"Now's a good time to try," said Owen, "for we can afford to lose a few minnows. How did he say to fix them?"

"Run the hook under the big fin on the back."

"How's that?" queried Owen, holding up the baited hook.

"It looks all right, but I don't know how it will work," said Martin.

"We'll soon find that out," replied Owen, casting his line into the stream. "At least, it hasn't frightened them away," he continued, after a short pause, "for one is biting now, and--and--and here it is."

"Yes, here the line is," said Martin, "but both perch and minnow are gone. I see that you don't understand the new way of fishing."

"It is much better to bait them through the mouth."

"That's to be proved," argued Martin, "look at this."

Both hooks were then baited in the new way. Bite--jerk--minnow lost--perch gone; it was all over in less than a minute.

"What'd I tell you?" cried Owen.

"Give them more than one chance! Remember how you wished to leave this place in the morning because the fish did not run up and bite immediately."

"There are three minnows left; if you wish to feed the perch with them, do so. I've had enough fishing for one day."

Martin selected the largest of the three minnows in the bucket. It proved to be a chub, fat and slimy; one that would disappear, oyster like, down the throat of a perch. An unfortunate gormand seized it, and was soon placed with the other finny captives.

"That was an accident! You'll not catch another perch!" exclaimed Owen.

"Fine luck you are having, boys," said a voice from behind, while at the same time a hand was laid upon Owen's shoulder. It was Walter Stayford who thus disturbed the boys in their sport. For hours he listened to their conversation, but so engrossed were they with the perch that not one word was uttered which gave Stayford the least satisfaction. Seeing that they would soon leave the place, he emerged from behind the bushes with the intention of questioning them and discovering whether or not any one in the neighborhood was suspected of illicit distilling. He congratulated Owen on the manly fight which he had made to save the war message, and then, from flattery, went on to ask if anything of importance had happened since the news from the battle. With all his prying and talking, however, he learned nothing. Certainly the boys had not heard of Simpson's adventure, nor was Owen aware that Tom the Tinker was the man who had sought to gain possession of the message.

While not altogether satisfactory, and of a negative character, the results of the meagre knowledge which Stayford thus obtained, were not without their importance. The fact that Simpson had been detected in delivering the whisky and had been pursued was not generally known, for, if so, the boys would certainly have heard some of the neighbors speak of it. This was good news. Yet it was just possible that those who were in possession of the secret pretended to know nothing of the matter, so as to facilitate the capture of the men who had sold the whisky. Such were the thoughts which Stayford revolved in his mind as he stood talking to the boys on the river bank. Nothing could now be done but return to the cave and wait for the stage. Jerry was right; no doubt, if any effort was being made to capture the illicit distillers, the men thus engaged were in correspondence with Squire Grundy.

CHAPTER XXI.

MR. LANE HAS A DIFFICULTY.

"Good morning, Mr. Lane," said Squire Grundy, thrusting his huge, s.h.a.ggy head through the stage door and grasping the giant's hand.

"Good morning, Squire! Step right in; we have just room for one more."

"That's lucky, Mr. L----. Beg your pardon, sir; beg your pardon. You see, this is the first time we have met since you were made sheriff of Nelson County. Have you grown any larger since you became sheriff?"

asked the Squire, taking a seat by the side of Mr. Lane.

"Not any larger, but a little wiser, I reckon."

"We are never too old to learn, Mr. Lane--beg your pardon again, Sheriff--we are never too old to learn. I've been a justice of the peace for long on eighteen years, and I learn something new every day."

"Did you ever learn that you were not fit for your office?" inquired Mr.

Lane.

"I did not come in here to be insulted--I won't take an insult from any man, even if he is the biggest in the State!" said the indignant Squire, rising to his feet, throwing his broad-brimmed hat on the back of his head and resting on his large, home-made cane.

"How have I insulted you?"

"You called in question, sir, my capabilities of administering the responsible and official duties of a Justice of the Peace," continued the Squire, hoping by this display of learning to confound the ignorant sheriff.

In this he succeeded. The half-dozen pa.s.sengers stared at the Squire in admiration and astonishment, while the discomfited sheriff wondered what he had said to thus enrage old Grundy.

"All aboard!" shouted a voice from without. At the same instant the stage gave a sudden lunge forward. The grave and portly Squire, losing his balance, fell toward Mr. Lane, who reached out his powerful arm and caught him.

"Stop the stage!" cried out the unlucky man, regaining his feet and wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "Stop the stage until I give that driver some advice. Starting at a run before giving his pa.s.sengers notice!"

Thump! thump! went the wheels against a large stone. The Squire again came down from his tragic position; but he was fortunate enough this time to fall back into the seat from which he had arisen. He continued to talk and thunder against the driver, while the stage continued to roll and thunder over the rough road until Bardstown was far behind.

"Sheriff Lane," said the Squire, recalling the subject of conversation, which he had entirely forgotten in his rage against the driver, "I want it understood that I am profoundly and adequately capable of fulfilling the manifold and important duties of my office."

"And what I want to say is this," replied Mr. Lane, himself becoming irritated, "I am not fit for the office of sheriff of Nelson County."

"And you said, sir, that I was not fit for my office."

"I did not, Squire."

"You did, Sheriff."

"I tell you, I did not."

"I tell you, you did."

"I was going to talk about myself. I was going to say that I was not the man for sheriff. Before I had time to say it you jumped to your feet and stopped me."

"Then it was all a mistake, Sheriff. Let us shake hands and be friends."

"And why do you think that you are not the right man for sheriff?" asked old Grundy after the reconciliation.

"In the first place, I can't read much and can't write."

"Not at all necessary for your work as sheriff. A man in my position as justice of the peace should be profoundly educated. But for your work, Sheriff, what is wanted is a brave man and a sharp man."

"That's just the difficulty; I am not a sharp man--I am not."

"Why do you say that?"

Mr. Lane did not answer. He looked at the other pa.s.sengers, not one of whom was apparently listening to the conversation. Evidently he had something to communicate to the Squire which he did not want known to his traveling companions, for he whispered to him a few words, after which the two men left their places and took seats on the top of the stage.

"Well, Squire," said Mr. Lane, who was the first to speak, "this is strange work for me. You see, Mr. Pense was sheriff of the county, and Mud was deputy. Mr. Pense died, Mr. Mud became sheriff, and I was made deputy. Then Mr. Mud died and I was made sheriff. It all happened in less than a month. I didn't want the office, but everybody wanted me to take it, and I said yes. The very next day I got some work to do, which has kept me busy for nearly four weeks, and I am just as far off the track to-day as when I started."