder they let you
get out of the swamp without a beating," exclaimed the constable,
surprised, and looking at this newcomer as though he could hardly
believe his senses.

"They knew better. The fact is, sir, I had a shotgun with me. Perhaps
they may have had a recent experience with such a little tool. But no
matter, they let me gather up my traps and the three muskrats taken from
them, and never offered to put out a hand to stop me."

"Traps--muskrats--look here, now I begin to see light, and can give a
guess how it came you were there in that swamp. You followed the rascals
there."

"To tell the truth, I did, for I was determined to get back what they
had taken."

"Bully for you, lad. If you had dropped in on us some time back we might
have had a different class of boys around here by now. You're a
reformer, that's what you are. First you knocks that tyrant Jim down;
then you pepper him with shot after he has fired the pigpen of your new
home, and now you brave him in his own dooryard. That's reforming all
right, and I hope you keep at it until you've reformed the ugly beggar
into the penitentiary. I begin to pluck up hope that soon public spirit
will be so aroused that