laughed.

"Can't see the point of it, can you? I suppose not, you old
saphead! It takes the Wolf to plan things too deep for the likes
of you." He laughed again, and with a glance in the direction of
the village struck off over the hill into the fields beyond. He
walked listlessly for half a mile, as though there was little
need for haste, and any one watching him would have seen him
finally lie down in a shady lane and, taking a small package from
his pocket, open it and eat a sandwich. Then he drew his ragged
hat over his piercing little eyes, and at once went to sleep. He
slept for hours, scarcely shifting his position. When he finally
stretched and sat up, the sun was going down. He looked at it,
and came to his feet.

"A couple of hours more," he said to himself, and slowly
sauntered back to the road and struck off toward Manlius Center.

Night was falling when three men, sitting silently in a bare,
dusty, unfurnished room, looked up as a queer scratching sounded
on the outer door. They glanced at each other. "It is the
Weasel, think you not?" said one, a tall man with a sear across
his cheek. It was a mark that was scarcely noticeable unless he
was angry; then it suddenly went white and stood out clearly
across his brown skin.

A thick-set man at the table gathered up a greasy pack of cards.
"Yes, it's the Weasel, all right," he said. "I'm glad he obeys
orders. I told him not to show his face here before dark."