By the time the outside row was squared, the line had reached the bottom
of the slope, where the air was chill, although the shadows of the
forest had shifted from the field. Then there was a race among the
huskers for the fence, the girls promising that he whose row was first
husked out, should sit at the head of the table, and be called King of
the Corn-field. The stalks rustled, the cobs snapped, the ears fell like
a shower of golden cones, and amid much noise and merriment, not only
the victor's row but all the others were finished, and Farmer
Fairthorn's field stood husked from end to end.

Gilbert Potter had done his share of the work steadily, and as silently
as the curiosity of the girls, still excited by his recent adventure,
would allow. It was enough for him that he caught a chance word, now and
then, from Martha. The emulation of the race with which the husking
closed favored them, and he gladly lost a very fair chance of becoming
King of the Corn-field for the opportunity of asking her to assist him
in contriving a brief interview, on the way to the house.

Where two work together to the same end, there is no doubt about the
result, especially as, in this case, the company preferred returning
through the wood instead of crossing the open, high-fenced fields. When
they found themselves together, out of ear-shot of the others, Gilbert
lost no time in relating the particulars of his encounter with Sandy
Flash, the discovery he had made, and the mysterious assurance of Deb.
Smith.

Martha listened with the keenest interest. "It is very, very strange,"
she said, "and the strangest of all is that he should be that man,
Fortune. As for his words, I do not find them so singular. He has
certainly the grandest courage, robber as he is, and he admires the same