So Travers cut the rope, let the bacon fall to the earthen floor, and covered it with a basket. “Sometimes the simplest hiding place is the best,” he chuckled.

That night, though, he took to worrying about the two thieves. At last he went with a sigh to check pen and shed to be sure all was well. But even as he left, Haimet and Barat, hidden in the thatch of the farmhouse roof, discovered the cut rope and the missing bacon. Barat slithered down to the floor and moved boldly to the bed.

“Wife,” he said in Travers’ voice, “call me fool, but I’ve forgotten where we put that side of bacon.”

“Fool, indeed,” she sighed sleepily.

“You hid it under that basket on the floor.”

With that, she went back to sleep; nor did she wake till Travers slipped back into bed beside her. “Were you dazed, husband, to ask me where you’d put the bacon?”

“But—I never …” Travers threw himself out of bed. There was the overturned basket, with never a trace of bacon under it. “Haimet and Barat! Well now, we’ll see how far they get!”

One advantage Travers had: He knew the land about his farm better than the two thieves did. By cutting across this field and that, he soon saw them before him. They’d been taking turns carrying the heavy side of bacon. Just now Barat bore it, while Haimet scouted out the land ahead. Travers pulled up the hood of his cloak, boldly walked up to Barat, and said gruffly, “You look weary, brother. Let me carry it a while.”

"With my blessing!"

Travers took the bacon and scurried off, laughing to himself.

But just then Haimet returned to his brother, saying, “It’s my turn to bear the bacon.”

“But—you—Travers! Oh no, friend farmer, you don’t escape so easily!”