AN ENCOUNTER

It slowed as it came near them and stopped. Gilby Pitts was sitting in the front with Anderson Bush.

"Howdy Tom," said Gilby Pitts, his eyes sliding interestedly over Jon. "heard you had a visitor. This Him?"

"Yes. We've been doin a bit of Rock–hunting together. How are matters up at Holliday's?"

"Been tryin' to make a list of what's been took. Some pretty valuable things. The doctor's pet target rifle–he paid over three hundred dollars for it. Then there's some expensive fishin' rods . . ." Gilby Pitts rubbed his chin over his shoulder and leaned out of the car window, squinting downward. "Them boots . . ."

All at once, Gilby was out of the car and stooping swiftly. Jon knew what was coming even before Gilby's clutching hand gave his trouser leg a jerk to expose the top of the boot. And he was aware of Thomas Bean's desperate thought, "If you'll just keep quiet, Jon, and not say a word, I'll handle this."

Thomas said, "What's come over you, Gilby?"

"Them's the boots I seen at your house Saturday night," Gilby Pitts said accusingly.

Thomas laughed. "What of it?"

"This kid was there all the time I was there! You never told me . . ."

"That we had a visitor? Why should I? Jon had had a hard day traveling, and we put him to bed. What's got into you, Gilby?"

"Them boots," snapped Gilby. "Ever since I seen 'em there, I been wonderin' where I seen 'em before. It's come to me. That wild boy was wearin' 'em!"

Thomas laughed again, but Gilby said hoarsely, "you been hidin' 'im! You cut his hair an' changed his clothes, but you ain't changed his face. I'd know that peaky face anywhere! This here's the ornery little varmint that done the breakin' in and stealin'!"

"Gilby," Thomas said quietly, but with an inner fury that only Jon was aware of. "Take your hands off Jon–and stop accusing him before I lose my temper."

"Hold it!" ordered Anderson Bush, who had already stepped from the car and was standing, frowning, behind Gilby. "Mr. Pitts," he said in his grating voice, "Are you absolutely sure this is the same boy you saw the other day?"

"I got eyes!" snapped Gilby. "I'd know 'im anywhere!"

"You would be willing to swear to it?"

"On the bible!" Gilby said emphatically.

"That's all I need to know." Anderson Bush looked hard at Jon, and his eyes narrowed as he turned to Thomas. "Mr. Bean, I'm afraid you haven't been honest with me. You said this boy had never been in the mountains before and that he arrived at your place Saturday night."

"So I did."

"Why is it he was seen over here Saturday morning?

"Pshaw!" said Thomas. "This thing is getting ridiculous. Who knows what Gilby really saw over here?"

"I know what I saw!" Gilby Pitts cried. "An'–I know them boots!"

"You see, Mr. Bean?" the deputy went on, his eyebrows raised. "I'm sure Mr. Pitts is a reliable witness. Those are very unusual boots the boy is wearing–and the boy himself is-, well, different looking. I'm sure I'd seen them before."

"Look here," said Thomas, his voice tighter, "This whole thing started because of a robbery that Jon couldn't possibly have had anything to do with. Are you accusing him of being a thief?"

"Mr Bean," replied Anderson Bush, with a sort of deadly patience, "I'm only an investigating officer looking for facts. I've run into some very peculiar facts that need an explanation. We're due for another talk Mr. Bean, so I think you'd better go home and wait for me. I'll be right over as soon as I drop off Mr. Pitts.

It was nearly dark when they reached the house. Little Jon glimpsed Brooks and Sally running from the barn to meet them, and he could hear Rascal whining impatiently in the enclosure, eager to see him and yet reproachful at being left alone all day. He wished suddenly that he had managed to take Rascal with them. The Big Dog would have loved it. Maybe Tomorrow. . .