“Stands to reason,” Jim replied, and explaining his premises rapidly and clearly, he punched poor Keno into something almost as good as activity.

“By jinks!  I can’t believe it,” said Keno, who did believe it with fearful thoroughness.  “Jim, she wouldn’t dare, an’ us two fellers liable to bust her house to pieces.”

“Don’t you know she’d be dead sure to play a trick like that?” said Jim, who could not bear to listen to a doubt.  “Don’t you see she couldn’t do anything else, bein’ a woman?”

“Maybe—­maybe,” answered Keno, with a sort of acquiescence that is deadlier than an out-and-out denial.  “But—­I wouldn’t want to see you disappointed, Jim—­I wouldn’t want to see it.”

“Wal, you come on, that’s all,” said Jim.  “If it ain’t so—­I want to know it early in the day!”

“But—­what can I do?” still objected Keno.  “Wouldn’t you rather I’d stay home and git the breakfast?”

“We don’t want any breakfast if she ’ain’t got the little boy.  You come on!”

Keno came; so did Tintoretto.  The three went down the slope as the sun looked over the rim of the mountains.  The chill and crispness of the air seemed a part of those early rays of light.

In sight of the home of Doc and Miss Dennihan, they paused and stepped behind a fence, for the door of the neat little house was open and the lady herself was sweeping off the steps, with the briskness inseparable from her character.

She presently disappeared, but the door, to Jim’s relief, was left standing open.  He proceeded boldly on his course.

“Now, I’ll stay outside and hold the pup,” said Keno.

“If anything goes wrong, you let the pup go loose,” instructed Jim.  “He might distract her attention.”

Thereupon he went in at the creaking little garden gate, and, leaving it open, knocked on the door and entered the house.  He had hardly more than come within the room when Miss Doc appeared from her kitchen.

“Mercy in us, if you ain’t up before your breakfast!” she said.  “Whatever do you want in my house at this time of mornin’, you Jim lazy-joints?”

“You know what I came for,” said Jim.  “I want my little boy.”

“Your little boy?” she echoed.  “I never knowed you had no little boy.  You never said nuthin’ ’bout no little boy when I was up to your cabin.”

Jim’s heart, despite his utmost efforts to be hopeful, was sinking.

“You know I found a little kid,” he said, less aggressively.  “And some one’s taken him off—­stole him—­that’s what they’ve done, and I’ll bet a bit it’s you!”

“Wal, if I ever!” cried Miss Doc, her eyes lighting up dangerously.  “Did you come down here to tell me right to my face I stole from your dirty little shanty?”

“I want my little boy,” said Jim.

“Wal, you git out of my house,” commanded Miss Doc.  “If John was up you’d never dare to stay here another minute.  You clear out!  A-callin’ me a thief!”