"But I don't exactly understand," spoke Mr. Damon. "I thought
you were in league with those thieves, stopping us as you did
with your big load."

"So did I," admitted Tom.

"Ha! Ha!" laughed the farmer. "That's a pretty good joke.
Excuse me for laughin'. My name's Lyon, Jethro Lyon, of Salina
Township, an' these is my two sons, Ade and Burt. You see we're
on our way to Shopton, an' my nephew, Bub, he went along. We
thought you was some of them sassy automobile fellers at first
when you hollered to us you wanted to pass. Then when we looked
back, we seen them burglars goin' t' rob you, at least that's
what we suspicioned," and he paused suggestively.

"That was it," Tom said.

"Wa'al, when we seen that, we held a sort of consultation on
thet load of hay, where they couldn't see us. It was so big you
know," he needlessly explained. "Wa'al, we calcalated we could
help you, so I jest quietly backed up, until we was near enough.
I told Bub to take the long whip, an' crack it for all he was
wuth, so's it would sound like reinforcements approachin' with
guns, an' he done it."

"He certainly done it," added Burt.

"Wa'al," resumed Mr. Lyon, "then me an my sons we jest slipped
down off the front seat, an' come a runnin' with our pitchforks.