“You’re the fellow who stole the Widow Canby’s money.”

“You must be crazy, young fellow.  I don’t know anything about the Widow Canby or her money.”

“I can prove it.  My sister can prove it, too.”

“Then your sister must be as crazy as yourself.”

“Stop there!  You’re the thief and you know it.”

“I know nothing of the kind.”

“Your story is nonsensical, Strong,” broke in Mr. Woodward.  “Gentlemen like Mr. Stumpy here do not break into people’s houses and commit robberies.”

“Gentlemen!  He’s nothing but a tramp, and you know it.”

“Tramp?  How dare you?” cried Stumpy, in suddenly assumed dignity, put on for the farmer’s benefit.  “I am a ranchero from Texas and an honest man.  I am visiting Mr. Woodward, and know nothing more of the robbery excepting having heard that it occurred—­ ahem!” And John Stumpy drew himself up.

Under other circumstances I would have laughed at his effrontery.  But the situation was too serious to indulge in any humor.

“Being placed under arrest has turned your head, Strong,” said the merchant.  “You seem to be quite out of your mind.”

“When was the robbery committed?” put in John Stumpy, suddenly.

“You know well enough,” I cried.

“I heard it was about two o’clock in the morning,” vouchsafed Farmer Decker.

“Then I can easily prove an alibi,” said the tramp, triumphantly.  “I can prove I was with my esteemed friend Mr. Woodward at that hour.  Isn’t it so, Aaron?”

The merchant hesitated.  I fairly held my breath to catch his answer.  Would he commit deliberate perjury?

“Quite true,” he replied slowly.  “Mr. Stumpy was with me last night.  We sat up in the library, smoking, and playing cards until after midnight, and then I showed him to bed.  He could not possibly have committed the crime of which Strong speaks.”

“Then the boy must be the guilty one hisself,” said the farmer.  “And so young, too.  Who would a-thought it!  What shall we do with him, Mr. Woodward?”

“You had better help me take him back to Darbyville jail,” responded the merchant.

CHAPTER XVI

 My uncle Enos

John Stumpy gave a smile of triumph.  As for myself, I stood aghast.  Mr. Aaron Woodward had committed deliberate perjury, or at least, something that amounted to the same thing.  He had positively declared that John Stumpy was at his house at the time of the robbery of Widow Canby’s house, and could not, therefore, be the guilty party.

It was easy to guess that in this statement it was his intention to screen his partner in iniquity.  To be sure, he had been forced to take the position by Stumpy himself, but once having taken it, I was morally certain he would not back down.

His action would make it harder than ever for me to clear myself and bring the tramp to justice.  His word in a court of law would carry more weight than mine or my sister’s, and consequently our case would fall to the ground.