"
But Lowry's did not attract us. An ordinary country-tavern, where
stage-passengers took supper, was not what we came so far to find.
"Do you know where this house o' Dutton's is?" said the driver, to
the man who had once taken either dinner or supper there.
"Oh yes! I'd know the house well enough, if I saw it. It's the
fust house this side o' Lowry's."
"With a big pole in front of it?" asked the driver.
"Yes, there was a sign-pole in front of it."
"An a long porch?"
"Yes."
"Oh! well!" said the driver, settling himself in his seat. "I know
all about that house. That's a empty house. I didn't think you
meant that house. There's nobody lives there. An' yit, now I come
to remember, I have seen people about, too. I tell ye what ye
better do. Since ye're so set on staying on this side the ridge,
ye better let me put ye down at Dan Carson's place. That's jist
about quarter of a mile from where Dutton used to live. Dan's wife
can tell ye all about the Duttons, an' about everybody else, too,
in this part o' the country, and if there aint nobody livin' at the
old tavern, ye can stay all night at Carson's, and I'll stop an'
take you back, to-morrow, when I come along."
We agreed to this plan, for there was nothing better to be done,
and, late in the afternoon, we were set down with our small trunk--
for we were traveling under light weight--at Dan Carson's door.
The stage was rather behind time, and the driver whipped up and
left us to settle our own affairs.
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