"I don't know--really, I don't know. He might have a room over the
stable," MacPherson suggested.
But the stable proved to be a one-story affair, and they were just
turning to leave when a stamping sound within arrested their notice.
"Good God!--what's that?" ejaculated MacPherson, whose nerves were
quivering.
"It's the horse," answered Hardwick in a relieved tone. "Stoddard's got
back--"
"Of course," broke in old MacPherson, quickly, "and gone over to Mrs.
Gandish's for some supper. That is why he wasn't in the house."
To make assurance doubly sure, they opened the unlocked stable door, and
MacPherson struck a match. The roan turned and whinnied hungrily at
sight of them.
"That's funny," said Hardwick, scarcely above his breath. "It looks to
me as though that animal hadn't been fed."
In the flare of the match MacPherson had descried the stable lantern
hanging on the wall. They lit this and examined the stall. There was no
feed in the box, no hay in the manger. The saddle was on Gray Stoddard's
horse; the bit in his mouth; he was tied by the reins to his stall ring.
The two men looked at each other with lengthening faces.
"Stoddard's too good a horseman to have done that," spoke Hardwick
slowly.
"And too kind a man," supplied MacPherson loyally. "He'd have seen to
the beast's hunger before he satisfied his own.
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