"'Twasn't so
very long ago, either. First comes word from this direction that a
toll-gate keeper and his wife was tied and robbed at the dead o'
night. And then comes word from the other direction of an old man
bein' knocked on the head when he opened his door. It wouldn't seem
to you there'd be enough money at a toll-gate to make it an object,"
said the woman, looking at Zene's cross eyes with unconcealed
disfavor. "But folks of that kind don't want much of an object."
"They love to rob," suggested Bobaday, enjoying himself.
"They're a desp'rate, evil set," said the toll-woman sternly. "Why,
I could tell things that would make your hair all stand on end, about
robberies I've known."
Aunt Corinne felt a warning stir in her scalp-lock. But her nephew began
to desire permanent encampment in the neighborhood of this toll-gate.
Robber-stories which his grandmother not only allowed recited, but
drank in with her tea, were luxuries of the road not to be left behind.
"Tell some of them," he urged.
"I'll tell you about their comin' _here_," said the toll-woman.
"'Twas soon after father's death. They must known there was a lone
woman here, and calculated on findin' it an easy job.
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