The farmer was gone.

He lay down again in deep disgust, merely reaching a pleasant stage of drowsiness when the sound of voices near the corncrib roused him again.
This time he sat up with a jerk.
"Silas," he thundered, "is that you again ?" It was.

It was moreover a Silas arrogant and cautious who peered in through the bars and stated profanely that he had a marshal with him, a marshal with a badge.
Kenny considered the new complication with a startled frown.

It either spelled retreat in a harrowing dawn with the marshal and Silas at his heels or a temporary sojourn in a village jail.

And Kenny detested any form of humiliation or discomfort.
"Silas," he said wearily, "this is a rotten corncrib.