o OF MR.&MRS.VV.li.SlEVERS A Son of Courage / I " Oh. 'aren't they lovely! " cried Erie. A Son of Courage By Archie P. McKishnie Author of Love of the Wild, Willow, the Wisp, etc. The Reilly & Lee Co Chicago Copyright, 192 By The Reilly & Lee Co. All Rights Reserved Made in V. 8. A. A Son of Courage To my sister, 'Jean Blewitt, who knew and lived its characters this book is lovingly dedicated. The Author. 2137071 ' CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE 1 Billy Wilson ' Strategy 9 2 A Shower of Fish 29 3 Appraising the New Teacher. 39 4 The Message Croaker Brought 50 5 A Wilderness Merchant 58 6 The Euse That Failed ..., 67 7 The Rabbit Foot Charm 77 8 Luck Bides the Storm 85 9 Moving the Menagerie 95 10 In Lost Man's Swamp 104 11 Educating the New Boy 115 12 Old Harry Makes a Find 126 13 Erie of the Light-House 135 14 Old Harry Turns a Trick 145 15 Billy's Problems Multiply 159 16 Billy Meets a Divinity 168 17 The Dread Day Dawns 178 18 The Mettle of the Breed 188 19 Croaker Brings a Gift 196 20 Billy Meets a Lovely Ghost 205 21 A Day with the Ducks '. 215 22 Teacher Johnston Resigns 229 23 Mr. Hinter Proves a Puzzle 241 24 Billy to the Rescue 250 25 Mr. Hinter Makes a Confession 261 26 A Golden Wedding Gift 273 A SON OF COURAGE CHAPTER I . Wilsn lit the eoal-oil lamp aad placed it in the center ef the Mtohen table; then she turned toward the door, her head half bent in a listening attitude. A brown water-spaniel waddled from the woodshed into the room, four bright-eyed puppies at her heels, and stood half in the glow, half in the shadow, short tail ingratiat- ingly awag. " Seoot you! " commanded the woman, and with a wild scurry mother dog and puppies turned and fled to the friendly darkness of their retreat. Mrs, Wilson stood with frowning gaze fastened on the door. She was a tall, angular woman of some forty years, heavy of features, as she was when occasion demanded it, heavy of hand. Tiny fret-lines marred a face which under less trying conditions of life might have been winsome, but tonight the lips of the generous mouth were tightly compressed and the rise and fall of the bosom beneath the low cut flannel gown hinted of a volcano that would ere long erupt to the confusion of somebody. As a quick step sounded outside, she lowered herself slowly to a high-backed chair and waited, hands locked closely upon her lap. The door opened and her husband entered. He cast a quick, apprehensive glanee at his wife, and the low whistle died on his lips as he passed over to the long roller towel hanging above the wash-bench and proceeded to dry his hands. 9 10 A SON OF COURAGE He was a medium sized man, with brown wavy hair and a beard which failed to conceal the glad boyishness of a face that would never quite be old. The eyes he turned upon the woman when she sharply spoke his name were blue and tranquil. " Yes, Mary? " he responded gently. " I want 'a tell you that I'm tired of bein' the slave of you an' your son," she burst out. " One of these days I'll be packin' up and goin' to my home folks in Nova Scotia." "Wilson averted his face and proceeded to straighten the towel on the roller. His action seemed to infuriate the woman. Her lips tightened. Her hands unclenched and gripped the table as she slowly arose. " You " she commenced, her voice tense with pas- sion, " you " she checked herself. Unconsciously one of the groping hands had come in contact with the soft leather cover of a book which lay on the table. It was the family Bible. She had placed it there after reading her son Anson his evening chapter. Slowly she mastered herself and sank back into her chair. Wilson came over and laid a work-hardened hand gently on her heaving shoulder. " Mary," he said, " what is it? What have I done? " " Oh," she cried miserably, " what haven't you done, Tom Wilson? Didn't you bring me here to this lonesome spot when I was happy with my son, happy an' con- tented? " " But I told you you'd like find it some lonesome, Mary, you remember? " " Yes, but did you so much as hint at what awful things I'd have to live through here? Not you! Did you tell BILLY WILSON'S STRATEGY 11 me that an old miser 'ud die and his ghost ha'nt this neighborhood? Did you tell me that blindness 'ud strike one of the best and most useful young men low ? Did you tell me," she ran wildly on, " that the sweetest girl in the world 'ud be dyin' of a heartbreak? Did you tell me anythin', Tom Wilson, that a woman who was leavin' her own home folks, to work for you and your son, should a' been told? " Wilson sighed. ' ' How was I to know these things would happen, Mary? It's been hard haulin', I know, but some- day it won't be so hard. Maybe now, you'd find it easier if you didn't shoulder everybody else's trouble, like you do" ' ' Shut right up ! " she flared, " I 'm a Christian woman, Tom Wilson. Do you think I could face God on my knees if I failed in my duty to the sick as calls fer me? Why, I couldn't sleep if I didn't do what little I'm able to do fer them in trial; I'd hear weak voices acallin' me, I'd see pain-wild eyes watchin' fer me to come an' help their first-born into the world." '" But, Mary, there's a doctor at Bridgetown now and" " Doctors! " she cried scornfully. " Little enough they know the needs of a woman at such a time. A doctor may be all right in his place, but his place ain't here among us woods folk. I tell you now I know my duty an' I'll do it because they need me." " We all need you, Mary," spoke her husband quickly. " Didn't I tell you that when I persuaded you to come? I need you; Billy needs you." She looked up at him, tears filming the fire of anger in her eyes. " No," she said in low tense tones, " your son don't 12 A SON OF COURAGE need me. I'm nuthin' to him. Sometimes I think I think he cares 'cause I 'm longin ' f er it, I guess. Bnt somehow he seems to be lookin' beyond me to someone else." Wilson sighed and sank into a chair. " I guess maybe it's your fancy playin' pranks on you, Mary," he suggested hesitatingly. " Two years of livin' in this lonesome spot has kinder got on your nerves." " Nerves! " she cried indignantly, sitting bolt upright. " Don't you 'er anybody else dare accuse me of havin' nerves, Tom Wilson. If I wasn't the most sensible-minded person alive I'd be throwin' fits er goin' off into gallopin' hysterics every hour, with the things that Willium does to scare the life out of a body. ' ' " What's Billy been doin' now? " asked Wilson anxiously. She shivered. " Nothin' out 'a the ordinary. What's that limb allars doin' to scare the daylights clean outa me an' the neighbors? If you'd spend a little more of your spare time in the house with your wife an' less in the barn with your precious stock you wouldn't need to be askin' what he's been adorn '. But I'll tell you what he did only this evenin' afore you come home from changin' words with Cobin Keeler. ' ' Missus Scraff you know what a fidgety fly-off- the-handle she is, an' how she suffers from the asthma well, she'd come over an* was stayin' to supper. I sent that Willium out on the back ridge to gather some wild thimble-berries fer dessert. He comes in just as I had the table all set, that wicked old coon he 's made a pet of at his heels an ' that devil-eyed crow, Croaker, on his shoulder. Afore I could get hold of the broom, he put the covered pail on the table an' went out ag'in. The coon follered BILLY WILSON'S STRATEGY 13 him, but that crow jumped right onto the table an' grabbed a piece of cake. I made a dash at him an' he flopped to Missus Seraff's shoulder. She was chewin' a piece of slippery-ellum bark fer her asthma, an' when his claws gripped her shoulder she shrieked an' like to 'a' choked to death on it. " It took me all of half an hour to get her quieted, an' then I made to show her what nice berries we got from our back ridge. ' Jest hold your apron, Mrs. Scraff, an* I'll give you a glimpse of what we're goin' to top our supper off with,' I says, strivin' to get the poor soul's mind off herself. " She held out her apron, an' I lefted the lid off the pail and pours what's in it into her lap. " An' what d'ye 'epose was in that pail, Tom Wilson? Four garter snakes and a lizard; that's what your precious son had gone out and gathered fer our dessert. I spilled the whole oaboodle of 'em into her apron afore I noticed, an' she give one screech an' fainted dead away. While I was busy bringin* her around, that Willium sneaked in an' gathered them squirmin' reptiles off the floor. I ceuldn ' do more jest then than look him a promise to settle with him later, 'cause I had my hands full as it was. I found a pail of berries on the table when I got a chanoe to look about me, an* I ain't sayin' but that boy got them pails mixed, but that don't excuse him none." Wilson, striving to keep hie face grave, nodded. " That's how it's been, I guess, Mary. He kin no more help pickin' up every snake and animal he comes across then he kin help breathin '. But he don 't mean any harm, Billy don 't. ' ' " That's neither here ner there/' she snapped. " He doesn't seem to care what harm he does. An' the hard part of it is," she burst out, " I can't take no pleasure in 14 A SON OF COURAGE whalin' him same as I might if I was his real mother; 1 jest can't, that's all. He has a way of lookin' at me out 'a them big, grey eyes of his'n The voice choked up and a tear splashed down on the hand clenched on her lap. Comfortingly her husband's hand covered it from sight, as though he sought to achieve by this small token of understanding that which he could not hope to achieve by mere words. She caught her breath quickly and a flush stole up beneath the sun and wind stain on her cheeks. There was that in the. pressure of the hand on hers, strong yet tender, which swept the feeling of loneliness from her heart. " Mary," said the man, " I guess neither of us under- stand Billy and maybe we never will, quite. I've often tried to tell you how much your willin'ness to face this life here meant to him and me but I'm no good at that sort 'a thing. I just hoped you'd understan', that's all." "* Well, I'm goin' to do my duty by you both, allars," Mrs. Wilson spoke in matter-of-fact tones, as she reached for her sewing-basket. "When I feel you need checkin* up, Tom Wilson, checked you're goin' to be, an' when Willium needs a hidin' he's goin' to get a hidin'. An," she added, as her husband got up from his chair, saying something about having to turn the horses out to pasture, ' ' you needn 't try to side-track me from my duty neither. ' ' " All right, Mary," he agreed, his hand on the door- latch. " An' if you're agoin' out to the barn do try'nd not carry any more of the barn-yard in on your big feet than you kin help. I jest finished moppin' the floors." Wilson stepped out into the spicy summer darkness and went slowly down the path to the barn. As far as eye BILLY WILSON'S STRATEGY 15 could reach, through the partially cleared forest, tiny clearing fires glowed up through the darkness, seeming to vie with big low hanging stars. The pungent smoke of burning log and sward mingled pleasantly with the scent of fern and wild blossoms. Wilson lit his pipe and with arms folded on the top rail of the barnyard fence gazed down across the partially- cleared, fire-dotted sweep to where, a mile distant, a long, densely timbered point of land stood darkly silhouetted against the sheen of a rising moon. From the bay-waters came the lonely cry of a loon, from the marshes the booming of night-basking bullfrogs. The hoot of the owl sounded faintly from the forest beyond; the yap of a foraging fox drifted through the night's still- ness from the uplands. A long time Wilson stood pondering. When at length he bestirred himself a full moon swam above a trans- figured world. A silvery sheen swept softly the open spaces ; through the trees the white bay-waters shimmered ; the clearing fires had receded to mere sparks with silvery smoke trails stretching straight up towards a starred infinity. He sighed and turned to glance back at the cottage resting in the hardwood grove. It looked very homey, very restful to him, beneath its vines of clustering wild-grape and honeysuckle. It was home home it must be always. And Mary loved it just as he loved it; this he knew. She was a fine woman, a great helpmate, a wonderful wife and mother. ,She was fair minded too. She loved Billy quite as much as she loved her own son, Anson. Billy must be more careful, more thoughtful of her comfort. He would have a heart to heart talk with his son, he told himself as he went on to the barn. 16 A SON OF COURAGE He completed his chores and went thoughtfully back up the flower-edged path to the house. " There's one good thing about Mary's crossness," he reflected, " it don't last long. Shell be her old cheerful self ag'in by now." But Mrs. Wilson was not her old cheerful self ; far from it. "Wilson realized this fact as soon as he opened the door. She raised stern eyes to her husband as he entered. " You see them? " she asked with sinister calmness, pointing to a patched and clay-stained pair of trousers on the floor beside her chair. " Them's Willium's. He's jest gone to bed an' I ordered him to throw 'em down to be patched." Wilson nodded, " Yes, Mary? " " And do you see this here object that I'm holdin' up afore your dotin' father's eyee? " He came forward and took the object from her hand. " It also belongs to your dear, gentle son," she grated, " leastwise I found it in one of his pants pockets." Wilson whistled softly. " You don't say ! " he laanaged to articulate. " Why, Mary, it's a pipe! " " Is it? " " Yes, a corn-cob pipe," he repeated weakly. " Is it roily? " she returned with sarcasm. " I wasn't sure. I thort maybe it was a fish-line, or a jack-knife. Now what do you think of your precious soa? " she demanded. Wilson shook his head. " It's a new pipe," he vetwed to say, " and," sniffing the bowl, " it ain't had Kathin' more deadly than dried mullen leares in it so far. Ain't a great deal of harm in a boy smokin* mullen leaves, shorely, Mary." ' ' Oh, is that so ? Haven 't I heered you an ' Cobin Keeler say, time and ag'in, that that's how yow both got the BILLY WILSON'S STRATEGY 17 amoke-habit ? And look at you old chimbneys now; the pipe's never out 'a your mouths." "Ill talk things over with Billy in the morain'," promised Wilson as he took the boot-jack from its peg. " A pile of good your talkin' '11 do," she cried. "I'm goin' to talk things over with that boy with a hickory ram-rod, jest as soon as I feel he's proper asleep; that's what I'm goin' to do! Who's trainin' that boy, you er me? " she demanded. " You, of course, Mary." " Well then, you best let me be. What I feel he should get, he's goin' to get, and get right. You keep out 'a this, Tom Wilson, if you want me to keep on; that's all." ' ' It don 't seem right to wake boys up just to give 'em a whalin', Mary,*' he protested. " My Ma used to wake me up sometimes, but never to whale me. I'd rather remember " ' ' Shut up ! I tell you, I 'm goin' to give him the hickory this night or I'm goin' to know the reason why. Ill break that boy of his bad habits er I'll break my arm tryin'. You let me be ! " "I'm not findin* fault with your methods of trainin' boys, Mary," her husband hastened to say. " You're doin* your best by Billy, I know that right well. And Billy is rather a tough stick of first-growth timber to whittle smooth and straight, I know that, too. But the gnarliest hickory makes the best axe-handle, so maybe hell make a good man some day, with your help." " 5umph! well that bein' so, I'm goin' to help him see the error of his ways this night if ever I did," she promised grimly. Something like a muffled chuckle came from behind the stairway door, but the good woman, intent on her grievance, 18 A SON OF COURAGE did not hear it. "Wilson heard, however, and let the boot- jack fall to the floor with a clatter. He picked it up and carried it over to its accustomed peg on the wall, whistling softly the tune which he had whistled to Billy in the old romping, astride-neck days: Oh, you'd better be up, and away, lad. You better be up and away! There is danger here in the glade, lad, It's a heap of trouble you've made, lad So you'd better be up and away! Over beside the table, Mrs. Wilson watched him from somber eyes. " That's right! " she sighed. " Whistle! It shows all you care. That boy could do anythin' he wanted to do an' you wouldn't say a word; no, not a word! " Wilson did not answer. He was listening for the stairs to creak, telling him that Billy had left his eaves-dropping for the security of the loft. Billy had heard and understood. When his dad sent him one of those " up and away " signals he never ques- tioned its significance. He didn't like listening in secret, but surely he reasoned, a boy had a right to know just what was coming to him. And he knew what was coming to him, all right a caning from the supple hickory ram- rod maybe! Up in the roomy loft which he and his step-brother, Anson, shared together, he lit the lamp. Anson was sleep- ing and Billy wondered just what he would say when he woke up in the morning and found his pants gone. Their mother had demanded that a pair of pants be thrown down to her. Billy needed his own so he had thrown down Anson 's. But how in the world was he ever going to get out of BILLY WILSON'S STRATEGY 19 that window with Anson 's bed right up against it, and Anson sleeping in the bed? Anson would be sure to hear the ladder when Walter Watland and Maurice Keeler raised it against the wall. He must get Anson up and out of that bed ! Billy placed the lamp on a chair and reaching over shook Anson's long, regular snore into fragments of little gasps. He shook harder and Anson sat up, sandy hair rumpled and pale blue eyes blinking in the light. " What's'amatter? " he asked sleepily. " Hush," cautioned Billy. " Ma's downstairs wide awake and she's awful cross. What you been doin' to rile her, Anse? " Anson frowned and scratched his head. " Did you tell her T>out my lettin* the pigs get in the garden when I was tendin* gap this afternoon? " he asked suspiciously. " No, it ain't that. I guess maybe she's worried more'n cross, an* she's scared too scared stiff. Well, who wouldn't be with that awful thing prowlin' around ready to claw the insides out 'a people in their sleep? " Anson sat up suddenly. " What you talkin' 'bout, Bill? What thing? Who's it been clawin'? Hurry up, tell me.' r Billy glanced at the window, poorly protected by a cotton mosquito screen, and shivered. " Nobody knows what it is," he whispered. " Some say it's a gorilla and others say it's a big lynx. 01' Harry's the only one who saw it, an' he's so clawed and bit he can't describe it to nobody." " Great Scott! Bill, you mean to say it got ol* Harry? " Billy nodded. " Yep, last night. He was asleep when that thing climbed in his winder an' tried to suck his blood away." 20 A SON OF COURAGE " Ugh! " Anson shuddered and pulled the bed clothes up about his ears. " How did it get it, Bill! Does any- body know? " " Well, there was a tree standin' jest outside his winder same as that tree stands outside this one. It climbed that tree and jumped through the mosquito nettin' plumb onto ol' Harry. He was able to tell the doctor that much afore Le caved under." Anson 's blue eyes were staring at the wide unprotected window. Outside, the moon swam hazily above the forest ; shadows like huge, misshapen monsters prowled on the sward ; weird sounds floated up and died on the still air. " Bill," Anson 's voice was shaking, " I don't feel like sleep in' longside this winder. That awful thing might come shinnin' up that tree an' gulp me up. I'm goin' down and ask Ma if I can't sleep out in the shed with Moll an' the pups." Billy promptly scented a new danger to his plans. ' If I was you I wouldn't do that, Anse," he advised. " Well, I'm goin' to do it." Anson sat up in bed and peered onto the floor. " Where the dickens are my pants? " he whispered. " See anythin' of 'em, Bill? " " Anse," Billy's voice was sympathetic. " I see I have to tell you everythin'. Ma, she's goin' to give you the canin' of your young life, jest as soon as she thinks we're proper asleep." "Canin'? Me? Whatfer? " " Why, eem she was up here lookin' fer somethin' a little while ago. She saw your pants layln* there an' she thought maybe they needed patchin', so she took 'em down her.*' "Well, what of it?" BILLY WILSON'S STRATEGY 21 " Oh, nuthin', only she happened to find a pipe in one of the pockets, that's all." " Jerusalem! " Anson's teeth chattered. " Well, I'm. goin' down anyway. I don't mind a hiding but I'm derned if I'm goin' to lay here and get clawed up by no gorilla." " Anse, listen," Billy put a detaining hand on his brother's shoulder. " You don't need to do that, an* you needn't sleep in this bed neither. I'll sleep in it, an' you kin sleep in mine. That gorilla, er whatever it is, can't hurt me, cause I've got that rabbit-foot charm that Tom Dodge give me. I'll tie it round my neck." Anson reflected, shuddering as a long low wail came from the forest. "That's the boys," Billy told himself, "I've gotta move fast." Aloud he urged: " Come on, Anse. Get out an' pile into my bed. I ain't scared to sleep in yours, not a bit. Besides," he added, " it'll save you a canin' from Ma." " How will it, I'd like to know? " " Why this way. Mall come creepin' up here in the dark, when she thinks we're asleep an' she'll come straight to this your bed. She'll turn down the clothes an' give me a slash or two, thinkin' it's you. I'll let her baste me some then 111 speak to her. She'll be so surprised she'll ferget all about whalin' you. She's that way, you know. Like as not she'll laugh to think she basted me an' she'll be good-natured You needn't worry any about a lickin', Anse." " Well, 111 take a chance, Bill." Anson got out of bed, his white legs gleaming in the yellow lamp-light as he tiptoed softly across to Billy's cot and lay down. 22 A SON OF COURAGE Billy blew out the lamp and went through the motions of undressing. He removed one shoe, let it fall on the floor, waited an interval and let the same shoe fall again. Then he put it back on. By and by he lay down and gave a long, weary sigh. Then he held his breath and listened. Below his window sounded a whippoorwill's call. From the opposite side of the room came the long, regular snores of Anson. Billy sat up in bed and started to remove the tacks from the window screen. Something fell with a thud against the wall outside, and brushed against the boards. A cat mewed directly beneath the window. Gently Billy rolled the bed quilts into an oblong shape resembling a human form, then silently made his way out of the window. His feet struck the top round of a ladder. A moment more and he was crouching in the shadow of the wall, two shadowy forms squatting beside him. " All hunky? " a voice whispered in his ear. " All hunky," Billy whispered back. " Then come on." But Billy plucked at the speaker's sleeve. " Wait a . minute, Fatty," he urged. " Anson 's up there asleep, an' he's goin' to have a wakin' nightmare in about four seconds. I jest heard Ma goin ' up. " Silence, deep and brooding, fell. Then suddenly from the loft came a long wail, followed by a succession of shorter gasps and gulps, and above the swish of a hickory ram-rod a woman's voice exclaiming angrily. ' ' 1 11 teach you to smoke on the sly, you young outlaw, you! " " Now let's get while the gettin's good," whispered Billy ; and the three crept off into the shadows. Down through the night-enshrouded woods the boya BILLY WILSON'S STRATEGY 23 made their way noiselessly, Billy leading, Walter Watland, nicknamed Fatty on account of his size, close behind him and Maurice Keeler, Billy's sworn chum and confidant, bringing up the rear. Occasionally a soft-winged owl fluttered up from its kill, with a muffled " who-who." Once a heavy object plunged from the trail with a snort, and the boys felt the flesh along their spines creeping. They kept on without so much as a word, crossing a swift creek on a fallen tree, holding to its bank and making a detour into the woods to avoid passing close to a dilapidated log cabin which in the moonlight bore evidence of having fallen into disuse. As they skirted the heavy thicket of pines, which even in the summer night's stillness sighed low and mournfully, the leader halted suddenly and a low exclamation fell from his lips. " Look! " he whispered. " Look! There's a light in the ha'hted house." His companions crept forward and peered through the trees. Sure enough from the one unglazed window of the old building came the twinkle of a light, which bobbed about in weird, uncertain fashion. " Old Scroggie's ghost huntin' fer the lost money," whispered Walter, " Oh, gosh! let's leg it! " "Leg nuthin'! " Billy removed his hand from his trousers-pocket and waved something before two pairs of fear-widened eyes. " ' No ghost kin harm where lies this charm/ " he recited solemnly. " Now if you fellers feel like beatin' it, why beat it; but so long as I'm grabbin' onto this left hind foot of a graveyard rabbit I don't run away from no ghost not even old man Scroggie 's. ' ' " That's all right fer you, Bill," returned Walter, " but what's goin' t' happen t' Maurice an' me, supposin' that 24 A SON OF COURAGE ghost takes a notion to gallop this way? That's what I want 'a know! " Billy turned upon him. " Say, Fatty, haven't I told you that this here charm protects .everybody with me? ' ' he asked cuttingly. " There's never been a ghost that ever roamed nights been able to get near it. You kin ask Tom Dodge er any of the other Injuns if there has. ' ' " Oh it might lay an Injun ghost," said the unreason- able Fatty, " but how about a white man's? How about old man Scroggie's, fer instance? You know yourself, Bill, old man Scroggie was a tartar. Nobody ever fooled him while he was alive an' nobody need try now he's dead. If he wants to come back here an' snoop round lookin' fer the money he buried an' forgot where, it's his own funeral. I'm fer not mixin' up in this thing any " " Keep still! " cautioned Billy, "an' look yonder! See it?" He pointed through the trees to an open glade in the grove. The full moon, riding high in the sky, threw her light fair upon the fern-sown sod ; across the glade a white object was moving drifting straight toward the watchers. Billy, tightly gripping his rabbit's foot charm in one sweaty hand and a rough-barked sapling in the other, felt Walter's hands clutching his shoulders. " Oh Jerusalem! " groaned the terrified Fatty, " It's the ghost! Look, it's sheddin* blue grave-mist! Fer the love of Mike let's git out 'a this! " " Wait/' gulped Billy, but it was plain to be seen he was wavering. His feet were getting uneasy, his toes fairly biting holes through his socks in their eagerness to tear up the sward. But as leader it would never do for him to show the white feather. BILLY WILSON'S STRATEGY 25 The approaching terror had drifted into the shadow again. Suddenly, so near that it fairly seemed to scorch the frowsy top of the sapling to which he was hanging, a weird blue light twisted upward almost in Billy's eyes. At the same moment a tiny hoot-owl, sleeping off its early evening's feed in the cedar close beside the boys, woke up and gave a ghostly cry. It was too much for over- strained nerves to stand. Billy felt Fatty's form quiver and leap even before his agonized howl fell on his ears a cry which he and Maurice may have echoed, for all he knew. They were fully a mile away from the place of terror before sheer exhaustion forced them to abate their wild speed and tumble in a heap beneath a big elm tree, along the trail of the forest. For a time they lay gasping and quivering. Maurice Keeler was the first to speak. " Say, Bill," he shivered, " is it light enough fer you to see if the hair is scorched off one side o' my head? That that ghost's breath shot blue flame square in my face." " It grabbed me in its bony fingers," whispered Fatty. " Gosh, it tore the sleeve fair out 'a my shirt. Look! " And to prove the truth of his. statement he lifted a fat arm to which adhered a tattered sleeve. Billy sat up and surveyed his companions with disgust. " A nice pair of scare-babies you two are/ he said, scathingly. " A great pair you are to help me find old Scroggie's will an' money. Why, say, if you'd only kept your nerve a little, that ghost would 'a led us right to the spot, most likely ; but 'stead o* that you take to your heels at first sight of it. Say! I thought you both had more sand." Maurice squirmed uncomfortably. " Now look here, 26 A SON OF COURAGE Bill," lie protested, " Fatty an' me wasn't any scarter than you was, yourself. Who made the first jump, I want 'a know; who? " " Well, who did? " snapped Billy, glowering at his two bosom friends. " You did," Maurice affirmed. " An' you grabbed Fatty by the arm an' pulled his shirt sleeve out. I saw you. And you can't say you didn't run neither, else how did you get here same time as Fatty an' me? " " Well, I didn't run, but I own I f ottered you," com- promised Billy.i " There wasn't anythin' else I could do, was there ? How did I know what you two scared rabbits ud do? You might 'a run plumb into Lake Brie an' got drownded, you was so scared. Somebody's had to keep his head," he said airily. " Well I kept mine by havin' a good pair of legs," groaned Fatty. "I'm not denyin' that. And by gravy, if they had been good enough fer a thousand miles I'd've let 'em go the limit. Scared! Oh yowlin' wildcats! I'll eee ghosts an' smell brimstone the rest o' my life." " Boys," cried Billy in awed tones. "It's gone! " "What's gone? " asked his companions in a breath. Billy was feeling frantically in his pockets. " My rab- bit foot charm," he groaned. " I fell over a log an' it must 'a slipped out 'a my pocket." " You had it in your hand when th' ghost poked its blue tongue in our faces," affirmed Maurice. " I saw it." " You throwed somethin' at the ghost afore you howled an' run," Fatty stated. " Maybe it was the rabbit foot? " " ' No ghost kin harm where lies this charm,' ' chuckled Maurice. Billy turned on him. " If you want 'a make fun of a charm, why all right, go ahead," he said coldly. " Only BILLY WILSON'S STRATEGY 27 I know I wouldn't do it, not if I wanted it to save me from a ghost, anyway." Maurice looked frightened. " I wasn't pokin' fun at the charm, Bill, cross my heart, I wasn't," he said earnestly. " All right then, see that you don't. Now, see here, I'll tell you somethin'. I did throw my rabbit's foot charm but that was to keep that ghost from follerin'. Maybe you two didn't hear it snort when it got to that charm an* tried to pass it, so's to catch up to us; but I heard it. Oh say, but wouldn't it be mad though! " " An' that's why you throwed it," exclaimed the ad- miring Maurice. " Gosh, nobody else would r a thought of that." "Nobody," echoed Fatty, "nobody but BUI." " Well, somebody has to think in a case o' that kind," admitted Billy, "an' think quick. It was up to me to save you, an' I did the only thing I could think of right then." Just here the whistle of bob-white sounded from a little distance along the trail. " That's Elgin Scraff and Tom Holt comin' to look fer us," cried Maurice. " Answer 'em," said Billy. Maurice puckered up his lips and gave an answering call. It was returned almost immediately. A moment later two more boys came into the moonlight. " We wondered what kept you fellers, so came lookin' fer you," spoke Tom Holt as they came up. " Thought you'd be comin' by the tamarack swamp trail, an' we stuck around there fer quite a while, waitin'. Then Elgin said maybe you had come the ha'nted house way, so we struck through the bush an' tried to pick up your trail. Once we thought we saw the ghost, but it turned out to be old 28 A SON OF COURAGE Bingold's white yearlin' steer. It had rubbed up ag'inst some will-o-the-wisp fungus an* it fair showered sparks of blue fire. If we hadn't heered it bawlin' we'd have run sure." Somewhere behind him Billy heard a giggle, which was immediately suppressed as he turned and looked over his shoulder. "Yep," he replied, "we saw that steer, too. We've been waitin' here, hopin' we'd hear your whistle. I won- der what time it's gettin* to be? " Tom Holt, the proud possessor of a watch, consulted it. " Ten twelve an' a half," he answered, holding the dial to the moon-light. " Sandtown '11 be sound asleep. Come on, let's go down to the lake an' make a haul." "I s'pose we might be goin'," said Billy. " All right, fellers, come along." Arriving at the lake the boys learned after careful reconnoitering that everything was clear for immediate action. Not a light glimmered from the homes of the fishermen, to show that they were awake and vigilant. The white-fish run was on and when the boys, launching the big flat-bottomed fish boat, carefully cast and drew in the long seine it held more great gleaming fish than they knew how to dispose of. " Only one thing to do," reasoned Billy, " take what we want an' let the rest go." And this they did. When they left the beaeh the moon was low above the Point pines, the draw-seine was back in its place on the big reel and there was nothing to show the lake fishermen that the Scotia Fish Supply Company had been operating on their grounds. CHAPTER II A SHOWER OP FISH Between the fishermen of Sandtown and the farmers of the community existed no very strong bond of sympathy or friendship. The former were a dissolute, shiftless lot, quite content, with draw-seine and pound-net, to eke out a miserable existence in the easiest manner possible. They were tolerated just as the poor and shiftless of any com- munity are tolerated; their children were allowed to attend the school the same as the children of the tax- payers. Each spring the farmers attended the fishermen's annual bee of pile-driving, which meant the placing of the stakes for the pound nets a dangerous and thankless task. Wet, weary and hungry, they would return to their homes at night with considerable more faith in the reward that comes of helping one's fellow-men than in the promise of the fishermen to keep them supplied, gratis, with all the fresh fish they needed during the season. As far back as any of the farmers could remember the fishermen had made that promise and in no case had it been fulfilled. So they came, in time, to treat it as a joke. Nevertheless, they were always on hand to help with the pile-driving. They were an old-fashioned, simple- hearted people, content with following the teachings of their good Book " Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days." And find it they did, ultimately, in a mysterious and unexpected way. One late June morning each of the 29 30 A SON OF COURAGE farmers who had for season after season toiled with those fishermen without faintest hope of earthly reward awoke to find a mess of fresh lake fish hanging just outside their respective doors. It was a great and wonderful revelation. The circuit minister, Rev. Mr. Reddick, whose love for and trust in his fellow-men was all-embracing, wept when the intelligence was imparted to him, and took for his text 011 the Sunday following a passage of scripture dealing with the true reward of unselfish serving. It was a stirring sermon, the rebuke of a father to his children who had erred. "Oh ye of little faith," he concluded, " let this be a lesson to you; and those of you, my brothers, whose judgment of humanity has been warped through God- given prosperity, get down on your knees and pray humbly for light, remembering that Christ believed in His fisher- men." At the conclusion of the service, Deacon Ringold called a few of the leading church members together and to them spoke his mind thus: " Brothers, you heard what our minister said, an' he's right. I, f er one, am ashamed of the thoughts I 've thought to'rds them fishermen of Sandtown. I've acted mean to 'em in lots of ways, I'll admit. An' so have you you can't deny it! " The deacon, a florid, full-whiskered man of about sixty, glowered about him. No one present thought of disputing his assertion. The deacon was a power in the community. " I tell you, brothers," he continued, waxing eloquent, " the old devil is pretty smooth and hell get inside the guard of Christianity every time unless we keep him barred by acts of Christly example. I have been down- right contemptuous to them poor sand folks ; I have so ? A SHOWER OF FISH 31 Time and ag'in I've refused 'em even the apples rottin* on the ground in my orchard. Now, I tell you what I'm goin' to do. I'm. goin' to load up my wagon with such fruit an* vegetables as they never get a smell of, an' I'm goin' to drive down there and distribute it among 'em. I ain't suggestin' that you men do likewise that's between you and your conscience but," he added, glar- ing about him, "I'd like to know if any of you has any suggestions to make. 1 ' A tall, sad-visaged man rose slowly from his seat and took a few steps up the aisle. Like the others he was full bearded; like them his hands bore the calluses of honest toil. " Fisherman Shipley wanted to buy a cow from me on time," he said. " I refused him. If you don't mind, Deacon, I'll lead her down behind your wagon tomorrow." Ringold nodded approval. " All right, Neighbor Wat- land. Anybody else got anythin' to say? " A short, heavy set man stirred in his seat, and spoke without rising. "I'm only a poor workin'-man, without anythin' to give but the strength of my arm, but I'm willin' to go down and help them fishermen build their smoke- houses. I'm a pretty good carpenter, as you men know." " That you are, Jim," agreed the deacon heartily. " We'll tell 'em that Jim Glover 11 be down to give 'em a hand soon." One by one others got up and made their little offers. Cobin Keeler, a giant in stature, combed his flowing beard with his fingers and announced he'd bring along a load of green corn-fodder. Gamp Stevens promised three bags of potatoes, Joe Scraff, a little man with a thin voice, said he had some lumber that the fishermen might as well be using for their smoke-houses. Each of the others present 32 A SON OF COURAGE offered to do his part, and then the men separated for their several homes. " Understand, brothers," the deacon admonished as they parted, " we must be careful not to let them poor, ignorant people think we're doin' this little act of Christianity because they've seen fit to fulfill their promise to us regardin' fish. That would spoil the spirit of our givin*. Let not one man among us so much as mention fish. Brotherly kindness, Christian example. That's our motto, brothers, and we'll f oiler it." " You're right, Deacon," spoke Cobin Keeler. " He's always right," commented Scraff, who owed the deacon a couple of hundred dollars. " An'," he added, **' while we're hangin' strictly to Bible teachin', might it not be a good idea f er us not to let our left hand know what our right hand's doin'? " " Meanin' outsiders? " questioned Keeler. " Outsiders and insiders as well ; our wives fer instance.'* Scraff had a mental vision of a certain woman objecting strenuously to the part he hoped personally to play in the giving. " Humph," said the deacon, " Joe Scraff may be right at that. Maybe it would be just as well if we kept our own counsel in this matter, brothers. Tomorrow mornin', early, let each of us prepare his offerin' and depart fer the lake. "We'll meet there and make what distribution of our gifts as seems fair to them cheats I mean them poor misguided fishermen," he corrected hurriedly. And so they parted with this understanding. And when their footsteps had died away, a small, dusty boy crawled out from under the penitent bench, slipped like a shadow to a window, opened it and dropped outside. By mid-afternoon Billy "Wilson's boon companions had A SHOWER OF FISH , 33 learned from him that a good-will offering was to be made the fishermen of Sandtown by the people of Scotia. It was a terrible disgrace a dangerous state of affairs. The hated Sand-sharkers merited nothing and should receive nothing, if Billy and his friends could help it. Immediate action was necessary if the plan of the farmers was to be frustrated and the outlaw fishermen kept in their proper place. So Billy and his friends held a little caucus in the beach grove behind the school-house. For two hours they talked together in low tones. Then Billy, arose and crept stealthily away through the trees. The others silently separated. ***** Sunset was streaking the pine tops with spun gold and edging the gorgeous fabric with crimson ribbons; the big lake lay like an opal set in coral. Fishermen Shipley and Sward, seated on the bow of their old fish-boat, were idly watching the scene when Billy Wilson approached, hands in pockets and gravely surveyed them. Shipley was a small, wizened man with scant beard and hair. He wheezed a "Hello, Sonny" at Billy, while he packed the tobacco home in his short, black pipe with a claw-like finger. His companion, a tall, thin man, grinned, but said noth- ing. His red hair was long and straggly; splashes of coal-tar besmeared him from the neckband of his greasy shirt to the bottoms of his much-patched overalls. " What dye you want, boy? " Shipley's pipe was alight now and he peered down at Billy through the pungent smoke- wreaths. " I was sent down here to give you a message, Mr. Ship- ley,^' said Billy. " Well, what is it, then? Who sent you? Come now, 34 A SON OF COURAGE out with it quick, or I '11 take a tarred rope-end to you. ' ' " It was Deacon Eingold sent me," Billy answered. " He told me to tell you that he's got to turn his pigs into the orchard tomorrow an' that you an' the other people here might as well come an' gather up the apples on the ground if you want- 'em." " What! " Shipley and Sward started so forcibly that their heads came together with a bump. " So the old skinflint is goin' to give us his down apples, is he? " wheezed Shipley. " Well, he ain't givin' much, but we'll come over tonight and get 'em. It's a wonder the old hypocrite would let us gather 'em on Sunday night, ain't it, Benjamin? " he addressed his companion. " He's afeerd they'll make his hogs sick most like," sneered Sward. " He says, if you don't mind, to come about ten or 'leven o'clock," said Billy. Shipley threw back his head and chuckled a wheezing laugh. "Loramity! Benjamin," he choked, ''can't you get his reason fer that? He wants to make sure that all the prayer-meetin' folks will be gone home. It wouldn't do fer 'em to see us helpin' keep the deacon's pigs from cholery. Ain't that like the smooth old weasel, though? " 11 What '11 1 tell Mr. Ringold? " asked Billy as he turned to go. " You might tell him that he's an angel if you wanter lie to him," returned Shipley, " or that he's a canny old skin-flint, if you wanter tell him the truth. I reckon, though, sonny, you best tell him that we'll be along 'tween ten and 'leven. " That's a nice lookin' youngster," remarked Sward, as Billy was lost among the pines. " Notice the big eyes of him, Jack? " A SHOWER OF FISH 35 " Yes. Oh, I daresay the boy's all right, Benjamin, but he belongs to them Scotians and they're no friends of ourn. I reckon I scared him some when I threatened to give him the rope, eh? " " Well, he wasn't givin' no signs that you did," Sward returned, " he seemed to me to be tryin' his best to keep from laughin' in your face." " By thunder! did he now? " " Fact, Jack. Seems to me them young Scotians don't scare very easy. However," sliding off the boat, " that ain't gettin' ready for the ppie gathering Let's go and mosey up some sacks and get the others in line." Shipley laid a claw-like hand on his friend's arm and turned his rheumy eyes on Sward's blinking blue ones. " Benjamin, we're goin' after the deacon's apples, but we ain't goin' to take no windfalls." " You mean we'll strip the trees, Jack? " exulted Sward. " Exactly. And, Benjamin, kin you imagine the old deacon's face in the mornin' when he sees what we've done? " And the two cronies went off laughing over their prospective raid. ***** Sunday-night prayer meeting was just over. The wor- shippers had gone from the church in twos and threes. Deacon Ringold had remained behind to extinguish the church lights and lock up. As he stepped from the porch into the shadows along the path, a small hand gripped his arm. "Hello!" exclaimed the startled deacon. "Why, bless us, it's a boy! Who are you, and what do you want? " Apparently the boy did not hear the first question. "Mr. Bingold," he whispered, "I waited here to see 36 A SON OF COURAGE you. The Sandtown fishermen are comin' to rob your orchard tonight." "What?" The deacon gripped the boy's arm and shook him. " What's that you say? " he questioned eagerly. " I was down to the lake this evenin'," said the boy, " an' I heard Shipley and Sward talkin' together. They was plannin* a raid on your orchard tonight. " Mr. Kdngold fairly gasped. " Oh, the thankless, mis- guided wretches ! " he exclaimed. ' ' And to think that we were foolish enough to feel that we hadn't treated 'em with Christian kindness. Did you hear 'em say what time they was comin', boy? " " Yes sir. They said 'bout half -past ten." " Well, I'll be on hand to receive *em," the deacon promised, " and if I don't teach them thieves and rogues a lesson it'll be a joke on me. Now I must run on and catch up with Cobin Keeler and the rest o' the neighbors. They've got to know about this, so, if you'll jest tell me your name why, bless me, the boy's gone! " The deacon stood perplexedly scratching his head. Then he started forward on a run to tell those who had planned with him a little surprise gift for the fishermen of the perfidy of human nature. That night the fishermen of Sandtown were caught red- handed, stealing Deacon Ringold's harvest apples. Like hungry ants scenting sugar they descended upon that orchard, en masse, at exactly ten-thirty o'clock. By ten- forty they had done more damage to the hanging fruit than a wind storm could do in an hour and at ten-forty-five they were pounced upon by the angry deacon and his neighbors and given the lecture of their lives. In vain they pleaded that it was all a mistake, that they had been A SHOWER OF FISH 37 sent an invitation via a small boy, from the deacon himself. Ringold simply growled " lying ingrates," and bade them begone and never again to so much as dare lay a boot-sole on his or his neighbors' property. And so they went, and with them went all hope of a possible drawing together in Christian brotherhood of the two factions. " Brothers," spoke the deacon sadly, as he and his neighbors were about to separate, " I doubt if we have displayed the proper Christian spirit, but even a Chris- tian must protect his property. Oh, why didn't some small voice whisper to them poor misguided people and warn 'em to be patient and all would be well." " It means, o' course, that we'll get no more fish," spoke up the practical Scraff. " Oh yes you will," spoke a voice, seemingly above their heads. " Oh yes you will," echoed another voice on the left, and on the right still another voice chanted. " You will, you will." " Mercies on us! " cried the amazed deacon, clutching the fence for support. " Whose voice was that? You heard it, men. Whose was it? " The others stood, awed, frightened. " There was three voices," whispered Scraff. " They seemed to be scattered among the trees. It's black magic, that's what it is or old Scroggie's ghost," he finished with a shudder. " Joe, I'm ashamed of you," chided the white-faced deacon. " Come along to my house, all of you, and I'll have wife make us a strong cup of tea." They passed on, and then from the sable-hued cedars bordering the orchard four small figures stole and moved softly away. 38 A SON OF COUEAGE Once safely out on the road they paused to look back. " Boys," whispered Billy, " she worked fine. Them Sand-sharkers are goin' to stay where they belong. An', fellers, seein' as we've promised fish, fish it's gotta be." And so was formed the Scotia Pish Supply Company. Four shadowy forms drifted apart and were lost in deeper shadows. The golden moon rode peacefully in the summer sky. CHAPTER III APPRAISING THE NEW TEACHER The morning wood-mists were warm, sweet-scented; the wood-birds' song of thanksgiving was glad with the essence of God-given life. But the man astride the dejected and weary horse saw none of the beauties of his surroundings, heard none of the harmony, experienced none of the exhilaration of the life all about him, as he rode slowly down the winding trail between the trees. He sat erect in his saddle, eyes fixed straight before him. His face was strong and seamed with tiny lines. The prominence of his features was accentuated by the thinness of the face. Beady black eyes burned beneath the shadows of heavy brows. A shock of iron-grey hair brushed his shoulders. In one hand he held a leather-bound book, a long thumb fixed on the printed page from which his attention had been momentarily diverted by his survey of the woodland scene. " Desolation! " he murmured, " desolation! the natural home of ignorance." At the sound of his voice the old horse stood still. " Thomas," cried the rider sternly, " did I command you to halt? " From his leather boot-leg he extracted a long wand of seasoned hickory and brought it down on the bay flank with a cutting swish. The hickory represented the symbol of progress to Mr. George G. Johnston, the new teacher of Scotia school. Certain it was it had the desired effect in this particular instance. The aged horse broke into a 39 40 A SON OF COURAGE jerky gallop which soon carried the rider out into more open country. Here farms, hemmed in by rude rail-fences, looked up from valley and hillside. Occasionally a house of greater pretensions than its fellows, and built of unplaned lumber, gleamed in the morning sunlight in gay contrast to the dun-colored log ones. But the eternal forest, the primi- tive offering of earth's first substance, obtruded even here, and the rider's face set in a frown as he surveyed the vista before him. Descending into a valley he saw that the farm homes, which from the height seemed closely set together, were really quite a distance from each other. He reined up before a small frame house and, dismounting, allowed his hungry horse to crop the grass, as he opened the gate and made up the path. A shaggie collie bounded around the corner of the building and down to meet him, bristles erect and all the antagonism of a bush-dog for a stranger in its bearing. It was followed by a big man and a boy. " Here you, Joe, come back here and behave yourself," the master thundered and the dog turned and slunk back along the path. '* Mornin', sir," greeted Cobin Keeler. In one hand he carried a huge butcher-knife, in the other a long whetstone. More big knives glittered in the leather belt about his waist. " Jest sharpenin' my knives ag'in the hog-killinV' he explained, noting the stranger's startled look. The teacher advanced, his fears at rest. " My name is Johnston,'* he said, " George G. Johnston. I was directed here, sir. You are Mr. Keeler, are you not, one of the trustees of the school of which I am to have charge f " Keeler thrust out a huge hand. " That's me," he APPRAISING THE NEW TEACHER 41 answered. " You're jest in time fer breakfast. It's nigh ready. Come 'round back an' wash up. Maurice, go put the teacher's horse in the stable an' give him a feed." The teacher followed his host, gingerly rubbing the knuckles which had been left blue by the farmer's strong grip. The boy, who had been studying the man before him, turned away to execute his father's order. If he knew anything about teachers and he did he and the other lads of the community were in for a high old time, he told himself. He went down to the gate, the dog trotting at his heels. " Joe," he commanded, " go back home," and the collie lay down on the path, head between his forepaws. The boy went out through the gate and approached the feeding horse cautiously. His quick eyes appraised its lean sides and noted the long welt made by the hickory on the clearly outlined ribs beneath the bay hide. " Poor ol' beggar," he said gently. At the sound of his voice the horse lifted his head and gazed at the boy in seeming surprise. A wisp of grass dangled from his mouth; his ears pricked forward. Per- haps something in the boy's voice recalled a voice he had known far back along his checkered life, when he was a colt and a bare-legged youngster fed him sugar and rode astride his back. " He ought 'a get a taste o' the gad hisself," muttered Maurice. "An' he's goin' to be our teacher, oh, Gosh! Well, I kin see where me an' Billy Wilson gets ourn- maybe. ' ' He patted the horse's thin neck. " Come, ol' feller, I'll stuff you with good oats fer once," he promised. The horse reached forward his long muzzle and lipped 42 A SON OF COURAGE one of the boy's ears. " Say horses don't understand! " grinned Maurice. " Gee! I guess maybe they do under- stand, though." He gave the horse another pat and led him down the path into the stable. As he unsaddled him Maurice noticed the hickory wand which Mr. Johnston had left inserted between the upper loops of a stirrup. " Hully gee! ol' feller, look! " Maurice extracted the wand and held it up before the animal's gaze. " Oh, don't put your ears back an' grin at me. I ain't goin- to use it on you," laughed the lad. " Look! This is what I'm goin' to do with that ol' bruiser's pointer." From a trouser's pocket he extracted a jackknife. " Now horsie, jest you watch me close. The next time he makes a cut at you he's goin' to get the surprise of his life. There, see? I've cut it through. Now I'll jest rub on some of this here clay to hide the cut. There you be! If I know any thin' 'bout seasoned hickory that pointer's goin' to split into needles right in his hand. I hope they go through his ol' fist and clinch on t'other side." Maurice gave the tired horse a feed of oats, tossed a bundle of timothy into the manger, slapped the bay flank once again and went up the path to his breakfast. Mrs. Keeler, a swarthy woman, almost as broad as she was tall, and with an habitual cloud of gloom on her fea- tures, met him at the door. She was very deaf and spoke in the loud, querulous tone so often used by people suffer- ing from that affliction. ' Have you seen him? " she shouted. " What you think of him, Maurice? " Maurice drew her outside and closed the door. " Come over behind the woodpile, Ma, an' 111 tell you," he answered cautiously. APPRAISING THE NEW TEACHER 43 " No, teU me here." " Can't. He might hear me." " Then yon ain't took to that new teacher, Maurice? " " Not what you'd notice, Ma. He ain't any like Mr. Stanhope. His face I ain't likin' it a bit. Besides, Ma, he flogs his poor horse somethin' awful." " How do you know that? " asked the mother, eying him sharply. " Cause he left long welts on him. He's out in the stable. Go see fer yourself." " No, I ain't got time. I got t' fry some more eggs an' ham. Go 'long in to your breakfast, an' see you keep your mouth shut durin' the meal. An' look here," she admonished, " if I ketch you apullin' the cat's tail durin' after-breakfast prayers I '11 wollop you till you can't stand. ' ' Maurice meekly followed his mother inside and slipped into his accustomed place at the table. Mr. Johnston was certainly doing justice to the crisp ham and eggs on the platter before him. Occasionally he lifted his black eyes to flash a look at his host, who was entertaining him with the history of the settlement an4 its people. " You'll find Deacon Ringold a man whose word is as good as his bond," Cobin was saying. "I'm married to his sister, Hannah, but I ain't sayin' this on that account. The deacon is a right good livin' man, fond of his own opinions an' all that, an' close on a bargain, but a good Christian man. He's better off than, anybody else in these parts. But what he got he got honest. I '11 say that, even if he is my own brother-in-law." " Yes, yes," spoke Mr. Johnston, impatiently. " No doubt I shall get to know Mr. Ringold very well. Now, sir, concerning your other neighbors? " Mr. Johnston 44 A SON OF COURAGE held a dripping yolk of egg poised, peering from beneath his brows at his host. " Well, there's the Proctors, five families of 'em an' every last one of 'em a brother to the other." " Meaning, I presume, that there are five brothers by the name of Proctor living in the community." " By Gosh, you've hit it right on the head. That's what eddication does fer a man makes him sharp as a razor. Yes, they're brothers an' so much alike all I've got to do is describe one of 'em an' you have 'em all." " Remarkable," murmured Mr. Johnston. " Remark- able, indeed! " " Did you say more tea, teacher? " Mrs. Keeler was at his elbow, steaming tea-pot in hand. " Thank you, I will have another cup," Mr. Johnston answered, and turned his eyes back to Cobin. ' ' You have a neighbor named Stanhope, my predecessor, I understand," he said slowly. "I'm proud to say we have, sir," beamed Keeler, "an' a squarer, finer young man never lived. A mighty good teacher he was too, let me tell you." " I have no doubt. I have heard sterling reports o,f him; if he erred in his task it was because he was too lenient. Tell me, Mr. Keeler, is there not some history attached to him concerning a will, or property left by a man by the name of Scroggie ? 1 11 admit I have no motive in so questioning save that of curiosity, but one wishes to know all one can learn about the man one is to follow. Is that not so, ma'am? " he asked, turning to the watchful hostess. "More hamf Certainly." Mrs. Keeler came forward with a platter, newly fried, and scraped two generous slices onto Mr. Johnston's plate. " Now, sir, don't you APPRAISING THE NEW TEACHER 45 be affeard to holler out when you want more," said the hospitable housewife. , ^ ",Ma's deefness makes her misunderstan ' sometimes,'* sV Golrin explained in an undertone to the teacher. ' ' But I was jest about to tell you Mr. Stanhope's strange history, sir, an' about ol' Scroggie's will. You see the Stanhopes was the very first to drop in here an' take up land, father an' son named Prank, who wasn't much more'n a boy, but with a mighty good eddication. " Roger Stanhope didn't live long but while he lived he was a right good sort of man to f oiler an' before he died he had the satisfaction of seein' the place in which he was one of the first to settle grow up into a real neigh- borhood. Young Frank had growed into a big, strappin' feller by this time an' took hold of the work his father had begun, an' I must say he did marvels in the clearin' an' burnin '. " So things went along fer a few years. Then come a letter from England to Roger Stanhope. Frank read it to me. Seems they wanted Stanhope back home, if he was alive; if not they wanted his son to come. Frank didn't even answer that letter. He says to me, ' Mr. Keeler, this spot's good enough fer me.' An' by gosh! he stayed. " When this settlement growed big enough fer a school, young Frank, who had a school teacher's di-ploma, offered to teach it. His farm was pretty well cleared by this time, so he got a man named Henry Burke to work it fer him an' Burke 's wife to keep house. That was five years ago, an' Frank has taught the Valley School ever since, till now. ' ' Keeler paused, and sighed deeply. " 'Course, sir, you've heerd what happened an' howl He was try in' to save some horses from a burnin' stable. A blazin' beam fell 46 A SON OF COURAGE across his face; his eyes they " Keeler's voice grew husky. "I've heard," said Mr. Johnston. " His was a brave and commendable act." " But he did a braver thing than that," cried Cobin. " He giv' up the girl who was to marry him, 'cause, he said, his days from now on must be useless ones, an' he wouldn't bind the woman he loved to his bleakness an' blackness. Them was his very words, sir. ' ' To this Mr. Johnston made no audible reply. He simply nodded, waiting with suspended fork, for his narrator to resume. "Concerning the purported will of the eccentric Mr. Scroggie? " he ventured at length, his host having lapsed into silence. Keeler roused himself from his abstraction and resumed : " Bight next to the Stanhope farm there stood about a thousand acres of the purtiest hardwoods you ever clap't an eye on, sir. An ol ' hermit of a drunken Scotchman, Scroggie by name, owned that land. He lived in a dirty little cabin an' was so mean even the mice was scared to eat the food he scrimped himself on. He had money too, lots an' lots of gold money. I've seen it myself. He kept it hid somewhere. " When the Stanhopes built their home on the farm, which was then mostly woods, old Scroggie behaved some- thin' awful. He threatened to shoot Stanhope. But Stanhope only laughed an' went on with his cuttin' an* stump-pullin'. Scroggie used to swear he'd murder both of 'em, an' he was always sayin' that if he died his ghost would come back an' ha'nt the Stanhopes. Yes, he said that once in my own hearin'. " One night, two years after Roger Stanhope died, old APPRAISING THE NEW TEACHER 47 Scroggie got drunk an' would have froze to death if Frank hadn't found him an' carried him into his own home. Scroggie cursed Frank fer it when he came round but Frank paid no attention to him. After that, Scroggie who was too sick to be moved -got to takin' long spells of quiet. He would jest set still an' watch Frank nights when the two was alone together. " After a while the old man got strong enough to go home. Soon after that he disappeared an' stayed away fer nearly three weeks. Then, all at once, he turned up at home ag'in. He came over to Stanhope's house every now an' ag'in to visit with him. One night he says to Frank after they had had supper: ' Frank,' says he, ' I've been over to Cleveland an' IVo made my will. I've left you every thin' I own. You're the only decent person I've known since I lost my ol' mother. I want that thousand acre woods to stand jest as God made it as long as I'm alive ; when I die you kin do what you like with it. ' Then afore Frank could even thank him the old man got up an* hobbled out. " Next mornin '," continued Cobin, " Frank went over to see old Scroggie. He wanted to hear him say what he* told him the night afore, ag'in. It was gettin' along towards spring; the day was warm an' smelled of maple sap. Scroggie 's cabin door was standin' ajar, Frank says. The ol' man was sittin' in his chair, a Bible upside down on his knees. He was dead! " Frank told Mr. Reddick, the preacher who came to bury old Scroggie, all that had passed between him an' the dead man but although they hunted high an' low fer the will, they never found it. Nor did they find any of the money the ol' miser must have left behind not a solitary cent. That was over a year ago, an' they haven't 48 A SON OF COUEAGE found money or will yet. But this goes to show what a real feller Frank Stanhope is. He put a fine grave stone up for ol' Scroggie an' had his name engraved on it. Yes he done that, an' all he ever got from the dead man was his curses. " Well, soon after they put old Scroggie under the sod, along comes a nephew of the dead man. No doubt in the world he was Scroggie 's nephew. He looked like him, an* besides he had the papers to prove his claim that he was the dead man's only livin' relative. An' as Scroggie hadn't left no will, this man was rightful heir to what he had left behin', 'cordin' to law. He spent a week er two prowlin' round, huntin' fer the dead man's buried money. At last he got disgusted huntin' an' findin' nuthin' an' went away." " And he left no address behind? " questioned Mr. Johnston. " He surely did not," answered Cobin. " Nobody knows where he went nor cares. But nobody can do any thin' with that timber without his sayso. It's a year or more since ol' Scroggie died. People do say that his ghost floats about the old cabin, at nights, but of course that can't be, sir." ' ' Superstitious nonsense, ' ' scoffed the teacher. ' ' And so the will was never found? " " No, er the buried money," sighed Cobin. Mr. Johnston pushed his chair back from the table. " Thank you exceedingly, Mr. Keeler. I have enjoyed your breakfast and your conversation very much indeed. Madam," he said, rising and turning to Mrs. Keeler, " permit me to extend to you my heartfelt gratitude for your share in the splendid hospitality that has been accorded me. I hope to see you again, some day." APPRAISING THE NEW TEACHER 49 " Certainly," returned Mrs. Keeler, " Cobin! Maurice! kneel down beside your chairs. The teacher wants to pray." Mr. Johnston frowned, then observing his host and hostess fall to their knees, he too got stiffly down beside his chair. He prayed long and fervently and ended by asking God to help him lead these people from the shadow into enlightenment. It was during that prayer that Maurice, chancing to glance at the window, saw Billy Wilson's pet crow, Croaker, peering in at him with black eyes. Now, as Croaker often, acted as carrier between the boys, his presence meant only one thing Billy had sent him some message. Cautiously Maurice got down on all fours and crept toward the door. " Now teacher," said Keeler, the prayer over, " you jest set still, an' 111 send Maurice out after your horse." He glanced around in search of the boy. " Why, bless my soul, he's gone! " he exclaimed. " There^s a youngster you'll need to watch close, teacher," he said grimly. " Well sir, you jest rest easy an' I'll get your horse myself." CHAPTER IV THE MESSAGE CROAKER BROUGHT " Missus Wilson, where 's Billy? " Mrs. Wilson turned to the door, wiped her red face on her apron, and finished emptying a pan of hot cookies into the stone crock, before answering, sternly: " He's down to the far medder, watchin' the gap, Maurice. Don't you go near him." " No ma'am, I won't. Jest wondered where he was, that's all." " I 'low you're tryin' to coax him away fishin' er some- thin'." " Oh, no ma'am. I gotta get right back home to Ma. She's not very well, an' she'll be needin' me." ' ' Fer land sakes ! you don 't say so, Maurice. Is she very bad? " The tones were sympathetic now. Maurice nodded, and glanced longingly at the fresh batch of brown cookies. " She was carryin' the big meat-platter on her arm an' she fell with her arm under her an' broke it." "Lord love us! " Mrs. Wilson started to undo her apron. " Why didn't you tell me before, you freckle- faced jackass, you! Lord knows what use you boys are anyways! Think of you, hangin' 'round here askin' fer Billy and your poor Ma at home groanin' in pain an* needin' help. Ain't you 'shamed of yourself? " " Yes ma'am," admitted Maurice cheerfully. " I guess I should 'a told you first off but Ma she said if you was busy not to say anythin' *bout her breakin' it." 50 THE MESSAGE CROAKER BROUGHT 51 " Well, we'll see about that. No neighbor in this here settlement is ever goin' to say that Mary Wilson ever turned her back on a f eller-bein 's distress. I'll go right over to your place with you now, Maurice. Come along." Mrs. Wilson was outside, by this time, and tying on her sun-bonnet. Maurice held back. She grasped his arm and hustled him down the walk. " Is it broke bad, Maurice? " she asked anxiously. Maurice, peering about among the trees, answered absently. " Yes ma'am. I guess shell never be able to use it ag'in." " Oh pity sake! Let's hurry." Maurice was compelled to quicken his steps in order to keep up to the long strides of the anxious woman. Sud- denly he halted. " Missis Wilson," he said, " you f ergot to take that last pan o' cookies out 'a the oven." The woman raised her hands in consternation. " So I did," she exclaimed. " You stay right here an' I'll go back and take it out now." " Let me go," said Maurice quickly. " I know jest how to do it an* kin get through in less'n half the time it 11 take you." " Well, run along then. I best keep right on. Your poor Ma 11 be-needin' me." Maurice was off like a shot. As he rounded the house on a lope he ran into Billy, coming from the opposite direction. Billy's cotton blouse was bulging. In one hand he carried the smoking bake-pan, in the other a fat cookie deeply scalloped on one side. " Where you goin' so fast, Maurice? " he accosted, his mouth full. Maurice glanced fearfully over his shoulder. " Hush, 52 A SON OF COURAGE BilL If your Ma happens to come back here it'll go bad with me.'* Billy held out the pan to his chum and waited until Maurice had filled his pockets. Then he asked: " Where's she gone! " " Over to our place. I told her about Ma fallin' an' breakin' the meat-platter, an' I guess she misunderstood. She tried to take me along with her. I had an awful time to get 'way from her. ' ' Billy laughed. " Gee! Ma's like that Nobody gets 'way from her very easy. Here, fill your shirt with the rest o' theaie cookies, an I'll take the pan back; then we'll be goin'." " Pish ought 'a bite fine today," said Maurice as he stowed the cookies away in his bosom. " You bet. The wind's south. Have you got the worms dug? " " Yep. They're in a can in my pocket. Did Croaker come back? " he inquired, as the two made their way down the path. " Sure he came back. He's a wise crow, that Croaker, an', Oh gosh! don't he hate Ma, though! He gets up in a tree out o' reach of her broom, an' jest don't he call her names in erow talk? Ma says she'll kill him if ever she gets close enough to him an' she will, too." " Well sir, I nigh died when I seen him settin' on our winder-sill," laughed Maurice. " We was havin' mornin' prayer; the new teacher was at our place an' he was prayin'. Croaker strutted up an' down the sill, peerin' in an' openin' an' shuttin' his mouth bke he was callin* that old hawk-faced teacher every name he could think of. I saw he had a paper tied 'round his neck so I crawled on my hands an' knees past Ma, an* slipped out. If Ma THE MESSAGE CROAKER BROUGHT 53 hadn't been so deef, she'd have heard me an' nabbed me sure." Billy chuckled. " Then you got my message off of Croaker, Maurice? " "Yep; but by jinks! I had a awful time guessin' what you meant by them marks you made on the paper. Darn it all,- Bill, why can 't you write what you want 'a say, instead of makin' marks that nobody kin understand " " There you go, ag'in," cried Billy. " How many times have I gotta tell you, Maurice, that Trigger Finger Tim never used writin'. He used symbols that's what he used. Do you know what a symbol is, you poor block- head? " " I should say I do. It's a brass cap what women use to keep the needle from runnin' under their finger-nail." "Naw, Maurice. A symbol is a mark what means some- thin '. Have you got that message I sent you ? Well, give it here an' 111 show you. Now then, you see them two marks standin' up longside each other? " "Yep." " Well, what do you think they stand fer? " " I thought maybe you meant 'em fer a couple of trees, BUI." 54 A SON OF COURAGE " Well I didn't. Them two ai<*rks are symbols, signifyin' a gap." "A gap? HullyGee!" " Yep, an' this here animal settin' in that gap, what you think it is?" Maurice shook his head. " It's maybe a cow? " he guessed hopefully. " Nope, it's a dog. Now then, you see these two boys runnin' away from the gap? " " Gosh, is that what they be, Bill? Yep, I see 'em." " Well, that's me an' you. Now then, what you s'pose I meant by them symbols ? I meant this. I've gotta watch gap. Fetch your dog over an' we'll set him to watch it, an' we'll skin out an' go fishin'." Maurice whistled. "Well 111 be jiggered!" he exclaimed. " I wish't I'd knowed that. Say, tell you what I'll do. I'll sneak up through the woods an' whistle Joe over here now." " No, never mind. I bribed Anse to watch that gap fer me." " What did you have t' give him? " " Nuthin'. Promised I wouldn't tell him no ghost stories fer a week if he'd help me out." They had topped a wooded hill and were descending into a wide green valley, studded with clumps of red willows and sloping towards a winding stretch of pale green rushes through which the white face of the creek flashed as though in a smile of welcome. Red winged blackbirds clarioned shrilly from rush and cat-tail. A brown bittern rose solemnly and made across the marsh in ungainly flight. A blue crane, frogging in the shallows, pp.used in its task with long neck stretched, then got slowly to wing, long pipe-stem legs thrust straight out THE MESSAGE CROAKER BROUGHT 55 behind. A pair of nesting black ducks arose with soft quacks and drifted up and out, bayward. Billy, who stood still to watch them, was recalled sud- denly to earth by his companion's voice. " Bill, our punt's gone! " With a bound, Billy was beside him, and peering through the rushes into the tiny bay in which they kept their boat. ' ' Well, Gee whitticker ! " he exclaimed. ' ' Who do you s 'pose had the nerve to take it? " Maurice shook his head. " None of our gang 'ud take it," he said. " Likely some of them Sand-sharks." " That's so," Billy broke off a marsh-flag and champed it in his teeth. Maurice was climbing a tall poplar standing on the bank of the creek. * ' I say, Billy, ' ' he cried excitedly. ' ' There she is, jest 'round the bend. They've beached her in that piece of woods. It's Joe LaRose an' Art Shipley that took her, 111 bet a cookie. They're always goin' 'cross there to hunt fer turtle's eggs." " Then come on! " shouted Billy. " Where to? " " Down opposite the punt. I'm goin' t' strip an' swim across after her." Maurice dropped like a squirrel from the poplar. "An' leave them boat thieves stranded ? " he panted. ' ' Oh gosh ! but won 't that serve 'em right ! ' ' " Let's hustle," urged Billy. " They may come back any minute." They ran quickly up the valley, Billy unfastening his few garments as they ran. By the time Billy had reached the bend he was in readiness for the swim across. With- out a thought of the long leeches "blood-suckers" the boys called them which lay on the oozy bottom of the 56 A SON OF COURAGE creek's shallows ready to fasten on the first bare foot that came their way, he waded out toward the channel. " Bill, watch out! " warned Maurice. " There's a big womper coiled on that lily-root. You're makin* right fer it." " I see it," returned Billy. "I guess I ain't scared of no snakes in these parts." " But this beggar is coiled," cried his friend. " If he strikes you, he'll rip you wide open with his horny nose. Don't go, BUI." " Bah! he's uneoilin', Maurice; he'll slip off, see if he don't. There, what did I tell you? " as the long mottled snake slid softly into the water. " You can't tell me any- thin' 'bout wompers." " But what if a snappin '-turtle should get hold of your toe? " shuddered Maurice. " Shut up! " Billy commanded. " Do you want them Sand-sharks to hear you? You keep still now, I'm goin' after our punt." Billy was out in mid stream now, swimming with swift, noiseless strokes toward the boat. Just as he reached it the willows along shore parted and two boys, both larger than himself, made a leap for the punt. Billy threw him- self into the boat and as the taller of the two jumped for it his fist shot out and caught him fairly on the jaw. He toppled back half into the water. Billy seized the paddle and swung it back over his shoulder. The other boy halted in his tracks. Another moment and the punt was floating out in midstream. LaKose had crawled to shore and sat dripping and sniffling on the bank. " Now, maybe the next time you boat-thieves find a pnnt you 11 think twice afore you take it," shouted Billy. THE MESSAGE CROAKER BROUGHT 57 " How 're we goin' to get back 'cross the crick? " whined the vanquished LaRose. " Swim it, same's I did," Billy called back. "But the snakes an' turtles!" wailed the marooned pair. " You gotta take a chance. I took one." Billy urged the punt forward across the creek to where the grinning and highly delighted Maurice waited. " Jump in here, an* let's get fishin'." Maurice lost no time. " Where '11 we go, Bill? " "Up to the mouth. There's green bass up there an' lots of email frogs, if we need 'em, fer bait" CHAPTER V A WILDERNESS MERCHANT Caleb Spencer, proprietor of the Twin Oaks store, paused at his garden gate to light his corncob pipe. The next three hours would be his busy time. The farmers of Scotia would come driving in for their mail and to make neces- sary purchases of his wares. His pipe alight to his satis- faction, Caleb crossed the road, then stood still in his tracks to fasten his admiring gazo on the rambling, unpainted building which was his pride and joy. He had built that store himself. With indefatigable pains and patience he had fashioned it to suit his mind. Every evening, just at this after-supper hour, he stood still for a time to admire it, as he was doing now. Having quaffed his customary draught of delight from the picture before him Caleb resumed his walk to the store, pausing at its door to straighten into place the long bench kept there for the accommodation of visiting customers. As he swung the bench against the wall he bent and peered closely at two sets of newly-carved initials on its smooth surface. " W. W." he read, and frowned. " By ding! That's that Billy W;lson. Now let's see, ' A. S.' I wonder who them initials stand fer ? " With a shake of his grizzled mop he entered the store. A slim girl in a gingham dress stood in front of the counter placing parcels in a basket. She turned a flushed face, lit with brown roguish eyes, on Caleb, as he came in. " Had your supper, Pa? " she asked. 58 A WILDERNESS MERCHANT 59 " Yep." Caleb bent and scrutinized the basket. " Whose parcels are them, Ann? " he questioned. " Mrs. Keeler's," his daughter answered. " Billy Wil- son left the order." " Hump, he did, eh? Well, let's see the slip." He took the piece of paper from the counter and read: One box fruit-crackers. 10 pounds granulated sugar. Two pounds cheese. 1 pound raisins. 1 pound lemon peel. 4 cans salmon. 50 sticks hoarhound candy. There were other items but Caleb read no further. He stood back sucking the stem of his pipe thoughtfully. " Whereabouts did that Billy go, Ann? " he asked at length. " Why, he didn't go. He's in the liquor-shop settin' a trap for that rat, Pa. ' ' " Oh he is, eh? Well, tell him to come out here; I want to see him." Caleb waited until his daughter turned to execute his order, then the frown melted from his face and a wide grin took its place. " The young reprobate," he muttered. " What '11 that boy be up to next, I wonder? I've got t' teach him a lesson, ding me ! if I haven't. It's clear enough t' me that him and that young Keeler are shapin* fer a little excursion, up bush, and this is the way they take to get their fodder." He turned slowly as his daughter and Billy entered from the rear of the shop and let his eyes rest on the boy's face. " How are you, Billy? " he asked genially. 60 A SON OF COURAGE "I'm well, thanks," and Billy gazed innocently back into Caleb's eyes. " I hope your rheumatiz is better, Mr. Spencer. ' ' " It is," said Caleb shortly, " and my eyes are gettin' sharper every day, Billy." " That's good," said Billy and bent to pick up the basket. " Jest a minute, young man." Caleb's voice was stern. "I see you've cut your own and your best gal's initials onto my new bench. Did you have much trouble doin' it, might I ask?" Billy stood up, a grin on his face. " That pine bench looked so invitin' I jest couldn't help tryin' my new knife on it," he explained. " But I didn't s'pose fer a minute that you'd mind." " Well, by ding! I don't know but what I do mind. What if you should take a notion, some day, to carve up the side of this buildin', hey? " Billy grew thoughtful. " I hadn't thought o' that," he said slowly. " It's pine, too, ain't it? It 'ud carve fine." Caleb turned quickly towards a pile of goods, behind which an audible titter had sounded. " Ann," he commanded, " you run along and get your supper." He waited until his daughter had closed the door behind her. ' ' Now Billy, ' ' he said, sternly, ' ' understan ' me when I say that if you ever so much as lay a knife-blade onto the walls of this here store I'll jest naturally pinch the freckles off'n your nose, one by one. Hear that? " " Yes, sir." " Well, heed it, and heed it close. Ill overlook the cuttin' of my new bench, but, by ding! I'd ruther you'd carve me than carve this store." He paused abruptly and A WILDERNESS MERCHANT 61 bent on Billy a quizzical look. "Whose 'nitials are them under yourn? " he asked. Billy started. "Oh gosh! I dunno, Mr. Spencer; I jest cut the first ones come into my head." " Umph! I'm not so green as I look. I know whose they be. They're Ann's." Billy was silent. Should he tell the truth and say that he had carved Ann's initials on the bench and those of Walter Watland beneath them at that young lady's plead- ing request? No! " Well? " Caleb asked finally. " What about it? " Billy drew himself up and lied like a gentleman. " I guess that's all there is about it," he said with dignity. " Ann's my girl, an' she said I could cut my 'nitials under hers if I wanted to take the chance." " Oh, so she's your gal, is she? " Caleb thrust his hands deep into his pockets, striving hard to keep his face stern. " How long you and Ann been sweetheartin ' ? " he asked. " Five er six years; maybe longer." ' ' Loramighty ! ' ' Caleb sank weakly on a pile of horse- blankets, and gasped. ' ' But, Billy, she 's only twelve now, and you you can't be much more'n fourteen at most." "I'm growin' fifteen," said Billy gravely. "Me an' Ann's been goin' together fer quite a long spell." Caleb placed his empty pipe in one pocket, fished in another and drew out a plug of Radiant Star chewing tobacco. He took a generous bite from one corner of the plug and champed it meditatively. " Well, Billy," he said with a twinkle in his eye, " seein's we're to be right close related, some day, I guess it's up to me to give you your supper. You go right along over to the house and eat with Ann." ' ' But I 'm not hungry, Mr. STpencer, ' ' said Billy quickly. 62 A SON OF COURAGE " That don't make no difference; you go along. I see Ann's made a mistake in doin' up Mrs. Keeler's parcels. You can't go back for a bit, anyways, so you might as well have your supper." Billy went out and Spencer watched him cross the road and enter the cottage. " Well, now," he chuckled, " ain't that boy a tartar ? But, ' ' he added, " he 's got to be slicker than he is to fool old Caleb. Now, you jest watch me." He lifted the basket to the counter and, taking the parcels from it, carefully emptied their contents back into the drawers from which they had been filled. Then from beneath the counter he drew out a box and with exquisite pains filled each of the empty bags and the cracker-box with sawdust. He tied the bags, packed them in the basket, tucked a roll of tea lead in the bottom, to give the basket weight, and placed it on the counter. Then he went out- side to sit on the bench and await Billy's return. Caleb had come to Scotia Settlement when it was little more than a bald spot on the pate of the hardwoods. Gypsy-like he had strayed into the settlement and, to use his own vernacular, had pitched his wigwam to stay. One month later a snug log cabin stood on the wooded hillside overlooking the valley, and the sound of Caleb's axe could be heard all day long, as he cleared a garden spot in the forest. That forest ran almost to the white sands of Lake Erie, pausing a quarter of a mile from its shore as though fearing to advance further. On this narrow strip of land the pines and cedars had taken their stand, as if in defiance of the more rugged trees of the upland. They grew close together in thickets so dense that beneath them, even on the brightest day, blue-white twilight rested always. Run- ning westward, these coniferous trees grew bolder and widened so as to almost cover the broad finger-like point A WILDERNESS MERCHANT 63 of land which separated Rond Eau Bay from Lake Erie, and thither many of the wild things crept, as civilization advanced to claim their old roaming grounds. The point, known as Point Aux Pines, was ten miles long, affording abundance of food and perfect shelter. But on the uplands the forests grew sparser as the axes of rugged homesteaders, who had followed in the footsteps of Caleb Spencer, bit home. Gradually farms were cleared, rough stumpy fields the tilling of which tested the hearts of the strongest, but whose rich soil gladdened even the most weary. A saw mill was erected on the banks of a stream known as Levee Creek. Gradually the rough log cabins of the settlers were torn down to be replaced by more modern houses of lumber. And then Caleb Spencer had built his store and with far-seeing judgment had stocked it with nearly every variety of goods a growing community needs. Drygoods, Groceries, Hardware & Liquors! These comprehensive words, painted on a huge sign, stared out at all who passed along the road and in still more glaring letters beneath was the announcement, " Caleb Spencer, Proprietor." Everybody likcx Caleb. Even old man Scroggie had been fond of him, whicu. "= saying a great deal. It was said the old miser even trusted the gaunt storekeeper to a certain degree. At any rate it was commonly known that shortly before he died Scroggie had given into Spencer's keeping, to be locked away in his rusty old store safe, a certain legal-looking document. Deacon Ringold and Cobin Keeler had witnessed the transaction. Accordingly, after Scroggie was buried and a search for the will failed to dis- close it, it was perhaps natural that a delegation of neigh- bors should wait on Caleb and question him concerning the paper which the deceased man had given him. To 64 A SON OF COURAGE everybody's surprise Caleb had flared up and told the dele- gation that the paper in question was the consummation of a private matter between himself and the dead man, and that he didn't have to show it and didn't intend to show it. Of course that settled it. The delegation apologized, and Caleb tapped a keg of cider and opened a box of choice biscuits just to show that there were no hard feelings. Now this in itself was surely indisputable proof of the confidence his neighbors reposed in Caleb's veracity and honesty, but considering the fact that Caleb had once quarrelled with the elder Stanhope, later refusing all over- tures of friendship from the latter, and had even gone so far as to cherish the same feeling of animosity toward the son, Frank, that trust was little short of sublime. For, providing Caleb disliked Frank Stanhope and he did and made no attempt to hide it what would be more natural than that he should keep him from his rightful inheritance if he could? But nobody mistrusted Caleb, Frank Stanhope least of all; and so, for the time being, the incident of the legal document was forgotten. Tonight, as Caleb sat outside on the bench waiting for the first evening customers to arrive, he reviewed the pleasant years of his life in this restful spot and was satis- fied. Suddenly he sat erect. From the edge of a walnut grove on the far side of the road came a low warble, sweet as the song of a wild bird, but with a minor note of sad- ness in its lilting. " That's old Harry and his tin whistle," muttered Caleb, " Glory be! but can't he jest make that thing sing? " Softly the last note died, and then the player emerged from the grove. He was little and bent. He wore a ragged suit of corduroys and a battered felt hat with a red feather A WILDERNESS MERCHANT 65 stuck jauntily in its band. His face was small, dark, and unshaven. In one grimy hand he carried a small demijohn. Arriving opposite Caleb, he lifted his battered hat and bowed low as a courtier would do. " Glory be! It's find ye alone I do," he spoke in rich Irish brogue. "It's trill ye a chune I did from the copse, yonder, so's to soften the hard heart of ye, Caleb. It's dhry I am as a last-year's chip, an' me little jug do be pmin' fer a refillin'." Caleb's face grew stern. " I told you, Harry O'Dule, that I 'd give you no more liquor, ' ' he replied. " Faith, maybe ye did. But last night it's the skies thimselves said 'rain,' an' begorry! there's been not a sign av a shower t'day. What matters ut fer the fallin' av an idle wurrud now and thin? It's meself knows you're too tinder hearted t' refuse a small favor to a body that feels only love an' respect fer yourself an* the swate ones who wait ye in the flower-covered cottage, beyont." " Stop your blarney, Harry. I tell you I'll give you no more whisky, and by ding ! that goes ! " " Thin I'll be trudgin' back along the way," said O'Dule, hopelessly. " But afore I go, 111 be liltin' ye a small chune that'll mebee make ye understand somethin' av a sadness yer generosity could lessen. Listen thin! " He set the jug down, and from his bosom drew forth a tin whistle. For a minute or two he played softly, his eyes on Caleb's. Then, gradually, his eyes closed and a rapt expression settled upon his grimy face as he led his listener down strange by-paths of fancy. Suddenly, Caleb jumped from the bench. " Stop, Harry O'Dule! " he entreated. " That whistle of yours would soften the heart of old Nick himself. Do you want to set me crazy, man? Come, give me your jug, 111 fill it this 66 A SON 0:? COURAGE time. But remember, never ag 'in. I mean that, by ding ! ' ' He snatched up the demijohn and went into the store. Old Harry eat down on the bench and waited until he returned. " It's a good fri'nd ye've been t* me, Caleb," he said gratefully, as he lifted the jug and held it between his knees. " It's do widout me dhrink I cannot. Ut an' me whistle are me only gleams av sunlight in the gloom. I'll be after takin' a little flash of the light now, if ut's no objection ye have, for ut's long dhry I've been." He lifted the jug and took a long draught of its fiery contents. " I'll be movin' now," he said, as he wiped his mouth on a tattered sleeve. " God kape you safe, Caleb Spencer, an' may yer whisky-barrel niver run dhry." And placing his battered hat jauntily on his scanty locks, Harry picked up his jug and was lost amid the shadows. Presently Billy Wilson emerged from the cottage, received his basket from Caleb, and trotted off toward the Keeler place. CHAPTER VI THE RUSE THAT FAILED Out behind the wood-shed Maurice Keeler, by the dim light of a smoky lantern, was splitting kindling for the morning's fire when something clammy and twisting dropped across the back of his neck. " Holy Smoke! Bill, take it away! " he yelled, as his chum's laugh fell on his ears. " Gosh! you ain't got no nerve a 'tall, Maurice! It's only a milk-snake. I picked it up on my way home from the store. I'm goin' to put it in the menagerie." Maurice sat down weakly on a block and wiped his face on his sleeve. " Hang it all, Bill! " he complained, " what do you see in snakes to make you want 'a handle 'em so? I'm scared to death of 'em; I own it." " I s 'pose this feUer an' ol' Spotba '11 fight to a finish," said Billy, " but I aim to keep one snake of each kind, so let 'em scrap it out. It won't hurt that old womper to get a good drubbin' anyway." He held the newly captured snake along his arm, its head resting in the palm of his hand. The dim light was sufficiently strong for Maurice to note the cold gleam in its eyes, and he shuddered. " Some day you'll try your monkey-shines on a puff-adder er a black-snake, " he prophe- sied, "an* then you'll wish you hadn't gone clean crazy." Billy grinned and dropped the snake into his jacket pocket. " I brought your Ma's groceries," he said. ' Is she in the house? " 67 68 A SON OF COURAGE " Yep; she's cannin* thimble-berries. Jest wait till I get an armful of kindlin', an' I'll go in with you." Billy put the basket down again. " Say, what did she want with all that hoarhound candy? " he asked curiously. Maurice chuckled. ' ' Why, Missis Spencer told her what great stuff it was to use in doin' up thimble-berries; sorta takes the flat taste off 'em. So Ma, she's goin' to try it." Billy whistled. " But fifty sticks, Maurice! It's almost more'n shell need, don't you think? " " 'Course it's a lot too much. S'pose we try on' get hold of some of it, Bill? " " Suits me," agreed Billy, " but jest hew? That's tho question." Maurice stopped and filled his arms with a load of kindling. " I dunno how," he replied, " but you usually find out a way fer everythin'. What's the matter with you lettin' on you lost part of that candy? " Billy shook his head. " No good, she'd be onto us bigger 'n a barn. Tell you what we might do. We might take bad colds an* sorta work on her sympathies." " Humph! an' be kept close in the house fer a week er so, an' have to take physic an' stuff. No good, Bill! " " No, ours won't be them kind of colds," Billy explained. " They'll be the dry-cough, consumption kind, that either cure up quick er slow. All we gotta do is dig up an Injun turnip out o* the bush an' nibble it. It'll pucker our throats up so tight we'll be hoarse enough to sing baas in the choir." Maurice let his kindling fall. " Gee! " he exclaimed, " I've got a piece of Injun turnip in my pocket right now. Ain't that lucky! " " How'd you come to have it? " 14 Dug it up to fool Fatty Watland with. Was goin' to THE RUSE THAT FAILED 69 tell him it was a ground-nut. I've had it in fer him ever since he shoved me off the bridge into the creek." " Let's have it." Billy took the Indian turnip from his chum and with his knife scraped off a portion of white, pungent pulp. " Now then, put this on the back of your tongue, an' leave it there," he directed. Maurice grimaced as he licked the bit of pulp from the knife blade. " 'Course we both know this danged thing is pisin," he said, uncertainly. " Maybe we're fools, Bill? " " There's no maybe about it, far's you're concerned. Do as I tell you; slide it 'way back so's it'll tighten your throat. That's right," as Maurice heroically obeyed. " Now, let's get up to the house." " But you haven't took yourn! " cried Maurice. " Don't need to take mine," Billy informed him. " What's the use of me takin' any; ain't one bad cough enough? " Maurice squirmed in torture. Already the burning wild turnip was getting in its work. His throat felt as though it were filled with porcupine quills. He tried to voice a protest against the injustice Billy had done him but it ended in a wheeze. " Pine," commended Billy. " A cold like that oughta be good fer half the hoarhound, anyway. Let 's go in afore the thing wears off. You take the basket, I'll carry the kindlin' fer you." He led the way to the house, Maurice following meekly with the market-basket, eyes running tears and throat burning. Mrs. Keeler was bending over a kettle on the stove, from which the aroma of wild thimble-berries came in fragrant puffs. 70 A SON OP COURAGE " So you're back at last, are you? " she addressed Billy, crossly. " Thought you'd never come. I've been waitin' on that sugar an' stuff fer two hours er more. Now, you go into the pantry and get somethin' to eat, while I unpack this basket. I know you must be nigh starved." " Had my supper," shouted Billy. He threw the kindling into the wood box and grinned encouragement at Maurice, who had sunk miserably down on a stool. Mrs. Keeler lifted the basket which Maurice had placed on the floor at his feet. " What's the matter with you? " she asked, giving him a shake. Maurice looked up at her with tear-filled eyes, and tried to say something. The effort was vain ; not a sound issued from his swollen lips. Billy promptly advanced to give first aid. " Maurice's sick," he shouted in the deaf woman's ear. " Sick? Where's he sick? " Mrs. Keeler lifted the basket to the table and coming back to Maurice, put a berry-stained finger under his chin. " Stick out your tongue! " she commanded. " Billy, you fetch that lamp over here." Maurice opened his mouth and protruded his stained and swollen tongue. " Good gracious! " cried the mother, in alarm. " That good fer nuthin' boy has gone an' caught the foot an' mouth disease from Kearnie's sheep." " It's jest a bad cold he's caught," Billy reassured her. " He's so hoarse he can't speak." " Well, it might as well be one thing as another," frowned the woman. " That boy catches everythin' that comes along, anyway. I s'pose 111 have to quit my pre- servin' to mix him up a dose of allaways." Maurice shivered and gazed imploringly at Billy. THE RUSE THAT FAILED 71 " If you had somethin' sweet an' soothin' to give him," Billy suggested. " Pine syrup, er hoarhound, er somethin' like that, now " "Why, maybe you're right," agreed Mrs. Keeler, " an' I do declare ! I 've got some hoarhound right here in this basket. Ain't it lucky I sent fer it? " The boys exchanged glances. The scheme was working! Mrs. Keeler went back to the basket on the table and started to remove the packages, one by one. Billy addressed his chum in tones so low the deaf woman could not hear. " Now, maybe you'll think I know what I'm doin'," he commenced, then jumped guiltily, as a ery of indignation came from the other side of the room. Mrs. Keeler was untying the parcels, one after another, and emptying their contents in the basket. Billy stared. Each of the parcels contained sawdust. She turned slowly, stern eyes looking above her glasses straight into his startled and apprehensive ones. " Well? " she said ominously, " I s'pose yon think you've played a smart trick, you young limb! " Billy tried to say something. His lips moved dumbly. Moisture gathered between his shoulder blades, condensed as it met cold fear, and trickled in tiny rivulets down his shivering spine. He glanced at the door. Mrs. Keeler 's square form inter- posed itself staunchly between him and that means of exit. His wild eyes strayed to the face of his chum. Maurice was grinning a glad, if swollen, grin. There was nothing to do but face the music. Mrs, Keeler was advancing towards him now ; advancing slowly like some massed avenging force of doom. ' I didn't do that," he finally managed to articulate. " I didn't play no trick on you, Missus Keeler." 72 A SON OF COUKAGE His knees knocked together. Unconsciously, his hand felt gropingly back toward the wood-box in search of some kind of support. Mrs. Keeler's deafness was accountable for her misunderstanding of his words. She brought her advance to a halt and stood panting. " I didn't play no trick on you," Billy repeated. " I heard you the first time," panted the indignant woman. " You said if I teched you you'd take a stick to me. So you'd commit murder on a woman who has been a second mother to you, would you ! You 'd brain me with a stick out of that wood-box ! Oh! Oh!" She lifted her apron and covered her face. In a moment Billy was beside her. ' ' Oh Missus Keeler, ' ' he pleaded, miserably. " I didn't say that. Don't think I'd do anythin' to hurt you, 'cause I wouldn't. An' I wouldn't play no dirty trick on you. You've been good to me an' I think a heap o' you, even if you do cuff me sometimes. Mr. Spencer put up that basket himself while I was over to the cottage, gittin' my supper." Slowly the apron was lowered. Slowly the woman's hands dropped to Billy's shoulders and she gazed into his uplifted eyes. Then she did a thing which was quite char- acteristic of her. She bent and gave each of the wide grey eyes upraised to hers a resounding kiss. Then, roughly pushing him away, she reached for her shawl and hat hanging on the wall. " You boys stay right here and keep fire under that kettle," she commanded. "I'm goin' to take that old Caleb Spencer's sawdust back to him an' give him a piece of my mind." And picking up the basket she went out, banging the door behind her. The boys gazed at each other and Maurice's chuckle echoed Billy's, although it was raspy and hoarse. THE RUSE THAT FAILED 73 " Throat burain' yet? " inquired Billy. " You bet," Maurice managed to answer. " Well, you go along to the milkhouse an' lick the cream off a pan of milk. It 11 settle that Injun turnip quick." Maurice scooted for the back door. He returned in a little while with white patches of cream adhering to chin and nose. " Gosh! " he sighed gratefully, " that was soothin'." " What dye s'pose made Caleb Spencer put up that job on me? " questioned Billy. " I never fooled him any. I did cut some letters on his new bench, but he needn't feel so sore at that." " Well, jest you wait till Ma asks him why he did it,'* laughed Maurice, who now was almost normal again. " Ma's great on gettin' explanations, she is." Billy went down into his pocket and drew forth a furry object about the size of a pocket knife and held it under his chum's eyes. " Gollies! " exclaimed Maurice. "It's your rabbit-foot, charm. Where d'you find it, Bill? " " Found it this mornin' down by the pine grove near old Scroggie's ha 'n ted house. Stood on this side of the creek an' sent ol' Moll into the grove. She brought it to me. She's a great little dog, Moll. Now we're ready to hunt ol' Scroggie's buried money an' lost will." "What! Tonight?" " Sure. Do you want somebody else to stumble on it first? We've gotta hunt tonight an' every night till we find it, that'salL" ' ' But we can 't go now. I dassent leave them preserves. If I do Mall skin me. Anyways, ain't we goin' to let Elgin an' Fatty in on it, Bill? " " Naw, you know what they'd do. They'd let the cat 74 A SON OF COURAGE oat o' the bag sure. They're all right fer light work sech as swipin' watermelon an' helpin' make a seine-haul but they ain't no good at treasure an' will huntin'." " Maybe you're right," Maurice said, " but I'm goin' t' tell you I ain't feelin' any too much like prowlin' 'round that ha'nted house this night er any other night." Billy pushed his friend into a chair and stood before him. " Now look here, Scarecat," he said, " you're goin' to help me find that money an' will, an' 111 tell you why. You know what happened to Mr. Stanhope, the teacher, don't you? He's gone blind an' has had to give up teachin' the school, hasn't he? " Maurice nodded, his face grave. " Well, what kind of a feller is he, anyway? Come, answer up." "He's a mighty fine feller," .cried Maurice enthusias- tically. " You're right, he is. Well, what's he goin' to do now? He can't work, kin he? " " Gollies, no. I never thought " " Well, it's time you did think. Now you know that oP Scroggie left him every thin' he owned, don't you? " " 'Course I do." " Only he can't prove it, kin he? " "No! Not without the will." " Well, then? " Billy sat down on a orner of the table and eyed his friend reproachfully. Maurice squirmed uneasily, then he said: " 'Course, Bill, it's up to you- an' me to find that will. Bat 111 be shot if I'd do what well have to do fer anybody else in the world but him." " Say, here's a piece of news fer you," cried Billy. " We're goin' to get oP Harry O'Dule to help us. He's THE RUSE THAT FAILED 75 the seventh son of a seventh son. We're goin' over to his cabin to see him tonight." " Gee! Bill, we oughta find it if we get Harry to help, but I can't see how I'm goin' to get away," said Maurice ruefully. Just here a step sounded on the gravel outside and a knock fell on the door. Maurice opened the door and in stepped Anson. He glanced suspiciously from one to the other of the boys, then said: " Ma sent me to see what happened to you, Bill. She says come on home to your supper." " Had my supper," Billy informed him. " You go on back and tell Ma that." " You've gottg, come, too." ' ' No, Anse, I promised Missus Keeler that me an' Maurice would keep fire under that preservin' kettle till she gits back from the store. I need the ten cents to buy fish hooks with, besides ' ' " Gee 1 Bill, is she goin' to give you ten cents fer helpin' Maurice keep fire on? " asked Anson eagerly. " Well, she didn't 'zactly promise she would, but " " Say, fellers, let me stay with you an' we'll split three ways, eh? " suggested Anson. "No," said Billy, with finality. " 'Tain't enough fer a three-way split," said Maurice. " Well, you can't hinder me from stayin', an' I figger I'm in fer a third," said Anson, seating himself doggedly near the stove. Billy's face cracked into a grin which he was careful to turn from his step-brother. " How'd you like to do all the firm' an' get all the reward, Anse? " he suggested. " I've got a milk-snake here that I want 'a get put safe away in the root-house afore Ma takes in the lantern. 76 A SON OF COURAGE - Maurice Tl come along an' help me stow him away." " All right, 111 stay an* fire," agreed Anson. "But remember," as the other boys reached for their hats, " I ain't agoin' to share up what Missus Keeler gives me with you fellers." " You're welcome to keep all she gives you fer yourself," said Billy. " Sure," said Maurice. " Shell likely hold somethin' back fer me, anyway. Don't ferget to keep a good fire on, Anse," he admonished, as he followed Billy outside. CHAPTER VII THE RABBIT FOOT CHARM The place which old Harry O'Dule called home was a crumbling log cabin on the shore of Levee Creek, just on the border of the Scroggie bush. Originally it had been built as a shelter for sheep, but with the clearing of the land it had fallen into disuse. O'Dule had found it on one of his pilgrimages and had promptly appropriated it unto himself. Nobody thought of disputing his possession, perhaps because most of the good people of Scotia inwardly feared the old man's uncanny powers of second sight, and the foreshadowing on those who chose to cross him of dire evils, some of which had been known to materialize. Old Harry boasted that he was the seventh son of a sev- enth son. " It's born under a caul was I," he told them. " An' minny a mystery has been cleared up in ould Ireland be meself, I'm tellin' ye." At which some laughed and some scoffed. Deacon Ringold had sternly advised the old man to return to the country where black magic was still countenanced, as there was no place for it in an enlightened and Christian com- munity such as Scotia, a suggestion that old Harry took in seeming good humor. But the fact that the deacon lost two milk cows and four hogs, through sickness during the fortnight which followed, had caused considerable discus- sion throughout the settlement. O'Dule had cut a window in the cabin, installed an old stove, table and chairs, and succeeded in making the place 77 78 A SON OF COURAGE home-like enough to suit his simple taste. To-night he stood by the stove, frying potatoes and humming an Irish song. On the table lay a loaf of bread and some butter in a saucer, while close beside it a coal oil lamp gave a smoky light to the room. In the center of the table reposed a huge blue-grey cat, its amber eyes on Harry and its fore- paws curled contentedly beneath its furry breast. All about the room hung the skins of wild animals deer, bear, lynx and coon. A pile of skins lay in one corner. This was O'Dule's bed. "Och! Billy O'Shune can't ye whistle t' me, Av the gurril ye loved on the Isle 'cross the sea Shure it's weary I am av that drear, sorry song So stop liltin', through tears, wid a visage so long Come, it's me ears a glad ditty would hear Av love 'neath th' skies av ould Ireland, dear Come, let us be glad both togither, me lad There's good fish in the sea as has iver been had Ooh, Billy O'Shune That's not much av a chune." So hummed old Harry as he stirred the potatoes and wet his vocal chords, occasionally, from the jug at his feet. Suddenly a knock fell on the door. " In ye come," invited the Irishman and there entered Billy and Maurice. " Sit ye down, lads, sit ye down," cried the hospitable Harry. " Begobs, but it's a fine brace av byes ye are, an' no mistake. Wull ye be afther suppin' a bit wid me? The repast is all but spread an* it's full welcome ye are, both." " We've had our supper," said Billy. " Thought we'd like to see you fer a minute er two, Harry," he added gravely, as he and his chum seated themselves. THE RABBIT FOOT CHARM 79 " Alone," said Maurice, significantly. " Faith an' ain't I alone enough to suit ye? " laughed Harry. " Would ye have me put the cat out, thin? Now, phwat is utT " The boys glanced at each other. " You tell him," whis- pered Billy, but Maurice shook his head. " No, you," he whispered back. Billy braced himself and took a long breath. " We've made up our minds t' find old man Scnv;gie's will," he said. " An' money," said Maurice. " We want you to help us, Harry." " God love us! " ejaculated Harry, dropping the knife with which he was stirring the potatoes and reaching for the demijohn. " An' fer why should ye be out on tibat wild goose chase, now? " " 'Cause we want Teacher Stanhope to have what belongs to him," said Billy warmly. " Do ye now? God love him but that was a hard slap in th' face he got fer playin' the man's part, so ut was. Only this night did I say as much to Caleb Spencer. Ut's meself would like t' see him get what was his by rights, byes." " We knew that," cried Billy, eagerly; " that's why we come to you, Harry. You say you've found buried treasure in Ireland; won't you help us find the lost will an' money? '' O'DuI? transferred the potatoes from the frying pan to a cracktu plate. He sat down at the table and ate his supper without so much aa another word. The boys watched him, fear in their hearts that the eecentrie old Irishman would refuse their request. After a time Harry pushed his stool back from the table. 80 A SON OF COURAGE " Byes," he said, producing a short black pipe from his pocket. " It's lend ye a spade and lantern I'll do an* gladly; but it's yerselves would surely not be axin' me t' test me powers ag'in a spirrut. Listen now. Old Scrog- gie's ghost do be guardin' his money, wheriver it lies. That you know as well as me. It's frank 111 be wid ye, an' tell ye that ag'in spirruts me powers are as nuthin'. An' go widin the unholy circle av the ha'nted grove to do favor t' aither man 'er divil 111 not." " But think of what it means to him," urged Billy. " Besides, Harry, I've got a charm that'll keep ol' Scrog- gie's ghost away," he added, eagerly. "An' phwat is ut? " Old Harry's interest was real. He laid his pipe down on the table and leaned towards Billy. " It's the left hind foot of a grave-yard rabbit," said Billy, proudly exhibiting the charm. O'Dule's shaggy brows met in a frown. " Ut's no good a 'tall, a 'tall," he said, contemptuously. " Ut's not aven a snake-bite that trinket wud save ye from, let alone a ghost. ' ' Billy felt his back-bone stiffen in resentment. Then he noted that the milk snake, which he had thought snugly asleep in his coat pocket, had awakened in the warmth of the little cabin and slipped from the pocket and now lay, coiled and happy, beneath the rusty stove. He saw his opportunity to get back at O'Dule for his scoffing. " All right, Harry," he said airily, " if tha* ' all you know about charms, I guess you haven't any that 'ud help us much. But let me tell you that rabbit-foot viliarm kin do wonders. It'll not only keep you from bein' bit by snakes but by sayin' certain words to it you kin bring a snake right in to your feet with it, an* you kin pick it up an' handle it without bein' bit, too." THE RABBIT FOOT CHARM 81 " Oeh, it's a brave lad ye are, Billy bye," Harry wheezed, " an' a brave liar, too. Go on wid yer nonsense, now. '' " It's a fact, Harry," backed Maurice. " Fact," cried O'Dule, angrily now. " Don't ye be comin' to me, a siventh son av a siventh son, wid such non- sinse. Faith, if yon worthless rabbit-fut kin do phwat ye claim, why not prove ut t' me now? " " An' if we do," asked Billy eagerly, " will you agree to use your power to help us find the money an ' will ? ' ' " That I'll do," assented Harry, unhesitatingly. " Call up yer snake an' handle ut widout bein' bit, an' I'll help ye." " All right, I'll do it," said Billy. " Jest turn the lamp down a little, Harry." " Me hands are a bit unsteady," said Harry, quickly. " We'll 1'ave the light be as ut is, Billy." " It ought 'a be dark," protested Billy, " but I'll try it anyway." He lifted the rabbit foot to his face and breathed some words upon it. Then in measured tones he recited : ' ' Hokey-pokey Bamboo Brake Go an ' gather in a snake ' ' Slowly Billy lowered the charm and looked at Harry. The old man sat, puffing his short pipe, a derisive grin on his unshaven lips. " It's failed ye have, as I knowed ye wud," he chuckled. " Ye best be lavin' now, both av ye, wid yer pranks." " But," said Billy quickly, " the charm did work. It brought the snake, jest as I said it would." "Brought ut? Where is ut, thin?" Harry sat up straight, his little eyes flashing in fright. 82 A SON OF COURAGE "It's under the stove. See it? " Harry bent and peered beneath the stove. " Be the scales av the divil! " he shivered, " is ut a big, mottled snake I see, or have I got what always I feared I might get some day. Is ut the D. T.'s I've got, I wonder! How come the reptile here, anyhow, byes? " 11 You told me to bring it in, didn't you? " Billy; inquired, mildly. " Yis, yis, Billy. But hivins! ut's little did I think that cat-paw av a charm had such power," groaned the wretched Irishman. " Ut's yourself said ut would let you handle reptiles widout bein' bit. Thin fer the love ov hivin pluck yon serpent from beneath the stove an ' hurl ut outside into the blackness where ut belongs." Billy arose and moving softly to the stove picked up the harmless milk snake, squirming and protesting, from the warm floor. O'Dule watched him with fascinated eyes. The big cat had risen and with back fur and tail afluff spit vindictively as Billy passed out through the door. When he returned O'Dule was seated on the edge of the table, his feet on a stool. He was taking a long sup from the demijohn. " Well, do you believe in my charm now? " Billy asked. " I do," said Harry unhesitatingly. " An* you'll help us, as you promised? " " Did ye iver hear av Harry O'Dule goin' back on a promise? " said the old man, reproachfully. " Help you wull I shurely, an' I'll be tellin' ye how. Go ye over t' the corner, Billy, an' pull up the loose board av the flure. Ye '11 be findin' a box there. Yis, that's right Now fetch ut here. Look ye both, byes." Harry lifted the little tin box to his knees and opened it. From it he brought forth a conglomeration of articles. THE BABBIT FOOT CHARM 83 There were queer little disks of hammered brass and copper, an egg-shaped object that sparkled like crystal in the lamp- light, a crotch-shaped branch of a tree. As he handled those objects tenderly the old man's face was tense and he mumbled something entirely meaningless to the watchers. Finally, with an exclamation of triumph, he brought forth a piece of metal the size and shape of an ordinary lead pencil. " Look ye," he cried, holding it aloft. " The fairies' magic arrer, ut is, an* ut niver fails t' fall on the spot where the treasure lies hidden. Foind Scroggie's buried money ut would have long ago if ut wasn't fer the ould man's spirrut that roams the grove. As I told ye afore, ut's no charm ag'in the spirruts av the departed, as yon grave-yard rabbit's fut is." " But with the two of 'em," cried Billy eagerly, " we kin surely find the will, Harry." " It's right true ye spake," nodded Harry. " An' mebbe sooner than we think. An' ut's the young t'acher wid the blindness that gets it all, ye say? " " 01* Scroggie left it all to him," said Billy. " Begobs, so I've heard before." Harry scratched his head reflectively. " Well, God love his gentle heart, ut's himself now 11 hardly be carin* phwat becomes o' the money, let alone he gets possession av the thousand acre hardwoods, I'm thinkin'," he said, fastening his eyes on Billy's face. "I'd be wishin' the young t'acher to be ginerous, byes." " He will," cried Billy, " I know he will." " Thin God bless him," cried Harry. " Now grasp tight t' yer rabbit fut, an' we'll be afther goin' on our way t' tempt Satan, over beyant in the evil cedars." Five minutes later the trio were out on the forest path, V 84 A SON OF COURAGE passing in Indian file towards the haunted grove. The wind had risen and now swept through the great trees with ghostly sound. A black cloud, creeping up out of the west, was wiping out the stars. Throughout the forest the notes of the night-prowlers were strangely hushed. No word was spoken between the treasure-seekers until the elm-bridged creek was reached. Then old Harry paused, with labored breath, his head bent as though listening. " Hist," he whispered and Billy and Maurice felt their flesh creep. " Ut's hear that swishin' av feet above, ye do? Ut's the Black troup houldin' their course 'twixt the seared earth an* the storm. The witches of Bally clue, ut is, an' whin they be out on their mad run the ghosts av dead min hould wild carnival. Ut '11 be needin ' that rabbit- fut sure we wull, if the ha'nted grove we enter this night." CHAPTER VIII LUCK RIDES THE STORM Beneath the shadow of the coming storm the forest gloom deepened to velvet blackness. Suddenly a tongue of lightning licked the tree-tops and a crash of thunder shattered the stillness. A few heavy rain-drops spattered on the branches above the heads of the waiting three. Billy and Maurice, a strange terror tugging at their heart- strings, waited for old Harry to give the word forward. But Harry seemed to be in no great hurry to voice such command. Pear had gripped his superstitious soul and the courage loaned him from the squat demijohn was fast oozing away. Above, the blue-white lightning zig-zagged and the boom of the thunder shook the earth. A huge elm shivered and shrieked as if in agony as a darting tongue of flame enwrapped it like a yellow serpent, splitting its heart in twain. Billy found himself, face down, on the wet moss. Maurice was tugging at his arm. The stricken tree had burst into flame, beneath the ghostly light of which path, creek and pine-grove stood out clear-limned as a cameo against a velvet background. Billy noted this as he sat dazedly up. He and Maurice were alone; old Harry had vanished. "He's gone," Maurice answered his chum's look. " Took to his heels when the lightnin' struck that elm. The shock knocked us both down. He was gone when I come to." 85 86 A SON OF COURAGE Billy grinned a wan grin and pressed his knuckles against his aching eyes. "So's my milk-snake," he said. ' ' Guess I spilled him out o ' my pocket when I fell. Gee ! that was a close call. Say, Maurice, ain't it queer though? I was feelin' mighty scared an' trembly afore that bolt fell, but now I feel nervy enough to tackle any ghost. How Txrat you? " " By gosh! that's jest how I feel, Bill. That lightnin' knocked all the scare plumb out o' me. I don't like these no-rain sort of thunderstorms though," he added. " They're always slashin' out when they're least expected. ' * ' ' Well, the lightnin ' part of this un 's about past us, Maurice. But the rain's comin'. Guess that ol' elm's done fer. She's dead, though, else she wouldn't burn like that. By hokey! " he broke off, "will you look here? " He picked up something that glittered in the firelight, and held it up for his chum's inspection. " Old Harry's fairy arrer," gasped Maurice. "Oh say, Bill, ain't that lucky? He must have lost it in his scram- ble to get away." " Likely. Now I move we go right over into that ha'nted grove. What you say? " Maurice swallowed hard, "I'm blame fool enough fer anythin' since I got knocked silly by that bolt," he answered, "so I'm game if you are." " Watch out! " warned Billy, grasping him by the arm and jerking him to one side, " that struck elm is goin' to fall." A rainbow of flame flashed close before the boys, as the stricken tree crashed across the path, hurl- ing forth a shower of sparks as it came to earth. Then inky darkness followed and from the black canopy which LUCK RIDES THE STORM 87 a moment ago had seemed to touch the tree tops the rain fell in torrents. "Bill, Oh Bill! where 'bouts are you? " Maurice's voice sounded muffled and far away to his chum's ears "I'm right here," he answered. ' ' Gollies ! but ain 't it dark ? I can 't see anythin ' of you, Bill." ' * Ner me, either. I guess we '11 have to give up the hunt fer t 'night, Maurice. Anyways, we don't know jest how to work ol ' Harry 's fairy arrer. ' ' " No, well have to find out. Say, Bill, where txmts is the path?"" " Gee! how am I to know; it's right here somewheres, though." " I guess I've found it, Bill. Come over close, so's I kin touch you, then we'll be movin' 'long. Hully gee! but I'm wet. Got both them charms safe? " " Right here in my two fists, Maurice." " Well, hang to 'em tight till we get away from this ha'nted grove. Ghosts don't mind rain none an' he's liable t' be prowlin' out. Say, can't y' whistle a bit, so's it won't be so pesky lonesome? " Billy puckered up his lips, but his effort was a failure. " You try, Maurice," he said, " I can't jest keep the hole in my mouth steady long enough t' whistle." " Gosh! ain't I been tryin'," groaned Maurice. " My teeth won't keep still a 'tall. Maybe I won't be one glad kid when we get out 'a here." For half an hour they groped their way forward, no further words passing between them. The heavy roar of the rain on the tree tops made conversation next to impos- sible. The darkness was so dense they were forced to proceed slowly and pause for breath after bumping vio- 88 A SON OF COURAGE lently against a tree or sapling-. They had been striving for what seemed to both to be a long, long time to find the clearing when Billy paused in his tracks and spoke : ' ' It 's no use, Maurice. We're lost." Maurice sank weakly down against a tree trunk, and groaned. " I guess we've struck into the big woods," Billy informed him. "Anyways, the trees are gcttin' thicker the further we go." " Gee! Bill, there might be wolves an' bears in this woods," said Maurice, fearfully. t " Sure there might but I guess all we kin do is take our chance with 'em." " Well, I'd rather take a chance with a bear than a ghost, wouldn't you Bill? " "Betcha, I would. Say Maurice,'" he broke out excitedly, " there's a light comin* through the trees. See it? It's movin'. Must be somebody with a lantern." " I see it," Maurice replied in guarded tones. " Bill, that light's comin' this way, sure as shootin'." " Looks like it. Wonder who it kin be? Maybe some- body lookin* fer us. The two boys crouched down beside a great beeeh. The light, which had not been a great distance from them when first sighted, was rapidly approaching. Billy grasped his chum's arm. " Look," he whispered, " there's two of 'em." " I see 'em," his friend whispered back. " Gosh! looks as though they're goin* to tramp right onto us." However, the night-roamers of the forest did not walk into them. Instead they came very close te the boys and halted. The man who carried the lantern set it down on the ground and spoke in gruff toiies to his companion, a LUCK RIDES THE STORM 89 short, heavy-set man with a fringe of black beard on his face. " I tell you, Jack, we'll hide the stuff there. It'll be safe as a church." " I say no, Tom," the other returned, surlily. " It won't be safe there. Somebody 11 be sure to find if." The other man turned on him angrily. " Who'll find it? " he retorted. " Don't be a fool, Jack. You couldn't pull anybody to that place with a loggin' chain. It's the safest spot in the world to hide the stuff, I tell ye. Besides, the boat orter be in in a few days, and we kin slip the stuff to Cap. Jacques without the boss ever knowin' how far we've exceeded his orders." " All right," gruffly assented his companion, "if you're so cock sure, it suits me all right. Come on; let's get out of this cussed woods. Remember we've got some work before us tonight." The man named Tom picked up the lantern and moved on, cursing the rain and the saplings that whipped his face at every step. His pal followed without a word. The boys waited until the lantern's glow grew hazy through the slackening rain, then they sprang up and fol- lowed. Three-quarters of an hour later the trees began to thin. Unwittingly the strangers had guided them into the clearing. As they reached the open the rain ceased altogether. High above a few pale stars were beginning to probe through the tattered clouds. The men with the lantern were rapidly moving across the stumpy fallow, towards the causeway. ' ' Will we f oiler 'em, Bill ? ' ' asked Maurice eagerly. Billy shook his head. "I'd sort o' like to," he said, slowly, " jest to find out what game they're up to, but I 90 A SON OF COURAGE guess if we know what's good fer us well go home an* take off these wet duds. Hard lookin' customers, wasn't they? " " Hard, I should say so! I'll bet either one of 'em 'ud murder a hull family fer ten cents. Say, Bill, maybe they're pirates; you heard what they said about a boat, didn't you?" " Yep, I heard, but they ain't pirates, 'cause they didn't have no tattoo marks on 'em, er rings in their ears; but whoever they are they're up to no good. They're aimin' to hide somethin' somewheres, but jest what it is an' where they intend hidin' it there's no way of tellin'; so come on, let's get movin'." In silence they made their way across the clearing to the road. " Say, Bill," said Maurice, as they paused to rest on the top rail of the fence, " do you 'spose we best tell our dads about seein' them men? " " Naw, can't you see if we told our dads that, they'd want 'a know what you an' me was doin' out in Scroggie's bush in the rain, at that hour of the night ? No siree, we won't say a word 'bout it." " Then s'posin' we try an' find out something 'bout 'em fer ourselves, eh? " " Say, you give me a pain," cried Billy. " Don't you 'spose we've got all we kin do ahead of us now? " " Findin' Scroggie's money an' will, you mean? " " Sure. Now shut up an' let's get home. I expect Ma '11 be waitin' up to give me hail Columbia, an' I guess you won't be gettin' any pettin' from yourn, either." " I know what I'll be gettin' from mine, all right," said Maurice, moodily. " Say, Bill," he coaxed, " you come along oVer by our place an' smooth things over fer me, will you? YOH kin do any thin' with Ma." LUCK RIDES THE STORM 91 " No," said Billy, " I got to be movin' on." " But I'll get an awful hidin' if you don't. I don't mind an ordinary tannin' but a tannin' in these wet pants is goin' to hurt like fury. They're stickin close to my legs. I might as well be naked an' Ma she certainly does lay it on." Billy laughed. " All right, I'll come along, but I ain't believin' anythin' I kin say to your Mall keep you from gettin' it." The boys slid from the fence, then leaped back as some- thing long and white rose from behind a fallen tree and, with a startled snort, confronted them. " Gollies! " ejaculated Billy. " It's a hog. I thought, first off, it was a bear." Maurice peered out from behind a tree. " Well, I'll be jiggered! " he exclaimed. " It's our old sow. She's been lost fer nigh onto two weeks, an* Dad's been huntin' fer her everywhere." "That so? Then we'll drive her home." " Aw, say, Bill," protested Maurice, "I'm tired an' wet as a water-logged plank. Let her go. I'll tell Dad, an' he kin come after her tomorrow." " No, we'll drive her home now. I guess I know what's best. Get on t'other side of her. Now then, don't let her turn back! " Maurice grumblingly did his share of the driving. It was ' no easy task to pilot that big, rangy sow into the safe harbor of the Keeler barnyard but done it was at last. " Ma's got the light burnin' an' the strap waitin' fer her little boy," chaffed Billy as they put up the barn-yard bars. Maurice, who had climbed the fence so as to get a glimpse of the interior of his home through a window, whistled 92 A SON OF COURAGE softly as his eyes took in the scene within, " Say, Billy," he cried, " your Ma an' Pa's there." " Gee whitticker! " exclaimed Billy. " I wish now I hadn't promised you I'd come in. All right, lead oa. Let's get the funeral over with." Without so much as another word the boys went up the path. " If I don't see you ag'in alive, Bill, good bye," whis- pered Maurice as he opened the door. Mrs. Keeler, who was doing her best to catch what her neighbor was saying, lifted her head as the two wet and tired boys entered the room. " There they be now," she said grimly. " The two worst boys in Scotia, Mrs. Wilson." " I believe you, Mrs. Keeler," nodded her friend. " Now then, where have you two drowned rats been tonight, William ? " Cobin Keeler, who was playing a game of checkers with Billy's father, cleared his throat and leaned forward like a judge on the bench, waiting for the answer to his neigh- bor's question. "We got " commenced Maurice, but Billy pinched his leg for silence. " I got track of your lost sow, Mr. Keeler, when I was comin' home from the store tonight," he said. "Least- wise I didn't know it was your sow but Maurice told me about yours bein' lost. So after Mrs. Keeler went to give Mr. Spencer a call down we hired Anse to look after the preservin' an' went out to try an' track her down.' 1 Maurice, who had listened open mouthed to his chum's narration, sighed deeply. " We had an awful time," he put in, only to receive a harder pinch for his pains. " But you didn't see her, did ye? " Cobin asked eagerly. LUCK RIDES THE STORM 93 Disregarding the question, Billy continued: " The tracks led us a long ways, I kin tell you. We got up into the Scroggie bush at last an' then the rain come." " But we kept right on trackin " put in Maurice, eagerly. " After the stars come out again, of course,'* explained Billy, managing to skin Maurice's shin with his boot-heel, "an* we found her " " You found her? " cried Cobin, leaping up. " Jest half an hour ago," said Billy. " Good lads!" cried Cobin heartily, " Ma, hear that? They found ol' Junefly. Wasn't that smart of 'em, an* in all that rain, too." " Who'd you say was agoin' to soon die? " Mrs. Keeler put her hand to her ear and leaned forward. " I say the boys found the old sow, Ma ! " Cobin shouted. " They didf " Mrs. Keeler turned towards Billy and Maurice, her face aglow. " An' was that what they was adoin'? Now I'm right sorry I spoke harsh. I am so. Ain't yon, Mrs. Wilson? " " Oh, I must say that Willium does do somethin' worth while, once in a long while," returned her neighbor, grudg- ingly. " But Anson, now " Mrs. Keeler broke in. " Anson, humph! Why, that boy had the nerve to say that I should give him ten cents fer watchin ' the kettle while them two dear boys was out in the storm, huntin' fer Pa's sow. I give him a box on the ear instead an' sent him home on the jump. Maybe I was a bit hasty but I was mad after havin' to give that old Caleb Spencer a piece of my mind fer sendin ' me sawdust instead of groceries. I guess he won't try that ag'in." Billy moved towards the door. "I'd best be gettin' home," he said, "I'm awful wet." "Stay all night with Maurice," invited Mrs. Keeler. 94 A SON OF COURAGE " You an' him kin pile right into bed now and 111 bring you both a bowl of hot bread and milk." Billy glanced at his mother. ' ' You kin stay if your want to, Willium, ' ' she said, " only see that you are home bright and early in the mornin'. Your Pa '11 want you to help hill potaters." She stood up. " Well, Tom, if you and Cobin are through with the game don't start another. It's late an* time all decent folks was home abed." Snug in Maurice's corn-husk bed in the attic, the boys lay and listened for the door to open and close. Then Maurice chuckled. " Gee! Bill, I could 'a knocked your head off fer makin' me help drive ol' Junefly home but now I see you knowed what you was doin'. Holy smoke! I wish't I was as smart as you." ' ' Go to sleep, ' ' said Billy drowsily. Half an hour later when Mrs. Keeler carrying two bowls of steaming bread and milk ascended the stairs Billy alone sat up to reach for it. " Is Maurice asleep? " whispered the woman. Billy nodded. ' ' Well, you might as well have both bowls then. I don 't like to see good bread an' milk wasted." She set the bowls down on the little table beside the bed, placed the lamp beside them, then leaning over tucked the blankets about the boys. " No use tryin' to wake Maurice," she said as she turned to go. " As well try to wake the dead. Remember, you boys get up when I call you." CHAPTER IX MOVING THE MENAGERIE Billy and Maurice, taking the short cut to the Wilson farm across the rain-drenched fields next morning, were planning the day's programme. " Now that we've got ol' Harry's charm along with my rabbit-foot," Billy was saying, " we ought 'a be able to snoop 'round in the ha'nted grove an' even hunt through the house any time we take the notion. Maybe we'll get a chance to do it to-day." " But, darn it all, Bill," Maurice objected, " there won't be no ghost to lead the way to the stuff in the daytime." " Well, if we take a look over the place in daylight well know the lay-out better at night, won't we ? Trigger Finger Tim did that most times, an' he always got away clean. Supposin' a ghost is close at your heels, ain't it a good idea to have one or two good runways picked out to skip on? We're goin' through that ha'nted house in daylight, so you might as well make up your mind to that. ' ' Maurice was about to protest further when the rattle of loose spokes and the beat of a horse's hoofs on the hard road fell on their ears. " That's Deacon Ringold's buck-board," Billy informed his chum, drawing him behind an alder-screened stump. " Say, ain't he drivin'? Somebody must be sick at his place." Then as the complaining vehicle swept into sight from around the curve, " By crackey, Maurice, your Pa's ridin' with him." Maurice scratched his head in perplexity. " Wonder 95 96 A SON OF COURAGE where he's takin' Dad? It's too late fer sheep-shearin ' an* too early fer hog-killin'; an' that's 'bout all Dad's good at doin', 'cept leadin' the singin' at prayer-meetin '. Won- der what's up? Gee! the deacon is sure puttin' his old mare over the road." ' ' Keep quiet till they get past, ' ' cautioned Billy. ' * Say ! we needn't have been so blamed careful about makin' our sneak if we'd knowed your Pa was away from home." "Oh, look, Bill," said Maurice, "they're stoppin' at your place." The deacon had pulled up at the Wilson's gate. " He's shoutin' fer Pa," Billy whispered, as a resounding " Hello, Tom!" awoke the forest echoes. " Come on Maurice, let's work our way down along this strip o' bushes, so's we kin hear what's goin' on." The boys wriggled their way through the thicket of sumach, and reached a clump of golden-rod inside the road fence just as Wilson came out of the lane. " Mornin', neighbors," he greeted the men in the buck- board, " won't you pull in? " " No," said the deacon, " we're on our way to Twin Oaks, Thomas. Thieves broke into Spencer's store last night. We're goin' up to see if we can be of any use to Caleb. We'd like you to come along." Wilson's exclamation of surprise was checked by Cobin Keeler, whose long arm reached out and encircled him. He was lifted bodily into the seat and the buekboard dashed on up the road, the clatter of its loose spokes drowning the loud voices of its occupants. The boys sat up and stared at each other. " You heard? " Billy asked in awed tones. Maurice nodded. " They said thieves at the store." Forgotten, for the moment, was old Scroggie's ghost and MOVING THE MENAGERIE 97 the buried treasure in this new something which promised mystery and adventure. " Hully Gee! " whispered Billy. " Ain't that rippin'." " Ain't it jest? " agreed Maurice. " Say, Bill, there ain't no law ag'in shootin' robbers is there store-robbers, I mean?" " Naw, why should there be? That's what you're sup- posed to do, if you get the chance shoot 'em, an ' get the reward. ' ' "What's a reward? " " Why, it's money, you ninny! You kill the robbers an' you get the church collection an' lots of other money be- sides. Then you're rich an' don't ever have to do any work; jest fish an' hunt an' give speeches at tea-meetin's an' things." " Oh, hokey! ain't that great. How'd you come to know all that, Bill? " " Why I read it in Anson's book, ' Trigger-Finger Tim er Dead er Alive.' Oh, it's all hunky, I tell you." " But, Bill, how we goin' to kill them robbers? " " Ain't goin' to kill 'em," his friend replied. " Trig- ger-Finger Tim never killed his ; he took 'em all alive. All he did was arease their skulls with bullets, an 'scrape their spines with 'em, an' when they come to they'd find them- selves tied hand an' foot, an' Trigger-Finger smokin' his cigarette an' smilin' down on 'em." ' ' Gollies ! ' ' exulted Maurice. Then uncertainty in his tones, " A feller 'ud have to be a mighty good shot to do that though, Bill." " Oh shucks! What's the use of thinkin' 'bout that now? We've gotta catch them robbers first, ain't we? " " Yep, that's so. But how? " Billy wriggled free of the golden-rod. " Come on over an ' help me move my menagerie an ' we '11 plan out a way. 98 A SON OF COURAGE They climbed the fence and crossed the road to the lane- gate. " Now, then," said Billy, " you scoot through the trees to the root-house, while I go up to the kitchen an' sneak some doughnuts. Don't let Ma catch a glimpse of you er she'll come lookin' fer me an' set me to churnin' er some- thin' right under her eyes. An' see here," he warned, as Maurice made for the trees, " don't you get to foolin' with the snakes er owls, an' you best keep out of ol' Ring- do's reach, 'cause he's a bad ol' swamp coon in some, ways. You jest lay close till I come back. ' ' Whistling soundlessly, Billy went up the path to the house. He peered carefully in through the screened door. The room was empty and so was the pantry beyond. Billy entered, tiptoed softly across to the pantry and filled his pockets with doughnuts from the big crock in the cupboard. Then he tip-toed softly out again. As he rounded the kitchen, preparatory to a leap across the open space between it and the big wood-pile, Mrs. Wil- son's voice came to him, high-pitched and freighted with anger. " You black, thievin' passel of impudence, you! " she was saying. " If I had a stick long enough to reach you, you 'd never dirty any more of my new-washed clothes. ' ' On the top-most branch of a tall, dead pine, close beside the wood-pile, sat the tame crow, Croaker, his head cocked demurely on one side, as he listened to the woman's right- eous abuse. Croaker could no more help filling his claws with chips and dirt and wobbling the full length of a line filled with snowy, newly-washed clothes than he could help upsetting the pan of water in the chicken-pen, when he saw the opportunity. He hated anything white with all his sin- ful little heart and he hated the game rooster in the same way. He was always in trouble with Ma V, T: lson, always MOVING THE MENAGERIE i) in trouble with the rooster. Only when safe in the highest branch of the pine was he secure, and in a position to talk back to his persecutors. He said something now, low and guttural, to the woman shaking her fist at him in impotent anger. His voice was almost human in tone, his attitude so sinister that she shud- dered. " That's right, swear at me, too," she cried, " add insult to injury, you black imp! If it wasn't fer bein' scared of shootin' myself I'd get the gun an' shoot you, I would so!" Suddenly Croaker stretched himself erect. A soft whistle, so low as to be inaudible to the indignant woman but clear to his acute ears, had sounded from the far side of the wood pile. Pausing only long enough to locate the sound, Croaker spread his wings and volplaned down, emitting a hoarse croak of triumph almost in Mrs. Wilson 's face, as he swept close above her. " Come here, you," spoke a low voice as Croaker settled on the other side of the wood pile, and the crow promptly perched himself on Billy's shoulder with a succession of throaty notes that sounded like crazy laughter, but which were really expressions of unadulterated joy. For this boy who had taken him from the nest in the swaying elm when he was nothing but a half -feathered, wide-mouthed fledgling, and had fed him, cared for him, defended him against cat, dog, rooster and human beings for this boy alone Croaker felt all the love his selfish heart was capable of giving. And now as Billy carried him towards the root-house he recited the various adventures which had been his since they had parted, recited them, it is true, in hoarse unin- telligible crow-language, but which Billy was careful to indicate he understood right well. 100 A SON OF COURAGE " So you did all that, did you? " he laughed. " Oh, but you're a smart bird. But see here, if you go on the Way you're doin', dirtyin' Ma's clean clothes an' abusin' her like I heard you doin', your light's goin' out sudden one of these days. Ma's scared to shoot the ol' gun her- self, but shell get Anse to do it. I guess I better shut you up on wash-mornin's after this." " What's he been doin' now, Bill? " asked Maurice as Billy and the crow joined him beside the root-house. " Oh, he's been raisin' high jinks with Ma ag'in," ex- plained Billy. " He will get his claws full o' dirt an' pigeon-toe along her line of clean clothes, as soon as her back's turned." " Gosh! ain't he a terror? " Maurice exclaimed. " Say, why don't you put him in the menagerie' " " Maurice, you've got about as much sense as a wood- tick," Billy replied in disgust. " How long d'ye s'pose my snakes an' bats an' lizards 'ud last if I turned Croaker loose in there? 1 " " Pshaw! Bill, he couldn't hurt Spotba, the womper, could he? " " Jest couldn't he? I'll take you down to the marsh some day an' show you how quick he kin kill a womper." " Gollies! Is that so? Well he couldn't hurt the black snake; that's one sure thing." " No, it ain't, 'cause he kin kill a black snake a sight easier than he kin a womper, an' 111 tell you why. Black- snakes have got teeth. They bite. But their backbone is easy broke. A womper hasn't any teeth. He strikes with his bony nose. You know what one of them snakes kin do? You saw that big one, down in Patterson's swamp lay open Moll's face with one slash. They're thick necked, an' take a lot of killin'. This crow kin kill a black-snake MOVING THE MENAGERIE 101 with one slash of his bill. He has to choke the womper to death." Maurice scratched his head thoughtfully. " Say, you know a lot about snakes an' things, don't you? " he said admiringly. " Maybe I do, but I ain't tellin' all I know/' said Billy. " What's the good? Nobody 'ud believe me." ' ' What you mean, believe you ? ' ' " Why, if I said I saw a fight between a little brown water-snake no bigger 'n a garter snake, an' a fish-hawk, an' the snake licked the hawk, d'ye s'pose anyone 'ud believe that! " " I dunno. Maybe, an' maybe not." " Supposin' I said the snake killed the Tiaiokf " " Oh, gee whitticker! nobody 'ud believe that, Bill." " There now. Nobody 'ud believe it. An' yet I saw it." " You saw it? " Maurice, who could not think of ques- tioning his chum's word, gasped in amazement. " Yep, I saw it last spring in the Eau rice beds, it was. I was tryin' to find a blue-winged teal's nest. Saw the drake trail off an' knowed the duck must be settin' somewhere on the high land close beside the pond. As I was standin' still, lookin' about, this little water snake come swimmin' 'cross a mushrat run. Jest then I saw a shadder cross the reeds, an' a fish-hawk swooped down an' made a grab at the snake. The snake dived an' come up close to shore. The hawk wheeled an' swooped ag'in. This time the water was too shallow fer snakie to get clear away. The hawk grabbed him in his claws an' started up with him. ' Goodbye, little snake,' I thought, an' jest then I noticed that the hawk was havin' trouble; fer one thing, he wasn't flyin' straight, an' he was strikin' with his curved beak without findin' anythin'. Pretty soon he 102 A SON OF COURAGE started saggin' down to the reeds. I jumped into the punt an' made fer the spot where I thought he'd come down. Jest as I got there he splashed into the shallow water. I stood up in the punt, an' then I saw what had happened. The little water-snake had coiled round the hawk's neck an' had kept its head close under his throat. You know that a water snake has two little saw teeth, one on each side of the upper jaw. I've often wondered what good a pair of teeth like that could be to 'em, but I don't any more, 'cause that little snake had cut that hawk's throat with them snags an' saved himself." " An' so he got away ! " sighed Maurice. " "Well, he should have, but I didn't let him. I thought I'd like to own a snake as plucky as that, so I caught him didn't have no trouble, he was awful tired an' brought him up here to the menagerie." Maurice whistled. " Gee! Bill, you don't mean t' tell me that water-snake you call Hawk-killer is him? " " Yep, that's him. Now," he cried tossing Croaker into a tree, "111 tell you what we gotta do. We gotta move these pets down to that old sugar-shanty in our woods. Ma's got so nervous with havin' 'em here that I'm afraid Anse might take it in his head to let 'em out, er kill 'em. I've got 'em all boxed nice an' snug. All I want yon to do is help me carry 'em. We can do it in two trips. Ringdo, of course, '11 stay along up here. Ma's not scared of him like she is of the other things. Come along." He unpropped the root-house door and threw it open. Maurice hesitated on the threshold, peering into the darkness. "Are you sure you've got 'em boxed safe, Bill? " he asked, fearfully. " Bet ye I am." MOVING THE MENAGERIE 103 " Then, here's fer it, but I must say I'll be glad when the job's done," shivered Maurice, following his chum into the blackness of the root-house. Croaker hopped to a lower branch and peered in after his master. Then, catching sight of a doughnut which had spilled from Billy 's pocket, he fluttered down to the ground, and with many caressing croaks proceeded to make a meal of it. CHAPTER X IN LOST MAN'S SWAMP The August days were passing swiftly, each fragrant dawn marking another step towards that inevitable some- thing whieh must be faced the reopening of the Valley School by a new teacher. Billy's heart saddened as the fields ripened and the woods turned red and gold. For once his world was out of tune. Maurice Keeler was sick with measles and Elgin Scraff lay ill with the same disease. Taking advantage of this fact, the Sand-sharkers had grown bold, some of the more venturesome of them going even so far as to challenge Billy to " knock the chip off their shoulders." Billy had not only accommodated the trouble-seekers in this regard but had nearly knocked the noses off their freckled faces as well, after which he had proceeded to lick, on sight, each and every Sand-sharker with whom his lonely rambles brought him in contact. But his victories lacked the old time zest. He missed Maurice's " Gee! Bill, that left swing to his eye was a corker ' ' ; missed Elgin's offer to bet a thousand dollars that Billy Wilson could lick, with one hand tied behind him, any two Sand- sharkers that ever smelled a smoked herrin'. Victory was indeed empty of glory. And so the glad days were sad days for Billy. It was an empty world. What boy in Billy's place would not have been low-spirited under like conditions? What boy would not have paused, as he was doing now, to itemize his woes? He was seated on a stump in the new clearing which 104 IN LOST MAN'S SWAMP 105 sloped to Levee Creek, fingers locked about one knee, bat- tered felt hat pulled over his eyes. The green slope at his feet lay half in the sunlight, half in the shadow. Across from a patch of golden-rod, the- cock bird of a fox-scattered quail-covey whistled the " All's Well " call to the birds in hiding. Ordinarily Billy would have answered that call, would have drawn the brown, scuttling birds close about him with the low-whistled notes he could produce so well ; but today he was oblivious to all save his thoughts. Two weeks had passed since the robbery of the Twin Oaks store and that which he and Maurice had planned to do towards finding the Scroggie will and capturing the thieves had, through dire necessity, been abandoned. Sick- ness had claimed Maurice just when he was most needed. For days Billy had lived a sort of trancelike existence; had gone about acting queerly, refusing his meals and paying little attention to anybody or anything. It had become a regular thing for hia father to say each morning, " I guess you ain't feelin' up to much today, Billy; so all you have to do is watch the gap and water the cattle "; which was quite agreeable to Billy, because it gave him an opportunity to be by himself. Men who sit in the shadow of irrevocable fate are always that way ; v Ley want to be left alone murderers on the eve of their execution, captains on wrecked ships, Trigger Finger Tim, who was to be shot at sunrise, but wasn't. Billy wanted to shadow old Scroggie 's ghost and so dis- cover the will; he wanted to seek out the robbers of the Twin Oaks store and earn a reward; he wanted Maurice Keeler with him; he wanted to hear Elgin Scraff's laugh. But all this was denied him. And now a new burden had bean thrust upon him, compared with which all his other woes seemed trivial. Old Scroggie 's namesake and ap- 106 A SON OF COURAGE parent hpir had turned up again. Billy had seen him with his own eyes; with his own ears had heard him declare that he intended to erect a saw-mill in the thousand-acre forest. This meant that the big hardwood wonderland would be wiped away and that Frank Stanhope would never inherit what was rightfully his. It seemed like an evil dream, but Billy knew it was no dream. Scroggie, astride a big bay horse, had passed him while he was on his way to the store with a basket of eggs for his mother, and he had pulled in at the store just as Deacon Eingold had taken the last available space on the customers' bench outside, and Caleb Spencer had come to the door to peer through the twilight in search of the Clearview stage, which was late. Noticing the stranger on horseback Caleb had hurried forward to ask how best he could serve him. Hidden safely behind a clump of cedars Billy had watched and listened. He had heard Scroggie tell the store- keeper that he and his family had come to Scotia to stay and that he intended to cut down the timber of the big woods. He had then demanded that Spencer turn over to him a certain document which it seemed old man Scroggie had left in Caleb's charge some months before his death. Billy had seen Spencer draw the man a little apart from the others, who had gathered close through curiosity, and had heard him explain that the paper had been taken from his safe on the night of the robbery of his store. Scroggie had, at first, seemed to doubt Caleb's word; then he had grown abusive and had raised his riding-whip threateningly. Here Billy, having heard and seen quite enough, had acted. Placing his basket gently down on the sward he had picked up an egg and with the accuracy born of long practice in throwing stones, had sent it crash- IN LOST MAN'S SWAMP 107 ing into Scroggie 's face. Gasping and temporarily blinded, Scroggie had wheeled his horse and galloped away. But today Billy, musing darkly, knew that Scroggie would do what he had said he would do. The big woods was his, according to law; he could do as he wished with it, and he would wipe it out. With a sigh, Billy slid from the stump and stood look- ing away toward the east. What would Trigger Finger Tim do in his place? When confronted by insurmount- able obstacles Trigger Finger had been wont to seek excite- ment and danger. That's what he, Billy, would do now. But where was excitement and danger to be found? Ah, he knew Lost Man's Swamp! Billy's right hand went into a trouser's pocket; then nervously his left dived into the other pocket. With a sigh of relief he drew out a furry object about the size of a pocket-knife. " 01' Rabbit-foot charm," he said, aloud. "I jest might need you bad today." Then he turned and walked quickly across the fallow toward the causeway. Some three miles east of the imaginary line which divided the Settlement from the outside world, on the Lake Shore road, stood a big frame house in a grove of tall walnut trees. It was the home of a man named Hinter a man of mystery. Before it the lake flashed blue as a king- fisher's wing through the cedars; behind it swept a tangle of forest which gradually dwarfed into a stretch of swamp- willow and wild hazel-nut bushes, which in turn gave place to marshy bog-lands. Lost Man's Swamp, so called because it was said that one straying into its depths never was able to extricate himself from its overpowering mists and treacherous quicksands, was lonely and forsaken. It lay like a fester- 108 A SON OF COURAGE ing sore on. the breast of the world black, menacing, hungry to gulp, dumb as to those mysteries and tragedies it had witnessed. It was whispered that the devil made his home in its pitchy ponds, which even in the fiercest cold of winter did not freeze. For Billy, who knew and understood so well the sweep- ing wilderness of silence and mysteries, this swamp held a dread which, try as he might, he could not analyze. On one other occasion had he striven to penetrate it, but as if the bogland recognized in him a force not easily set aside, it had enwrapped him with its deadly mists which chilled and weakened, torn his flesh with its razor-edged grass and sucked at his feet with its oozy, dragging quicksajids. He had turned back in time. For two weeks following his exploit he had lain ill with ague, shivering miserably, silent, but thinking. And now he was back again; and this time he did not intend to risk his life in those sucking sands. From a couple of dead saplings, with the aid of wild grape-vines, he fashioned a light raft which would serve as a support in the bog, and carry his weight in the putrid mire beyond. Strange sounds came to his ears as he worked his way across the desolate waste toward the first great pond scurrying, rustling sounds of hidden things aroused from their security. Once a big grey snake stirred from torpor to lift its head and hiss at him. Billy lifted it aside with his pole and went on. Great mosquitoes whined about his head and stung his neck and ears. Mottled flies bit him and left a burning smart. The saw-like edges of the grass cut his hands and strove to trip him as he pushed his improvised raft for- ward. Once his foot slipped on the greasy bog, and the quicksands all but claimed him. But he pushed on, reach- IN LOST MAN'S SWAMP 109 ing at last the black sullen shallows, putrid and ill-smelling with decayed growth, and alive with hideous insects. Great, black leeches clung to the slimy lily-roots; water lizards lay basking half in and half out of the water, or crept furtively from under-water grotto to grotto. And there were other things which Billy knew were hidden from his sight things even more loathsome. For the first time in his life he experienced for Nature a feeling akin to dread and loathing. It was like a nightmare to him, menacing, unreal, freighted with strange horrors. One thing Billy saw which he could not understand. The greasy surface of the shallow pond was never still, but bubbled incessantly as porridge puffs and bubbles when it boils. It was as if the slimy creatures buried in the ozy bottom belched forth their poisonous breath as they stirred in sleep. So here lay the reason that the swamp-waters never froze even when whiter locked all other waters fast in its icy clutch! What caused those air bubbles, if air bubbles they were ? At last, sick and dizzy, he turned from the place and with raft and pole fought his way back to the shore. Never again, he told himself, would he try to fathom further what lay in Lost Man's Swamp. Weary and perspiring, he climbed the wooded upland. He turned and dipped into the willows, intending to take the shortest way home through the hardwoods. On top of the beech knoll he paused for a moment to let his eyes rest on the big house in the walnut grove. In some vague way his mind con- nected its owner with that dead waste of stinking marsh. Why, he wondered, had Hinter chosen this lonely spot on which to build his home ? As he turned to strike across the neck of woods between him and the causeway the man 110 A SON OF COURAGE about whom he had just been thinking stepped out from a clump of hazel-nut bushes directly in his path. " Why, hello, Billy," he said pleasantly. " Out cap- turing more wild things for the menagerie? " Hinter possessed a well modulated voice whose accent bespoke refinement and education. He had come into the Settlement about a year ago from no one knew where, apparently possessed of sufficient money to do as he pleased. An aged colored woman kept house for him. He held aloof from his neighbors, was reticent in manner, but nothing could be said against him. He led an exemplary if some- what secluded life, gave freely to the church which he never attended, and was respected by the people of Scotia. With the children he was a great favorite. He was a tall man, gaunt and strong of frame and well past middle age. His face was grave and his blue eyes steady. He was fond of hunting and usually wore as he was wearing today a suit of corduroys. He kept a pair of ferocious dogs, why nobody knew, for they never accompanied him on his hunts. He smiled now as he noted Billy's quick look of appre- hension. " No, Billy," he assured the boy, " Sphinx and Dexter aren't with me today, so you have nothing to fear from them. I doubt if they would hurt you, anyway," he added. " You can handle most dogs, I am told." "I'm not afraid of no dog. Mr. Hinter,'* said Billy, " but I've been told your dogs are half wolf. Is that so? " Hinter laughed. " Well, hardly," he returned. " They are thoroughbred Great Danes, although Sphinx and Dexter both have wolf natures, I fear." " Is that why people don't go near your place, 'cause they're scared of the dogs? " Billy asked. IN LOST MAN'S SWAMP 111 Hinter 's face grew grave. " Perhaps," he answered. " I hope it is." ' ' Then why don 't you get rid of 'em ? ' ' Hinter shook his head. " Nobody would have them, they 're too savage ; and I haven 't the heart to make away with them, because they are fond of me. I've had those dogs a long time, Billy." " I understan'," said Billy, sympathetically. Hinter put his hand in his coat pocket and drew out an ivory dog-whistle. " Would you like to know them, Billy ? " he asked, his keen eyes on the boy 's face. " I wouldn't mind," said Billy. Hinter put the whistle to his lips and sent a warbling call through the woods. " Stand perfectly still," he said, as he placed the whistle back in his pocket. " I won't let them hurt you. Here they come now." The next instant two great dogs plunged from the thicket, their heavy jaws open and dripping and their deep eyes searching for their master and the reason for his call. Standing with feet planted wide Billy felt his heart beat quickly. " Easy, Sphinx! " Hinter cried, as the larger of the two sprang toward the boy. Immediately the dog sank down, the personification of submission ; but it 's blood- shot eyes flashed up at Billy and in them the boy glimpsed a spirit unquelled. " Be careful, Billy. Don't touch him! " warned Hinter, but he spoke too late. Billy had bent and laid his hand gently on the dog's quivering back. The low growl died in the animal's throat. Slowly his heavy muzzle was lifted until his nose touched Billy's cheek. Then his long flail- like tail began to wag. " Boy, you're a wonder! " Hinter cried. " But you took a terrible chance. Dexter! " he said to the other 112 A SON OP COURAGE dog, " don't you want to be friends with this wild-animal tamer, too? " Billy, his arm about Sphinx's neck, spoke. " Come, ol' feller; come here," he said. The great dog rose and came slowly across to him. " Good boy! " Billy slapped him roughly on the shoulder, and he whined. " Well, it's beyond me," confessed Hinter. " I've heard that you could handle dogs, young fellow, but I didn't think there was anybody in the world besides myself who could bring a whimper of gladness from that pair. Now then, Dexter ! Sphinx ! away home with you. ' ' Obediently the big dogs wheeled back into the thicket. Billy started to move away. " I must be gettin' home," he said. " The eows '11 be waitin' to be watered." " Well, I'll just walk along with you as far as the Causeway," said Hinter. " My saddle-horse has wandered off somewhere. I have an idea he made for Ringold's slashing." He fell in beside Billy, adjusting his stride to the shorter one of the boy. In silence they walked until they reached a rise of land which had been cleared of all varieties of trees except maples. Sap-suckers twittered as they hung head downward and red squirrels chattered shrilly. In a cleared spot in the wood, beside a spring-fed creek, stood a sugar-shanty, two great cauldrons, upside down, gleaming like black eyes from its shadowy interior. A pile of wooden sap-troughs stood just outside the shanty door. Billy's eyes brightened as they swept the big sugar-bush. Many a spicy spring night had he enjoyed here, " sugarin* off he and Teacher Stanhope. The brightness faded from his eyes and his lip quivered. Never again would the man who was boy-friend to him point out the frost- IN LOST MAN'S SWAMP 113 cleared stars that swam low down above the maples and describe to him their wonders. Those stars were shut out from him forever, as were the tints of skies and flowers and all glad lights of the world. Hinter's voice brought him back to himself. " He is blind, they teU me, Billy." Billy gazed at him wonderingly. " How did you know I was thinkin' of Mm? " he asked. Hinter smiled. " Never mind," he said gently. " And how is he standing it? " A spasm of pain crossed the boy's face. " Like a man," he answered shortly. Hinter's eyes fell away from that steady gaze. Billy turned towards the log-span across the creek, then paused to ask suddenly: " Mr. Hinter, who owns that Lost Man's Swamp? Do you?" The man started. " No," he answered, I don't own it exactly, but I hope to soon. It is part of the Scroggie property. I am negotiating now with Scroggie 's heir for it. It is useless, of course, but I desire to own it for rea- sons known only to myself." ' ' But supposin ' ol ' Scroggie 's lost will comes to light ? ' ' " Then, of course, it will divert to Mr. Stanhope," answered Hinter. " I must confess," he added, " I doubt very strongly if Mr. Scroggie ever made a will." Billy was silent, busy with his own thoughts. They crossed the bridge, passed through a beech ridge and de- scended a mossy slope to the Causeway fence. As they sat for a moment's rest on its topmost rail, Hinter spoke abruptly. ' ' I saw you fighting your way across the swamp this afternoon, Billy. Weren't you taking a useless risk? " Billy made no reply. " You are either a very brave boy or a very foolish 114 A SON OF COURAGE one," said Hinter. " Will you tell me what prompted you to dare what no other person in the Settlement would dare? Was it simply curiosity? " " I guess maybe it was," Billy confessed. " Anyways I've got all I want of it. It'll be a long time afore you see me there ag'in." Hinter 's sigh of relief was inaudible to the boy. " That's a good resolve," he commended. " Stick to it ; that swamp is a treacherous place." " It's awful," said Billy in awed tones. " I got as far as the first pond. It was far enough for me." " You got as far as the pond I " Hinter cried in wonder. The eyes turned on Billy's face were searching. " And you found only a long shallow of stagnant, stinking water, I'll be bound," he laughed, uneasily. " I found " Billy commenced, his mind flashing back to the bubbling geysers of the pond then chancing to catch the expression in Hinter 's face he finished, " jest what you said, a big pond of stinkin' dead water, crawlin' with all kinds of blood-suckers an' things." He leaped from the fence. " Good bye," he called back over his shoulder. " I hear old Cherry bawlin' fer her drink." Hinter was still seated on the fence when Billy turned the curve in the road. " I wonder what he wants of Lost Man's Swamp," mused the boy. " An' I wonder what he's scared somebody '11 find there? " CHAPTER XI EDUCATING THE NEW BOY As Billy rounded a curve in the road he met the cattle. Anson was driving them. ' ' You needn't mind turnin' back, Bill," he said. " I don't mind waterin' 'em fer you." Billy whistled. " Gosh! you're gettin' kind all at once, Anse," he exclaimed. " I don't mind doin' it," Anse repeated. He kept his face averted. Billy, scenting mystery, walked over to him and swung him about. Anson 's lip was swollen and one eye was partly closed and his freckled face bore the marks of recent conflict. " Gee whitticker ! " gasped Billy, " you must been havin' an argument with a mule. Who give you that black eye an' split lip, Anse? " His brother hung his head. " You needn't go to rubbin' it in, ' ' he whined ; " I didn 't have no chance with him. He piled on me from behind, when I wasn't lookin'." ' ' Who piled on you from behind ? ' ' " That new boy; his name's Jim Scroggie. His dad's rented the Stanley house on the hill." " Likely story that about his pilin' on you from behind," scoffed Billy. " You met him on the path an' tried to get gay with him, more like, an' he pasted you a few. You shouldn 't hunt trouble, Anse ; you can 't fight, an ' you know it. What's this new boy like? " he asked curiously. ' ' Oh, you '11 find that out soon enough, ' ' promised Anson. " He told me to tell you that he would do the same thing to you first chance he got. ' ' 115 116 A SON OF COURAGE " Oh, no, he didn't neither," laughed Billy. " He can't "be that foolish. ' ' " You wait till you size him up," said Anson. " He's taller 'n you are an' heavier, too. Oh, you'll have your hands full when he tackles you, Mister Scrapper-Bill." Billy pinched off a fox-tail stock and chewed it thought- fully. " Maybe," he said, cheerfully. " He certainly tapped you some, but then you're always huntin' trouble, an' it serves you right." ' ' Listen to me ! ' ' Anson cried. ' ' He made all the trou- ble, I tell you. All I did was tell him not to throw clubs at Eingdo " " What! Was he throwin' clubs at my coon? " Billy shouted. " You bet he was. Had Ringdo up a tree an' was doin' his best to knock him out. ' ' Billy spit out the fox-tail. " Where's this feller Scroggie now? " he asked, in a business-like tone. " I dunno. I s'pose he's prowlin' 'round the beech grove, up there. He said he intended lickin' every boy in this settlement on sight. You best not go lookin' fer him, Bill. I don't want 'a see you get beat up on my account." " Well you needn't worry; if I get beat up it won't be on your account, I kin tell you that. I don 't aim to let any- body throw clubs at my pets, though. You drive the cattle on down; I'm goin' up to the grove." A gleam of satisfaction lit Anson 's shifty eyes. "All right, ' ' he said shortly, and went off after the herd. Billy climbed the rail fence and crossed the basswood swale to the highland. He approached the beech grove cautiously and peered about him. Seated on a log at the lower end of a grassy glade was a boy about his own age, a boy with round, bullet head poised on a thick neck set between square shoulders. EDUCATING THE NEW BOY 117 Billy, taking his measure with one fleeting glance, stepped out from the trees. Simultaneously the strange boy rose slowly, head lowered, fists clenched. There was nothing antagonistic in Billy 's attitude as he surveyed the new boy with serious grey eyes. That expression had fooled more than one competitor in fistic combat, and it fooled Jim Scroggie now. " He's scared stiff," was the new boy's thought, as he swaggered forward to where Billy stood. " I've been waitin' for you and now I'm goin' to lick you," he said. Billy eyed him appraisingly. He did look like a tough proposition, no doubt about that. His face was round, flat, small-featured. " That face '11 stand a lot of pum- melin'," Billy told himself, and as he noted the heavy chin, thrust antagonistically forward, " no use bruisin' my knuckles on that," he decided. " You heard what I said, didn't you?" growled the challenger. "I'm goin' to lick you." Billy grinned. He had caught the gasp at the end of the speaker's words; now he knew where lay the stranger's weak spot his wind! " But I ain't wantin' to fight," Billy returned gently. " Why? scared? " " Nice boys don't fight." Billy shifted his feet uneasily, the movement bringing him a step or two closer to the other. "Bah! mommie's baby boy won't fight?" taunted the eager one. " But by gollies! I'm goin' to make you," he added, scowling fiercely. Billy wanted to laugh^ but he was too good a ring-general to give way to his feelings. Instead, he shifted his feet again, thereby getting within reaching distance of the one so anxious for battle. " Now, then," declared Scroggie, tossing his hat on the 118 A SON OF COURAGE sward and drying his moist palms on his trouser-legs, "I'm goin' to black your eyes and pummel the nose off your face." The last word was drowned in a resounding " emack." Billy had delivered one of his lightning, straight-arm punches fair on the sneering lips of the new boy. Seroggie staggered back, recovered his balance, and threw himself on the defensive in time to block Billy's well-aimed right to the neck. " So that's your game, is it? " he grunted. " Here's a new one for you then." That " new one " was a veritable ' ' hay-maker. ' ' Had it landed where it was intended to land the fight must have ended then and there. But it didn't. Billy saw it coming and ducked. Scroggie rushed, managing to get in a stiff jab to Billy's body and receiving in return one which promptly closed one of his small optics. He struck out wildly, but Billy was prancing six feet away. Scroggie 's swollen and bleeding mouth twisted in a grin. " Oh, I'll get you," he promised. " Stall if you want 'a, it's all one to me. You won't find me sleepin' again, I promise you." Billy advanced in a crouching attitude. His eyes were on Scroggie 's uninjured eye and Scroggie, now grown wary, read that look as Billy intended he should. Older fighters have made the same mistake that Scroggie made. As Billy leaped in Scroggie raised his guard to his face and Billy's right and left thudded home to the flabby stomach of his adversary. With a gasp Scroggie went to earth, where he lay writh- ing. After a time he struggled to a sitting posture. " Got enough? " asked Billy pleasantly. The vanquished one nodded. He had not as yet reeorered his breath sufficiently to speak. When at last he was able EDUCATING THE NEW BOY 119 to draw a full breath, he said: " Say, you trimmed me all right, all right." Billy grinned. " Who are you, anyway? " asked Scroggie as he got grog- gily to his feet. "I'm the feller that owns the coon you tried to club to death," Billy answered. A Scroggie 's mouth fell open in surprise. " I didn't try to kill any coon," he denied. " I saw one but it wasn't me that clubbed it; it was a tall, sandy-haired feller with a squint eye. I asked him what he was try in' to do and he told me to dry up and mind my own business. I had to give him a lickin'. He went off blubberin' ; said if I wasn't too seared to stick around he'd send a feller over who would fix me. So I stayed. ' ' " I wish you had licked him harder 'n you did," frowned Billy. "Know him? " " Well, I do an' I don't. He's my half-brother an' a sneak if ever there was one. He lied about you to me so 'a I'd fight you." ' ' And what 's your name ? ' ' " Billy Wilson." Scroggie stared. " I've heard of you," he said, "an' the feller who told me you could lick your weight in wild- cats wasn't far wrong. You had me fooled, though," he laughed. "I swallowed what you said about nice boys not fightin', swallowed it whole. Oh, Moses! " Billy sat down on a stump. " I don't bear no grudge, do you? " he asked. " No, I'm willin' to shake." Scroggie extended his hand. ' ' Your name 's Scroggie, ain 't it ? " Billy asked. " Yep, Jim Scroggie." 120 A SON OF COURAGE " Your Dad's goin' to cut down the Scroggie woods, I hear? " " Yep, if he can get his price for the timber." Billy sat looking away. His grey eyes had grown somber. " See here," he said suddenly, " do you know that old man Scroggie left a will? " " Dad says not," the other boy replied. " Well, then, he did; an' in that will he left his woods an' money to Mr. Stanhope, my teacher." " If that's so, Dad has no right to that woods," said Jim. " But supposin' the will can't be found? " Billy looked the other boy in the face and waited for the answer. " Why, I can't see that that ought 'a make any differ- ence," Scroggie replied. " If you folks down here know that Uncle left his money and place to your teacher, that ought 'a be enough for Dad." " Of course the timber's worth a lot," sparred Billy. " But Dad don't need it," Jim declared. "He's rich now." " He is? " Billy respected the new boy for the nonchal- ance of his tones. Riches hadn't made him stuck up, at any rate. " Yep," went on Scroggie, " Dad owns some big oil wells in the States. He ain't got any business down here anyways, but he's so pig-headed you can't tell him any- thin ' ; I '11 say that much, even if he is my father. It 's bad enough for him to lug me away from town, but he made Lou come along, too." " Lou? " " She's my sister," Jim explained proudly. " She's a year younger 'n me. Dad says she looks just like Mother looked. I guess that's the reason she kin do most anythin' she likes with him. But she couldn't get him to let her EDUCATING THE NEW BOY 121 stay in Cleveland. He brought her along and Aunt too. Aunt keeps house for us. ' ' " I guess your Dad don't think much of us folks down here, does he? " Billy asked. Scroggie chuckled. " Dad ain't got any use for any- body, much," he answered. " I never heard him say any- thin' about any of the people of the Settlement but once, and that was just t'other night. He come home lookin' as if somebody had pushed his head into a crate of eggs. I was too scared to ask him how it happened and Lou wouldn't. Dad said the people 'round here are a bad lot and it wouldn 't surprise him if they tried to kill him. ' ' Billy threw back his head and laughed, the first hearty laugh he had known for days. Scroggie, in spite of the pain his swollen lips caused him, laughed too. " Say," he remarked, hesitatingly, " you got a great laugh, Billy." " Oh I don't know," Billy replied. " What makes you think so, Jim ? ' ' Scroggie sat down beside him on the log. " I had a chum in the city who laughed just like you do. Gosh, nobody '11 know how much I miss him." "Dead? " Scroggie nodded. " Drowned through an air-hole in the lake. Say, Billy, do you skate? " " Some." " Swim? " " A little." " Shoot? " Billy scratched his head reflectively. " Not much, any more," he said. " Course I like duck-shootin', an' do quite a lot of it in the fall." "How 'bout quail? " " I don't shoot quail any more," Billy answered. " I've 122 A SON OF COURAGE got to know 'em too well, I guess. You see," in answer to the other boy's look of surprise, " when a feller gets to know what chummy, friendly little beggars they are, he don't feel like shootin' 'em." " But they're wild, ain't they and they're game birds? " " They're wild if you make 'em wild, but if they get to know that you like 'em an' won't hurt 'em, they get real tame. I've got one flock I call my own. I fed 'em last winter when the snow was so deep they couldn't pick up a livin '. They used to come right into our barn-yard for the tailin's I throwed out to 'em." " What's tailin's? " " It's the chaff and small wheat the fannin' mill blows out from the good grain. Pa lets me have it fer my wild birds. I've got some partridge up on the hickory knoll, too. They're shyer than the quail, but I've got 'em so tame I kin call 'em and make 'em come to me. ' ' " You kin? " Jim exclaimed. " Well, I'll be razzle-daz- zled!" "So, I don't shoot partridge neither," said Billy. " I don't blame anybody else fer shootin' 'em, remember, but somehow, I'd rather leave 'em alive." " I see," said Scroggie. Of course he didn't, but he wanted to make Billy feel that he did. "Well you do more than most people, then," said Billy. " The folks 'round here think I'm crazy, I guess, an' Joe Scraff he 's got an English setter dog an ' shoots a lot ; he told me that if he happened onto my quail an' partridge he'd bag as many of 'em as he could. I told him that if he shot my birds, he 'd better watch out fer his white Leghorn chickens but he laughed at me." " And did he shoot your quail? " asked Scroggie. Billy nodded. " Once. Flushed 'em at the top of the EDUCATING THE NEW BOY 123 knoll and winged one bird. The rest of the covey flew into our barn-yard an' 'course he couldn't f oiler 'em in there.'* "Gollies! Did you see him? " " No, me an' Pa an' Anse was down at the back end of the place. Ma saw him, though, an' she told me all about it. Say, maybe I wasn't mad, but I got even, all right." " Did you? How? " Billy looked searchingly at his new friend. " I never told a soul how I did it, 'cept my chum, Maurice Keeler," he said. " But I'll tell you. That same evenin' I was prowlin* through the slashin' lookin' fer white grubs fer bass-bait. I fount a big rotten stump, so I pushed it over, an' right down under the roots I found an old weasel an' six half-grown kittens. Afore she could get over her surprise, I had her an' her family in the tin pail I had with me, an' the cover on. By rights I should a' killed the whole caboodle of 'em, I s 'pose, 'cause they're mighty hard on the birds; but I had work fer 'em to do. " That night I took them weasels over to Seraff's an* turned 'em loose under his barn. I knowed mighty well ma weasel would stay where it was dark an' safe and the chicken smell was so strong. Couple of days after that Seraff come over to our place to borrow some rat traps. His face was so long he was fair steppin' on his lower lip. He said weasels had been slaughterin' his Leghorns, right an ' left ; six first night an ' nine the next. " ' I hope they won't get among my quail,' I says, an' Scraff he turned round an' looked at me mighty hard, but he didn't say nuthin'. He went away, grumblin', an' car- ryin' six of Dad's traps. Course I knowed he couldn't catch a weasel in a trap in twenty years an' he didn't catch any either. Ma weasel killed some more of his Leghorns, an' then Scraff he comes to me. ' Billy,' he says, ' is there 124 A SON OF COURAGE any way to get rid of weasels? ' ' Sure there's a way,' I says, ' but not everybody knows it. ' " ' I'll give you five dollars if you'll catch them weasels that are killin' my chickens,' he says. " ' If you'll promise me you'll stay away from my quail an' partridge I'll catch 'em fer nuthin,' I told him. ' Only,' I says, ' remember, I do what I please with 'em, after I get 'em.' He looked at me as though he'd like to choke me, but he said all right, he'd leave my birds alone. " That night Maurice Keeler an' me went over to Gam- ble's an' borrowed his old ferret. He's a big ferret an' he'll tackle anythin', even a skunk. With some keg-hoops an' a canvas sack we had made what we needed to catch the weasels in. Then we put a muzzle on the ferret, so he couldn't fang-cut the weasels, an' we went over to Scraff ' s. As soon as Joe Scraff saw the ferret he began to see light an* turned into the house to get his shotgun. I told him to remember his promise to let me get the weasels alive, so he set on the fence an' watched while we got busy. " First off we plugged every hole under that barn but two, an' at each of these two we set a hoop-net. Then we. turned ol' Lucifer, the ferret, loose under the barn. Holy Smoke! afore we knowed it there was high jinks goin' on under there. Maurice had hold of one hoop an' me the other. It took ma weasel an' her boys an' girls *bout half a minute to make up their minds that ol' Lucifer wasn't payin' 'em a friendly visit. When the big scramble was over, I had a bagful of weasels an' so did Maurice. We let Lucifer prowl round a little longer to make sure we had all of 'em, then I called him out. I made Scraff give us one of his hens to feed the ferret on. Then Maurice an' me started off. " ' You think you got all of 'em, Bill? ' Scraff called. EDUCATING THE NEW BOY 125 " * All this time,' I says, an' to save my life I couldn't help laughin' at the look on his face. He knowed right then that I had put up a job on him but he couldn't figure out how." " Oh Hully Gee! " yelled Jim Scroggie, " Wasn't that corkin' Oh Mommer! An' what did you an' Maurice do with the weasels? " Billy grinned sheepishly. " We should 'a killed 'em, I s'pose," he said, " but we took 'em down to the marsh an' turned 'em loose there. Maurice said that anythin' that had done the good work them weasels had, deserved life, an' I thought so too." The twilight shadows were beginning to steal across the glade; the golden-rod of the uplands massed into indistin- guishable clumps. The silence of eventide fell soft and sweet and songless that breathless space between the forest day and darkness. Billy stood up. " You'll like it here," he said to the other boy who was watching him, a strange wonder in his eyes. " After you know it better," he added. "I'm afraid I don't fit very well yet," Scroggie an- swered. " Maybe you'll let me trail along with you some- times, Bill, and learn things? " " We'll see," said Billy and without another word turned to the dim pathway among the trees. CHAPTER XII OLD HARRY MAKES A FIND Through the dusky twilight, soft with wooaiana aews and sweet with odor of ferns and wild flowers, Billy walked slowly. For the first time in long days his heart felt at peace. The canker of loneliness that had gnawed at his spirit was there no longer. It was a pretty good old world after all. A whip-poor-will lilted its low call from a hazel copse and Billy answered it. A feeling that he wanted to visit his wild things in the upland shanty and explain to them his seeming neglect of them during his time of stress took possession of him. So, although he knew supper would be ready and waiting at home, he branched off where the path forked and hurried forward toward the oak ridge. It was almost dark when he reached the little log sugar- shanty which housed his pets. He had hidden a lantern in a hollow log against such night visits as this and he paused to draw it out and light it before proceeding to the menagerie. As he rounded the shanty, whistling softly, and anticipating how glad Spotba, Moper, the owl, and all the other wild inmates would be to see him, he paused suddenly, and the whistle died on his lips. Somebody had been snooping about his menagerie! The prop had been taken from the door. His mind traveled at once to Anse. So that meddler had been here and tried to let his pets free, had he? Apparently the chump didn 't know they each had a separate cage, or if he did he hadn't the nerve to open it. Well, 126 OLD HARRY MAKES A FIND 127 it meant that Anse had that much more to settle for with him, that was all ! Billy put his hand on the latch of the door, then stood, frozen into inaction. From the interior of the shanty had come a groan a human groan ! Billy almost dropped the lantern. A cold shiver ran down his spine. His mind flashed to Old Scroggie's ghoet. The hand that groped into his pocket in search of the rabbit-foot charm trembled so it could scarcely clasp that cherished object. What would Trigger Finger do if placed in his position 9 Billy asked himself. There was only one answer to that. He took a long breath and, picking up a heavy club, swung the door open. The feeble rays of the lantern probed the gloom and something animate, between the cages, stirred and sat up. " Harry! " gasped Billy, " Harry O'Dule! " " Ha," cried a quavering voice, " and is ut the Prince av Darkness, himself, as spakes t' me? Thin it's no fit av the delirium tremens I've had at all, at all, but dead I am and in purgatory! Oh weary me, oh weary me! Such shnakes and evil eyed burruds have I never seen before. Och! could I be given wan taste av God's blissid air and sunshine ag'in, and never more would whiskey pass me lips." Spotba, the big mottled marsh snake, sensing Billy's presence, uncoiled himself and raised his head along the screen of his cage; the brown owl hooted a low welcome that died in a hiss as Harry groaned again. ' ' Merciful hivin ! look at the eyes av that awful burrud, ' ' he wailed. " And that big shnake hissin' his poison in me very face. Take me along, Divil, take me along," he screamed. " It's no more av this I kin stand at all, at all." Billy hung the lantern on the door and bent above the 128 A SON OF COURAGE grovelling Harry. " Hey you," he said, giving the old man's shoulder a shake, " get up an* come out 'a here; I 'm not tihe devil, I 'm BiUy. ' ' " Billy," Harry held his breath and blinked his red- rimmed eyes in unbelief. " Billy, ye say? " He got up with Billy's help and stood swaying unsteadily. 4 ' You 're drunk again ! ' ' said the boy, in deep disgust. Harry wiped his lips on his sleeve and stood gazing fear- fully about him. " Do you see the shnakes and the evil- eyed burruds, Billy Bye? " he shuddered. " It's see 'em ye shurely can and hear their divil hisses." His fingers gripped the boy's arm. Billy shook him off. " Look here, Harry," he said, " You're seein' things. There ain't no snakes in here no birds neither. You come along outside with me." He grasped the Irishman by the arm and started toward the door. " Me jug," whispered Harry. " Where is that divil 's halter av a jug, Billy? " " There's your jug on its side," Billy touched, the jug with his foot, " You must've drunk it empty, Harry." " Faith, an' I did not. But ut's all the same, impty or full. Niver ag'in will ut lead me into delirium tremens, I promise ye that, although it's meself that knows where there's a plinty of whisky, so I do." Billy led him outside and turned the light of the lantern full on his face. " Harry," he said, sternly, " where are you gettin' all this whisky? " The old man started. " That's me own business," he answered shortly. "Oh." Billy took hold of his arm, " Then them snakes an' man-eatin' birds you've been seein' are your own busi- ness, too; an' since you've been ninny enough to stray into OLD HARRY MAKES A FIND 129 this shanty, I'm goin' to put you back in it an' see that you stay in it." " And fer God's sake, why? " gasped the frightened O'Dule. " That's my business," said Billy. Harry glanced behind him with a shudder. " God love you fer a good lad, Billy," he cried; " but this is no way to trate an ould frind, is ut now? " ' ' Then you best tell me where you 're gettin ' the whisky, ' ' said Billy. " But that's shure the ould man's secret, Billy," pleaded Harry. " It's not a foine chap as ye are would be wheedlin' it out av me, now ? ' ' Billy frowned. " I know that Spencer won't give you any more whisky, ' ' he said, " an ' I know the deacon won 't give you any more cider. I know that you're gettin' liquor some place an' without payin' fer it. Now you kin tell me where, er you kin stay in that shanty an' see snakes an' things all night." Harry wavered. ''And if I be tellin' ye," he com- promised, '* ye'U be givin' a promise not to pass it along, thin? Wullyenow?" ' ' Yes I promise not to tell anybody but Maurice ? ' ' " Then 111 be tellin' ye where I do be gettin' the whisky, Billy; where else but m the Tia'nted house." " WhatT " Billy could scarcely believe his ears. " May I niver glimpse the blissid blue av Ireland's skies ag'in, if I spake a lie," said Harry, earnestly. " In the ha'nted house I found ut, Billy. Wait now, and I tell ye how ut sa happened. Yell be rememberin' that night we tried to wait fer ould Soroggie's ghost an' the terrible storm eome on and split us asunder wid a flash av blue lightnim'? I was crossin' meself in thankfulness that ut 130 A SON OF COURAGE found the big elm instead av me, I was, whin I dropped me fairy charm, d'ye moind? Stay and seek fer ut I would not, wid all the powers av darkness conspirin' wid ould Scroggie ag'in me. Ut's fly I did on the wings av terror to me own cabin, an' covered up me head wid the bed- quilt, I did." " Well, go on. What's all this got to do with whisky? " ' ' Jest you wait a bit and you '11 find that out. Nixt day I go down there ag'in to look fer me charm, but find ut I did not. Then wid me little jug in me hand and me whistle in me bosom, did I strike across woods to the Twin Oaks store, there to learn av the robbery. A little bit av drink did I get from Spencer, an' takin' ut home was I when an accident I had, an' spilled ut. Well, ut was afther several days av hard toil, wid not so much as a drop left in me little jug, that one mornin' as I was .cuttin' through the lower valley fer Thompson's tater- patch, that come to me ut did I 'd search a bit fer me lost charm ag'in. " Ut was while pokin' about I was among the twigs on the ground, whisperin' a bit av witch-talk that belongs to me charm, that I discovered human foot-prints in the earth av the hollow. This I would not have thought strange a 'tall a 'tall, but the foot prints led right into the ha'nted grove. ' Bcfiobs,' thinks I, ' no ghost iver wore boots the size av them now! ' On me hands and knees I crawled forrard an' right in the edge av the grove I glimpsed eomethin', I did, beneath the ferns, somethin' that sparkled in the mornin' light like a bit av star-dust on the edge av a cloud. Thinkin ' only av me blessid charm, I crawled further in, and phwat do you suppose I picked up, Billy Bye? A bottle ut was, an' almost full av prime liquor. " Sit I there, wid God's sunlight caressin' me bare head OLD HARRY MAKES A FIND 131 and his burruds trillin' their joy at me good luck and dhrink I did. It's a mercy ut was but a small bottle, else I might have taken it back to me cabin to be finished at leisure. Instead, whin ut was all dhrunk up, I found widin me the courage to proceed further into the ha'nted grove. So I goes, an' afore I knew ut, right up to the ha'nted house I was, and inside ut." Harry paused and sat looking away, a reminiscent smile on his face. " What did you find there? " Billy's tone of impatience brought the old man out of his musing. " Whisky," he answered solemnly, " two great jugs full avut, Billy Bye." "And what else?" " Nothin' else," returned Harry. " Nuthin' else that mattered, Bye. A square box there was that I had no time to open a 'tall; but whisky! Oh, Billy Bye there ut was afore me, enough av ut to coax all the blood-suckin ' bats and snakes in hades up to mock the consumer av ut." Billy reached down and gripped the old man's arm. " You found that stuff and didn't so much as tell Spencer? " he cried indignantly. " And fer why should I tell Spencer, thin? " Harry asked, his blood-shot eyes wide in wonder. " Nobuddy told me where to find ut, did they? " " But Harry, don't you see, that stuff belongs to Caleb Spencer. The thieves must have hid it there, in the ha'nted house." " Course they did," Harry agreed. " Ut's no fool you take me fer, shurely? " " Then why didn't you tell Spencer? Don't you know them thieves will find out you've been there an' they'll hide that stuff in a new place, Harry? " 132 A SON OF COURAGE The old man laughed softly. " Wull they now? Well I guess they won't naither. It's hide ut in a new place I did, meself. They'll have a lot av trouble afindia' ut, too." " Then," cried Billy, hotly, " you're as big a thief as they are." " Hould on now! " Harry swayed up from the log, the grin gone from his face. " Ut's little did I think that Billy Wilson would be misunderstandin' me," he said, reproach- fully. " Not wan article that the box contained has been teched by me. A email bit av the whisky have I took, because it was no more than sufficient reward f er me findin ' the stuff, but the box is safe and safe ut wull be returned to Spencer whin the proper time comes." " An' when'U that be, Harry? " "Listen thin." Harry touched Billy's arm. " Ivery day since I made me discovery an' hid box and jugs in a new spot have I visited that sour-faced ould Spencer, and I've said: ' Supposin' one should discover your stolen goods, Caleb Spencer, would ye be willin' t' let what little whisky there was left go to the finder? ' " An* phwat has he said? ' Some av ut,' said he, when first I broached the question. And the nixt time I axed him he said, * Half av ut.' Nixt time only yesterday ut was he said, ' Harry, I'd be givin' two-thirds ay ut to the finder.' " Harry laughed and again touched Billy's arm. " To- night ut's go back to him I wull an' the question put to him onee more, an' this night, plase God, he wwll likely say, ' All av ut, Harry, all av ut.' " Billy, who was thinking hard, looked up at this. " But," he said sternly, " you said, only a few minutes ago, that you were done forever with whisky." OLD HARRY MAKES A FIND 133 " And begobs I meant ut too," cried Harry. " When Caleb Spencer says, ' All av ut ' to me, ut's laugh at him I wull, and tell him it's meself wants none av ut." Billy's frown vanished. " Fine, Harry, fine," he com- mended, "an' I'll go down to the store with you. Come up to the house, now, and 111 manage to sneak you. out some supper. ' ' " Plase God," murmured Harry, " but ut's meaelf '11 be glad to lave this awful spot; lead on, Billy." " Foller me then, an' remember to keep quiet," cau- tioned Billy. " But fer why should I keep quiet? Haven't I thrown off the ourse av rum ? Why should I not shout the cry av victory, Billy ? " Shout nuthin'; you keep still." " But a small bit av a ehune, Billy. A bit av a lilt on me whistle, now." " No. After I've got hold of our supper you kin lilt all you care to. Look here, Harry, you know jest how much use Ma has fer you; if she finds out you're on our place, (shell sick the dog on you. Now you do as I say." He took the path through the trees, Harry stumbling close behind, grumbling and protesting against the unkind fate that would not allow of his celebrating victory in a manner befitting a true son of Ireland. When, at length, they reached the edge of the wood, Billy stopped and pointed to a stump. " Set down there an' keep still as a mouse till I get back," he admonished. " I won't be long." " But, Billy Bye, supposin' the cold-eyed burruds an' the hissin' serpents should be returnin' to threaten me wance ag'in? " Billy's hand went down into his trouser'a pocket. 134 A SON OF COURAGE " Look,'* he comforted, "I've got my rabbit-foot charm, an' I'm goin' to draw a magic circle 'round the stump you're settin' on. No snakes, owl, ner even old Scroggie's ghost kin get inside that circle." Harry held his breath and watched him, fascinated, as he proceeded to trace the ring. ' ' Fer the love av hivin, be sure ye make both inds av the circle jine," he shivered. " Ut's a small crack a ghost kin squeeze through, I'm tellin' ye." " There you are, Harry." Billy, having completed the magic circle, stood up and put the charm back in his pocket. " Not a chink in it," he assured the old man. " Faith," sighed Harry, " ut's meself is willin' to be riskin' a little in return fer a bite to eat, fer it's fastin' long I've been an' as impty as a church, I am." "Well fix that," Billy promised, as he slipped away through the darkness toward the light which glimmered through the trees. CHAPTER XIII ERIE OP THE LIGHT-HOUSE Through the summer night, Hinter, astride a rangy roan, rode the ten mile trail that lay between the foot of Bond Eau and the light-house. On his left the giant pines stood with sharp points clearly defined against the starlight like the bayonet-fixed guns of a sleeping army; to his right swept dwarf cedars and stunted oaks and beyond them the bay marshes, with weaving fire-flies shimmering like star-dust close above them. It was a lonely trail but Hinter had ridden it often. He knew that in the shadows lurked wild things which resented his intrusion of their retreat; that later, when the night grew old, timber-wolves would voice their pro- test, and fierce-eyed lynx, tufted ears flat and fangs bared in hatred, would look down upon him from overhanging branch of tree. But behind him stalked protection in the form of two great dogs against which no wolf or cat had ever waged successful warfare. Besides, there was the heavy " 40-40 " revolver in his belt. " Two Great Danes and a ' bull-dog ' should be protec- tion enough for any man," he would laugh to Landon, the light-house keeper, when the latter shook his head doubt- fully over Hinter 's foolhardiness in riding this lone night trail. And Landon, whose asthma made talking difficult for him, would say no more, realizing that it was useless. The light-house keeper, who lived with his daughter in a comfortable house on the extreme end of the Point, had always been glad to welcome Hinter to his isolated loncli- 135 136 A SON OF COURAGE ness. With an invalid's self-centeredness, he belidred that it was to relieve the monotony of his existence that this man paid him periodical visits. He did not dream that his daughter, Erie, named after the lake, whose blue lay deep in her eyes and whose moods were of hereelf a part, was the real attraction which drew Hinter to their kome. Indeed it would have taken a much more astute observer than the man who had been keeper of the light for more than thirty years to have observed this. Never by look, word or sign had Hinter shown that in this slender, golden- haired girl, whose laughter was the sweetest note in the world this girl who could trim a sail in biting gale and swim the wide, deep channel when tempest angered it to clutching under-currents was more to him than just a glad, natural product of her world. Always his manner towards her had been one of kindly respect. In time she grew ashamed of the distrust she had on first acquaintance intuitively felt for him. He was good to her father and considerate of her. He talked interestingly of the big out- side world and described the cities he had visited. Her father liked him and always looked forward to his visits, and with a sick man's petulance grumbled if Hinter failed to come on his regular nights. " He's a fine man, Erie," he would say to his daughter, " and well off, too. I'd like to see you married to a man like Hinter before I go. Ever since your Ma diad, I've been worried about leavin' you behind." " But I am going to marry Frank, Daddy," the girl would say softly. "Hey? Oh, all right, all right. Stanhope's a fine youngster, but poor, poor." He would lapse into silence, sucking his pipe, and watch- ing Erie putting away the supper-dishes. ERIE OF THE LIGHT-HOUSE 137 "Hell never find the Scroggie will," he would speak again. " Hell always be poor." " But, Daddy," the girl would laugh, " we love each other. We are happy and real happiness is worth more than money, isn't it, dear? " " Aye," he would answer. " Your mother and I were happy in that way. But she was taken away and all I had in her place was heart loneliness but for you. ' ' Then she would Mas him softly and, stealing about her house- hold tasks, sing him to fitful sleep as she moved quietly about tke room. Tonight as Hinter rode through the pine-soented gloom the light-house keeper sat in his big chair beside the window that looked upon the lake. Spent from a trying fit of coughing, his nerves crying for the rest which was denied him, the sick man had gazed across to where the shuttle of sunset was weaving its fabric of changing colors upon sky and water. But he had not seen those glad lights; had not heard the cries of the haven-seeking gulls or the soft plaintive notes of the night birds from the Point forest. The lights had flashed and departed unseen, the wild calb had been voiced and sunk to silence unheard, because a tenderer light, which had belonged to this, his own hour, had vanished; a sweeter song than even night birds eould voice had been stilled the light in his Erie's eyes and the low notes from her glad heart. Ha kmew why. She had told him. God, Destiny, Fate, had coma between her and the man she loved. The man had lost Hieare than life in playing the part of a man. He was blind! Behind him were only memories that oould not be buried. Before him only darkness, bleakness, despair. And he had done an heroic thing in giving her up. Helpless, powerless to support her, what else was 138 A SON OF COURAGE there for him to do? So, in his love for her, he had dug a grave and in it buried Hope and all that God in His wise ordinance had allowed him to live and feel. And they had kissed and parted, kneeling beside this grave, cold lips to cold lips, broken heart to broken heart. It was the kiss on the cross which each must carry. So much had she told him, and the light had gone from her eyes, the song from her lips. The sick man sank lower in his chair, his face working, his heart crying the same pleading cry as cried the heart of Rachel of old for her children a cry understood only by the heart in which it was born and God. And so Hinter found him there before the window in the gloom, his thin hands clutching the arms of his ehair, his white face sunk on his breast. " Landon, old friend, asleep? " he asked softly. No answer. Hinter struck a match and lit the lamp on the table. Then he touched the sleeper's arm; still he did not stir. Alarmed, Hinter drew the big chair about so that the light would fall on the sick man's face. Slowly Landon opened his eyes. He struggled erect and attempted to speak, but a fit of coughing assailed him and robbed him of breath. From his pocket Hinter drew a flat bottle and poured a portion of its contents into a glass. Gently raising the emaciated form to a more comfortable position, he held the glass to the blue lips. Under the stimulant of the brandy Landon rallied. " Thanks," he whispered. Then, hospitality his first thought, he motioned towards a chair. Hinter sat down. " Worse than usual tonight, isn't it? " he asked in kindly tones. " Yes, asthma's that way eases off then comes back ERIE OF THE LIGHT-HOUSE 139 hits you sudden." He glanced at the bottle. Hinter, understanding, poured him out another portion. 1 ' It seems to be the only thing that helps, ' ' gasped Lan- don as he swallowed the draught. Hinter nodded. " Not a bad medicine if rightly used," he said. He filled his pipe, lit it, and passed the tobacco- pouch to Landon. He was watching the door leading to the inner room. " Erie out in her boat? " he asked, casually. " I don't hear her voice, or her whistle. ' ' ' ' She 's out on the bay, ' ' answered the father and lapsed again into brooding silence. Hinter waited. At length Landon roused from his mus- ings. "My heart's heavy for her," he said, "and heavy for the young man who loves her. You've heard, of course. News of the like spreads quickly. ' ' " Yes, I've heard." Hinter rose abruptly and strode to the window overlooking the bay. A full moon was lifting above the pines. In its silvery track a tiny sail was beat- ing harborward. After a time he turned and walked back slowly to where the sick man sat. " Mr. Landon," he said, gravely, " I love your daughter. "With your permission I would make her my wife. Wait, ' ' as the older man attempted to speak. ' ' Hear what I have to say. I have endeavored to be honor- able. Never by word or look have I given her to under- stand what my feelings are toward her. For Stanhope, the man who was brave and strong enough to give her up, I have always had the deepest respect ; and now, knowing the price he has paid, I honor him. He was far more worthy of your daughter than I am. But now, as all is over between them, I would do my best to make her happy. ' ' " That I know well," spoke the father eagerly. " Ever 140 A SON OF COURAGE since my clutch on life has been weakeriin' I've worried at the thought that perhaps I may leave her unprovided for. You have lifted the load, my friend. I will speak to Erie and place your proposal of marriage before her. She's a good girl; shell be guided by her father in the matter." Hinter gravely thanked him. ' ' I would advise that you say nothing for a time," he said. " She is higk-spirited, loyal to the core. She is suffering. Time will assist us ; we will wait. I shall visit you oftener than heretofore, but until I think the moment expedient say nothing to her." A light step sounded on the gravel ; the door opened and Erie entered. She was dressed in white. The damp bay- breeze had kissed the golden hair to shimmering life but there were shadows beneath the violet eyes, a dreary pathos about the unsmiling mouth. She placed a cold little hand in the eager one whiah Hin- ter extended to her and her fleeting glance left him to fastem on the sick man in the arm chair. " Daddy," she cried, running over to kneel beside him. " It was selfish of me to leave you alone." " I've had our good friend Hinter for company, girlie," said her father, stroking the damp curls. Erie flashed their visitor a look of gratitude. "It is good of you to come to him, ' ' she said. ' ' He always looks forward to your visits, and grows quite fretful if you are late." She smiled and patted the father's hand. "The east wind's bad for the cough but tomorrow yoall be as good as ever, won 't you, Daddy ? ' ' Landon did not reply. He simply pressed the girl's cold hand. Hinter caught the look of suffering in her eyes as she arose and passed into the outer room. Wheat site re- turned she carried a heavy, wicker-bound can. ** My lamps need filling," she explained. " N, please ERIE OP THE LIGHT-HOUSE 141 don't eome," as Hinter made to take the can from her, " I would rather you stayed with him. ' ' He bowed, and his eyes followed her from the room. " What a wonderful creature she is," he thought. " Hinter," Landon's weak voice broke in on his thoughts, ' ' you haven 't given me the neighborhood news. Have they found out who robbed the store yet? " v " No," answered Hinter, resuming his seat, " I believe not. Some were disposed to think that the shoremen had a hand in the robbery but I don't think so." " Why don't you? The Sand-sharkers aren't above doin' it, are they? " " Well, I don't say that they are. That job was not done by any amateurs, though. The men who broke into Spen- cer 'e store were old hands at the game. I was at the store and had a look over it. I've seen the work of professional burglars before. These fellows made a clean sweep and left not a single clew. Still, I made my own deductions. I can't tell you more until I have proved my suspicions correct. Hush ! " he warned, ' ' she's coming. I must be hit- ting the trail for the Settlement." As Hinter picked up his hat Erie entered and the light words he was about to speak died on his lips at sight of the girl's stricken face. " You are tired," he said, in deep coneern. " The work of tending the lights alone is too mueh for you. Why not let me send someone from the Set- tlement to help you, at least until your father is strong enough to take up his end of the work again? " She shook her head. " The work is not hard and I love it," she answered. " After the lights are lit I have nothing to do. Daddy's asthma will not let him sleep, so he sits in his big ehair all night and keeps his eye on the light while I sleep. Then when the sun sucks up the mists from bay 142 A SON OF COURAGE and lake he is able to get his sleep. So, you see," smiling bravely, " we get along splendidly." Hinter held out his hand. " Well, good night Miss Erie," he said. " I '11 be up again soon, with some books for you. ' ' " But you mustn't go without having a cup of tea and a bite to eat," she protested. " Please sit down and I'll have it ready in a minute." He shook his head. ' ' Not tonight, thanks. You 're tired, and I 've a long ride before me. Next time I come we '11 have tea, ' ' he promised as he turned to shake hands with Landon. " Your guardians are with you I suppose? " said Erie, as he turned to go. He laughed, " Sphinx and Dexter, you mean? Yes, they are out in the stable with my horse. By the way, they didn't see you last time we were here, and they seemed to feel pretty badly about it. Would you mind stepping out- side and speaking a word to them? " he asked. "They are very fond of you, you know." She shivered. * ' And I 'm very fond of them, only, ' ' she added as she followed him to the door, " I never know whether they want to eat me up or caress me. ' ' " You won't forget to come back again soon, Hinter? " called the sick man. " It does me a sight of good to see you and get the news from the Settlement." " I'll return soon," Hinter promised. " Don't worry about anything. A speedy recovery and good night. ' ' A full moon was veiling lake and bay in sheen of silvery whiteness as Hinter and Erie went out into the August night. Eastward the long pine covered Point swept a dark line against the grey, shadowy rush-lands. Somewhere among the hidden ponds mallards and grey ducks were quacking contentedly as they fed. A swamp coon raised his almost human cry as he crept the sandy shores in search ERIE OF THE LIGHT-HOUSE 143 of the frogs whose tanging notes boomed from the boglands. Man and girl paused for a little time on the strip of white sand to drink in the beauty of the night and the sounds of its wild life. Then Hinter stepped to the stable and opened the door. " Come boys," he commanded and the two great dogs came bounding out to leap upon him with whines of welcome, then on to where the girl stood, waiting, half eagerly, half frightened. " Gently now," Hinter cautioned, and they threw them- selves at her feet, massive heads on outstretched paws, deep-set eyes raised to her face. She bent and placed a hand on the head of each. " Surely," she said, " they are not as ferocious as they are said to be? " Hinter knit his brows. "I'm afraid they are," he an- swered. ' ' But my friends are their friends, you see. There is only one other person besides yourself and myself who can do what you are doing now, though." She looked up quickly. " And may I ask who that is? " " Certainly; it's young Billy Wilson. You know the lad who is always roaming the woods. ' ' " Yes," she said softly. " I know him perhaps better than most folks do. I am not surprised that he can han- dle these dogs, Mr. Hinter." He glanced at her closely, struck by the odd note in her voice. " He seems a manly little chap," he said. " I must get to know him better." " You may succeed," she replied, " but I'm afraid you would have to know Billy a long time to know him well." She bent and gave the dogs a farewell pat; then moved like the spirit of the moonlight to the house. " Good night," she called softly from the doorway. " Good night," he echoed. 144 A SON OF COURAGE Five minutes later he was riding the two-mile strip of sand between the light-house and the pines, the Great Danes close behind. When he reached the timber he reined in to look back over his shoulder at the tall white tower with its ever-sweeping, glowing eye. Then, with a sigh, he rode forward and passed into the darkness of the trees. Half way down the trail he dismounted and, after hitehing his horse to a tree and commanding his dogs to stand guard, plunged into the thickly-growing pines on the right ef the path. Half an hour later he came out upon the lake shore. Quickly he scraped together a pile of drift wood. He ap- plied a match to it and as fire leaped up stood frowning aeross the water. Then, as an answering light flashed from some distance out in the lake, he sighed in relief and seat- ing himself on the sand lit his pipe. After a time the sound of oars fell on his ears. A boat scraped on the feeaeh. Two men stepped from it and approached the fire. CHAPTER XIV OLD HARRY TURNS A TRICK Manriee Keeler, wan, hollow-eyed, and miserable, was seated on a stool just outside the door in the early morning sunlight. Near him sat his mother, peeling potatoes, her portly form obscured by a trailing wistaria vine. What Maurice had endured during his two weeks with the measles nobody knew but himself. His days had been lonely, filled with remorse that he had ever been born to give people trouble and care; his nights longer even than the days. Hideous nightmares had robbed him of slumber. Old Scroggie's ghoet had visited him almost nightly. The Twin Oaks robbers, ugly, hairy giants armed with red-hot pitch-forks, had bound him to a tree and applied fire to his feet. What use to struggle or cry aloud for help ? Even Billy, his dearest chum, had sat and laughed with all the mouths of his eight heads at his pain. Of course he had awakened to learn these were but dreams; but to a boy dreams are closely akin to reality. And now, after days of loneliness and nights of terror, Maurice was up again and outside where he could catch the wood-breeze and smell the sweet odor of plants and clearing fires. He wondered how many years he had been away from it alL How old was he now? Why didn't his mother answer his questions ? He did not realize that his voice was weak ; he lad forgotten that his mother was deaf. All he knew was that nobody cared a hang for him any more, not even his own mother. His weak hands clutched at the bandage at his throat, as though to tear it off and hurl it 145 146 A SON OF COURAGE from him. His head sank weakly back against ifae wall, and the tears came to his eyes. Suddenly those eyes opened wide. "Was he dreaming again or did he hear the low croak of a crow ? He twisted his head. There at his feet sat Croaker. The crow's beady eyes were fastened on him. Suspended from its neck was a cord and attached to the cord was a piece of yellow wrap- ping paper. Maurice's white face slowly expanded in a grin. He glanced in the direction of his mother, then held out his hand to the crow with a lowspoken, "Come Croaker, ol' feller." But Croaker shook his head and backed away, emitting a string of unintelligible utterances. " Come Croaker," pleaded Maurice again. But the crow was obdurate. It is barely possible that he failed to recog- nize Maurice owing to the sick boy's altered looks or per- haps he expected a glimpse of the reward which was always his for the performing of a service. With one backward look from his bright eyes, he spread his short wings and sailed across to Mrs. Keeler, settling on her shoulder with a harsh croak, whereat that greatly-startled lady sat down on the gravel, her lap full of dirty water and potatoes. What Mrs. Keeler might have done is not known, for just at this juncture a high-pitched voice came to her from the garden gate. " Get hold of him, Missus Keeler an' wring his black neck." Mrs. Keeler, who heard the voice without catching Mrs. Wilson's words, struggled up. Croaker promptly sailed over to Maurice for protection. The boy broke the string attached to the note from Billy and reaching behind him secured from a plate a scrap of the dinner he had left un- eaten. " Here Croaker," he whispered, " grab it quick. OLD HARRY TURNS A TRICK 147 Now, back you go where things are safe, ' ' and he tossed the bird into the air. Croaker flew to a tree-top and proceeded to enjoy the reward of service well rendered. Maurice glanced at the message, then hia face fell. ' ' Oh blame it all! " he muttered, " another of Bill's sign let- ters; looks like a fence that's been struck by lightnin'." The several long perpendicular lines were possibly in- tended to represent the forest, but what was meant by the two vertical lines and the crosses directly beneath them Maurice did not know. Also there was a crudely drawn cir- cle and, inside it, a small square. Maybe this was supposed to represent a hollow stump with a squirrel-trap in it, thought the perplexed Maurice. With a sigh of disgust he turned the paper over. Then his eyes brightened. Writ- ten there in Billy's cramped hand were these words and characters : 148 A SON OF COURAGE Maurice stared. So that was it! Billy and old Harry had found the goods stolen from the Twin Oaks store. There were doin's big doin's, and Billy wanted him in on 'em. He leaned over to secure a view of his mother and Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Keeler had removed her wet aprn and was now seated on the bench beside her neighbor, listening to the latest gossip. " That Jim Seroggie, the heir, has come back, an' he's rented the Stanley house," Mrs. Wilson was saying. " They say he's goin' to cut down the big woods an' sell the tim- ber. I guess he intends stayin ' right on, 'cause he brought his" housekeeper an' his two children, a boy and a girl, with him." " Is he tol'able well-to-do? " Airs. Keeler asked. " Why yes. I understand he's rich as porcupine stew," said Mrs. Wilson. * ' What he wants to come here f er, etir- rin' up trouble, is beyond all knowin'. Him an' that man Hinter they've been trampin' all over the country ex- aminin' the land, ericks an' everythin'. They met up with my man, Tom, on the road yesterday an' they stopped him. Seroggie told him any time he wanted to bore fer water he'd put in a rig an' Tom needn't pay a cent if he didn't get him a well." " Land o' Liberty! but he was generous! " cried Mrs. Keeler. " Tom said he'd think it over an' let him know. I guess he was pretty short with Scroggie, knowin' as he does that the woods an' land rightly belong to young Stanhope." " That it does," agreed Mrs. Keeler, indignantly. " An* him, poor young man, helpless through lose of Ms eyesight and all. You heard, of course, that Frank Stanhope and Erie Landon had broke their engagement ? ' ' " Yes, everybody who knows 'em both an' loves 'em both OLD HARRY TURNS A TRICK 149 has heard that. But what else could they do? He's not able to support a wife the little farm is only enough fer himself, after that Burke an' his wife are paid fer workin' it and lookin' after the house, an' he's too high- spirited to ask Erie to share his burden and poverty." Mrs. Keeler gulped and reached for her apion but recol- lecting that she had hung it up to dry, rubbed her eyes on her sleeve. " Cobin says that young man is jest about heartbroke, spite o' the smile he wears," she said. " Tries so hard to be cheerful, too, in spite of all. Preacher Rod- dick had supper with us last Sunday night an' he said the teacher was the finest specimen of Christly example he'd ever seen. ' ' Mrs. Wilson cleared her throat. " They do say that Mr. Hinter visits the light-house regular every week. Have you heard that, Missus Keeler? " " Yea, an' I'm wonderin' why? " Mrs. Wilson rose and smoothed down her skirt. " Well I wouldn't go so far as to say I know why, but I have my suspicions," she declared. "One thing I do know, it's not 'cause he 's so interested in a man sick with the asthma. ' ' Mra. Keeler looked at her sagely. " Erie would never marry any man like Hinter," she asserted. " You can't tell what a girl '11 do fer her father," said the other woman dubiously. " But there now," she broke off, " here I am visitin' away with you, jest as though there wasn't a batch of bread riz and kneaded at home, ready fer the oven. When I looked fer my bread-pans blest a one could I find. I know that Billy has lugged 'em off somewheres to use as bath-tubs fer his birds and liz- ards; so, thinks I, I'll jest run over an' ask Mrs. Keeler fer the loan of hern. ' ' " Why to be sure," rejoined her neighbor, " come right 150 A SON OF COURAGE along in an' I'll get 'em. I want you to see how nice my canned tomaters look. ' ' As they turned towards the house, Mrs. Wilson caught sight of Maurice, huddled in the big chair beneath the trailing vine. " Well, fer the land sakes alive, Maurice! " she cried. " It is good to see you up ag'in. You've had a hard pull of it, poor lad. Dear heart! but it's thinned you a lot, too! Think of any mortal boy changin' so in two short weeks." Maurice squirmed. "It seemed a lot longer than two weeks," he said faintly. " There, there," cried the big-hearted woman, " ol aonrse it did." Mrs. Keeler edged forward distrustfully. " What's that he says he's goin' to do in two weeks? " she asked, suspi- cion in her tones. " Cause if you think, young man, you be goin' to go in swimmin' ag'in, inside two weeks " she pointedly addressed Maurice, ' ' you got another think eomin '. I 'm goin ' to see that you don 't suffer no re-lapse. ' ' " I don't want to go swimmin' " wailed Maurice, " but I do want 'a walk a bit out through the woods, Ma." " No." Mrs. Keeler shook her head with finality, " I can't trust you out o' my sight. You gotta set right there where you be." " She don't know how awful lonesome it is settin' still so long," sighed Maurice, casting an appealing eye on Billy's mother. " I wisht you'd ask her to let me go as far as your place with you, Missus Wilson, ' ' he pleaded, lower- ing his voice. "Billy kin trail 'long back with me an' see I don't cut up any." " Maurice," remonstrated Mrs. Wilson, smothermg the sympathy in her heart in the clutch of duty, " it's wrong fer you to take advantage of your pore ma's deefness this way. I wouldn't send Willium back with you, amyways. OLD HARRY TURNS A TRICK 151 What devilment you wouldn't think of he certainly would. No, IT! ask your ma to let you come, but it's Anson I'll have bring yom home an ' not Willium. ' ' And with a frown and a shake of her head she followed her neighbor into the honse. Maurice waited hopefully until his mother and Mrs. Wil- son came out again. Then he turned eagerly towards them. ' ' Your Ma says you kin come, ' ' said Mrs. Wilson, * ' Pro- vidin* I don't let you near the cookie jar, and see that Anson brings you back safe." " Mind you," his mother admonished as he followed Mrs. Wilson down the path, " if you come home with wet feet into bed you go and stay 'till snow flies." When they reached the meadow-path, with the outbuild- ings between them and the watchful eyes of his mother, Maurieo removed the shawl from about his throat. " I wont be needin' it any more, now," he said in answer to his companion's frown of protest. ' ' It makes me too warm, an* tha doctor he said whatever I did I mustn't sweat." Mrg. Wilson allowed the explanation to stand. They climbed the rail fence and started to cross the stubjble-field. As they neared the long row of brown- fruited sumachs Mrs. Wilson paused and stood in a listen- ing attitude. "Say, isn't that Willium 's varmint of a erow settin' up there on that ash? " she asked, pointing to the slender tree growing among the sumachs. Maurice shook his head. " No ma'am, that ain't him," he said. " It's too big fer Croaker; it's a wild crow." "Is it! " The woman started on again, then halted abruptly. " Well, it's queer how much his voice is like William's crow. Can't you hear him mutterin' and croakim'? " 152 A SON OF COURAGE " Yep, I hear him, bnt all crows do that," Maurice hastened to explain. Then as a shrill note, half a cluck and half a whistle, sounded from the bushes, he added quickly. "That's a hen partridge callin'. That erow's tryin' to scare her off her nest, most like, so's h kiji steal the eggs." Again came the low whistle, and Maurice swayed, stag- gered and sank down on the stubble, with a faint moan. "With a cry of alarm Mrs. Wilson bent afcoTO him. * ' Maurice ! Maurice Keeler ! ' ' she gasped. ' ' Whatever is wrong? There now, I knowed you was up aad out too soon. Come along. I'm goin' to take you straight back home. ' ' " Oh please don't do that," begged Maurice. "I'm jest a little weak, that 's all. You leave me here an ' se&d Anse back to stay with me. I do so want to go over in the woods fer a little while, Missus Wilson." The woman stood frowning and considering. " Well," she said at length. " I'll go an' have Anson eoEifl fer you but you see you don't budge an inch till he comes." "No ma'am, he'll find me right here." Maurice watched her until she climbed the road fence and entered the grove inside the Wilson gate. Then he started crawling towards the sumachs. As he reached them Billy poked his head from the bushes, a grin on feis face. " Have hard work gettin' away from her, Maurwe? " he asked. " Not very. Gee! Bill, it's good to see you ag'in." " It's good to see you too, Maurice. You got my code message, didn't you? " " Yep. Have you found the stuff they stole from the store, Bill? " " You bet. Me an' old Harry know right where it is. OLD HARRY TURNS A TRICK 153 We ain't told another soul but you and teaeher Stanhope 'bout it yet, but we're goin' to soon. Come on an' I'll show you where it's buried." " I ean't," said Maurice miserably. " Your Ma 'a goin' to send Anse out to keep tabs on me. If he wasn't such a tattletale we might work it but you know him." Billy pursed up his lips in thought. ' ' Say I " he cried, " I've got it. You go on back there where you played possum, an' wait fer Anse. When he comes. he's goin' to beg a favor of you, sure as shootin'. He played a dirty trick on me not long ago an' he's been keepin' out of my way ever since. Lied to me so 's to get me to thrash a feller that licked him. I'll tell you all about it later. Anae is goin' to ask you to square it with me; he's jest that kind. You promise to get him off this time if he goes away an* leaves you by yourself. Then you come back here, see ? ' ' * ' Yes, but if he goes an ' tells your Ma, what then ? ' ' 11 But he won't. If he does she'll tan him good fer goin' off an' leavin' you by yourself. You tell him he'll have to wait around here till you get back. He'll do it, all right. There he comes through the grove now. Better crawl back to where Ma left you." Maurice dropped on all fours and started wriggling through the rough stubble, sighing in relief as he reached the desired spot. . Anson was grinning as he came up. " Kind 'a weak on the pins, eh? " he greeted, " Ma told me I was to come across here an' see you didn't get into no mischief." Maurice wanted to knock that grin off Anson 's sneering mouth, but he was in no condition to do it. Besides it was a moment for diplomacy. " Everybody seems to think I want 'a fall in a well an' get drowned, er somethin'," he grumbled. " Why do I need watchin', I'd like to know? " 154 A SON OF COUEAGE Anson chuckled, ""Well, you ain't goin' to get no okance to do any funny stunts this afternoon," he promised. "I'm here to keep an eye on you. ' ' "Which one? " Maurice asked sarcastically. " The good one er the blacked one? " Anson 's face reddened. " You needn't get funny! " he cried, angrily. ' ' Any feller 's liable to black an eye nmnin ' agin a tree, in the dark." " Or a fist in the daylight," grinned Maurice. " Well, never mind, Anse," he said consolingly, "you've got one good eye left, but somethin' tells me you won't have it long." " What you mean? " asked Anson suspiciously. "Why, I've got a hunch that somebody's layin' for you, that's all," answered Maurice. " 'Course, I may be wrong. Am I?" Anson squatted down beside Maurice. " No, by gosh! you're not so far wrong," he admitted, ruefully. " Some- body is layin' fer me, an' layin' fer me right It's Bill. Say, Maurice, won't you try an' get him to let me off this time. If you will I won't ferget it in a hurry." Maurice stood up. " Where's Bill now? " he asked. " I dunno. Down where he keeps his pets I s*poee. Why?" " Cause I'm goin' down an' find him. Ill beg you off this time, Anse, if you'll do as I say." " What you mean, do as you say? " " You're to stay here till I get back, no matter hew long I'm away." Anson considered. "An' yon promise to get BiM to let me off? " " Sure." "All right, I'll stay." OLD HARRY TURNS A TRICK 155 " Coarse, if you ain't here when I get back the bar- gain's off. Understand! " Anson nodded. " I'll be here," he promised. ' ' Bill won 't bother you none if you do what I say, ' ' said Maurice as he made for the grove. Half an hour later he and Billy approached old Harry's hut and knocked gently on tke door. Harry's voice bade them enter. They found him seated on a stool, fondling the big grey- blue eat. He placed the cat gently down as they entered. " God love ye, byes," he cried, " it's a foine pair ye are, an' no mistake; so it's sick y've been, Maurice? " "Measles," said Maurice. Harry nodded sympathetically. " Faith, ' measles are a blissin' in disguise, as are many other afflictions," he said. " Would ye relish a swate smell and the colors av God's big out av doors so much, think ye, if kept prisoner from thim ye never were? I'm thinkin' not. " Take meself," he went on, drawing his stool closer to the chairs of his young friends. "All me life have I dhrunk more er less av the cup that cheers; but I'm through now, byes, not so much either because ut's a fit av the blue divils the stuff give me but because I mane from now on to quaff the swate draft of Nature widout a bad taste in me mouth. I'm through wid whisky feriver, and ut 's Harry 'Dule, siventh son av a siventh son, so declares himself this day. Ut's out into God's blissid sunlight have I come afther bein' held prisoner by a deadlier disease than measles, me byes." The tears came to the old man's eyes as he felt the sin- cere pressure of the hands held out to him. " Begobs! but ut's a foine pair ye be," he muttered. Then aloud. " And have ye told him, Billy? " Billy nodded. 156 A SON OF COURAGE " Well, this much, more I'll be tellin' both av ye," said Harry. " Just a bit ago two strange min stopped at me cabin dnre. A rough lookin' pair they were, I'm sayin'. Says the big one av the two: 'Ould man,' says he, ' do ye know wan in these parts named Hinter? ' " " 'I know one suoh,' " sez I. " ' Then,' sez he, * wull yu do me the favor ay deliverin' a missage to him an' kin ye go now? ' says he. " ' I kin that,' says I." " 'And the message,' he says, ' this is ut: " On 9 Gib- son's Grove at tin o'clock," ' says he." " 'All right,' says I, and he put a silver dollar in me fist and wint away wid his companion. " I delivered the missage to Hinter. And whin I returned to me cabin I found everythin' in a jumble, an' no mistake. Somebody had scattered the fura on me bunk and turned everythin' upside down, they had, an' they had sought underneath the flure, too." " An' did they find it? " gasped Billy. " Begobs they did not,' grinned Harry. "And I'll be tellin' ye fer why. Only this blissid mornin', uts took the stuff from beneath me flure, I did, and hid it in a new spot." Billy sighed his relief. " Gee, but it's lucky you did," he cried- " That's the very thing Trigger Finger Tim would a' done, ain't it, Maurice? " Maurice nodded. "I'm goin' to stick along here aa help you watch the stuff, Harry. Them men 11 likely come prowlin' back here." "An' torture you, Harry," put in Billy. "Tie you to a tree an* throw knives at you till you weaken an' tell 'em where the stuff's hid. That's what they did to Trigger Finger." OLD HAERY TURNS A TRICK 157 " Faith," cried Harry, " ut's divil a bit I know con- cernin' that man Trigger Finger, but ut's small reward they'd be gettin' fer their pains if they tied me up and tried torture, an' I'll be tellin' ye fer why, byes. The stuff's gone back to Spencer. Load ut I did meself on Joe Scraff's buckboard, not more than an hour agone. The box wid the black fox skins an' two big jugs av whisky. Back I sent ut all, byes, wid the compliments av the both av ye an' me poor self. But now it'll be there, and the heart av ould Caleb '11 be beatin' two skips fer one wid jye at recoverin' all av his stolen possessions. I did right, I hope now, in sindin ' ut along back ? " he finished. " You bet you did! " cried the boys, together. Maurieo stood up. " Well, as there's no need to keep watch here, maybe I best trail along home. AnseTl be gettin' tired waitin' fer me." ' ' That won 't hurt him ; he 's always tired anyway, ' ' rejoined Billy. " But we'd best go." At the door he paused and turned toward Harry. " Where's Gibson's Grove? " he asked. Harry, who had picked up his hat and taken his tin whistle from his bosom, shook his head. " There's no seen place, I'm thinkin'," he answered. Billy frowned. " What did Hinter say when you gave him the message, Harry? " Harry chuckled. " Faith, ut's crazy he thought I was I guess," he cried. " ' Ould man,' sez he, 'somebody has been playin' a trick on ye. I know no such place as Gib- son's Grove.' Thin begobs! he laughed, like he saw the humor av ut, and had me sate meself in the shade and smoke a eigar while I risted. So I'm thinkin', byes, them min jest wanted to get rid av me the while they ransacked me hooBtt and belongin's, bad cess to 'em! " 158 A SON OF COURAGE Billy laughed. " Come along as far as the dearin' Harry," he invited, " and play us a tune that'll cheer Maurice up, will you? " " Faith, an' that I'll do," cried O'Dule. " lalt him a ehune I wull that'll make his laggin' feet dance, and his laggin' spirit look up above the slough av despond." And so down the path ridged with the bronze bars of late afternoon sunlight, they passed, Harry strutting in the lead, wrinkled face lifted, scanty white locks streaming in the breeze as he drew from his whistle a wild sweet melody. " There now," he cried, when at last the clearing was reached, and the whistle was tucked away in the bosom of his flannel shirt, " I'll be partin' wid ye now, byes, fer a spell. Over to Spencer's store I'll be goin', to glimpse the jye in his eyes, and axe him to trust me fer a few groceries I '11 be needin ' till me next allowance arrives from tke home land. And ut's no doubt I have in me mind that hell do ut gladly, fer ut's a tinder man he is at heart Mi' no mistake." CHAPTER XV BILLY'S PROBLEMS MULTIPLY Recovery of the stolen goods caused considerable excite- ment in the Settlement. For a week or so nothing else was talked of and conjecture ran rife as to why the thieves had not made off with their pillage rather than hide it in the haunted house. Harry O'Dule came in for a plenty of praise for the part he had played in finding the loot but beyond hinting that the job had been more than easy for the seventh son of a seventh son, he was reticent on the subject. That he should have returned the liquor almost intact, to the owner, was a conundrum to all who knew him, with the exception of Billy and Maurice. Billy was anything but easy in his mind during these exciting days. Who were the two strangers who had searched old Harry's hut? Were they the same two he and Maurice had seen in the woods on the night of the storm f If so, why did they send a message to Hinter, and what was its significance? Where was Gibson's Grove, anyway ? These questions bothered him, and pondering upon them robbed him of appetite and sleep. Maurice and Elgin were no help to him in a dilemma of this kind and the new boy, Jim Scroggie, he knew scarcely well enough to trust. It was, perhaps, just as well for Anson that he kept out of Billy 's way during this period. However very little that Billy did was missed by his pale blue eyes. He knew that his step-brother had visited the haunted house alone and had searched it nook and corner. For what ? He had seen 159 160 A SON OF COURAGE him fasten his rabbit-foot to a branch of a tree and dig, and dig. For what ? He wanted to find out but dared not ask. Perhaps Billy was going crazy! He acted like it. Anson made up his mind that he would confide his sus- picions in his mother. But on the very day that he had decided to pour into Mrs. Wilson's ear all the strange goings-on of his brother, Billy caught him out on a forest- path alone and, gripping him by the shoulder, threatened to conjure up by means of witchcraft at his command a seven-headed dragon with cat-fish hooks for claws who would rip his Anson 's soul to shreds if he so much as breathed to his mother one word of what he had seen, In vain Anson declared he didn't know anything to tell. Billy looked at him calmly. "You been follerin' me an' I know it/' he said. " Croaker saw you, an' so did Ringdo." Anson's mouth fell open in terror. " You don't mean " he commenced, then gulped, unable to proceed. " That Croaker's a witch? Of course he's a witch, an' so 's Ringdo. They both know exactly what you 're thinkin ', an' what you're doin'. Listen, you,", as Anse shivered. " Didn't you dream, jest t'other night, that Croaker was bendin* over you to peck your eyes out? " Anse nodded a reluctant admission. " Well, s 'pose it wasn't any dream? S'pose it was all real? An' s'pose, if I hadn't waked up in time to stop him, he'd have picked your eyes out an' put in fisheyee in their plaae? Then you couldn't see anythin' unless you was under water. An' s'pose, when I asked Croaker what he wanted to do that awful thing fer, he up an' told me that you'd been spyin' on me an' you didn r t deserve to own human eyes? I say s'pose all this. Now then, Anse, you best mind your own business an' let your mouth freeze up close, else you're goin' to have an awful time of it If BILLY'S PROBLEMS MULTIPLY 161 I get Croaker to say he won't gouge your eyes out till I give the word it 's more 'n you deserve. ' ' Hope stirred in Anson's fear ridden soul hope which Billy remorselessly killed with his next words. ' ' But I couldn 't get no promise out 'o Ringdo. He says you 're workin ' 'gainst us. ' ' " But I ain't, Bill. Cross my heart, I ain't," protested Anson. " Why should I be! " " Maybe jest 'cause you're a sneak," Billy answered, "but you're my brother an' I don't want anythin' horrible to happen to you if I kin help it. The best thing fer you to do is keep mum, an' when you see me strikin' off any- where look t'other way." " An' you 11 see that Ringdo don't bite me, Bill? " pleaded Aneon. ' ' You '11 keep him off me, won 't you ? ' ' Billy considered, " I'll try," he promised, " but it's goin' to take a whole lot of coaxin' to do it. That old witchcoon has been prowlin' down through the tamarack swale huntin' copperhead snakes for a week now, gettin' ready to do fer somebody er other." " Oh goliies! " gasped Anson. " What's he huntin' cop- perheads fer, Bill? " " Why to poison his teeth with. He's loadin' up fer somebody, sure as shootin'. Gosh! I am sorry you've been sech a fool, Anse. Jest think, one little scratch from that coon's teeth and " " Bill," Anson's voice was husky with terror. "You won't let him touch me, will you, Bill? " "I'll keep him away from you so long as you keep away from us, an' hold a close tongue in your head," Billy prom- ised. " Understan', though, it's goin' to be a mighty hard thing to do; I saw him trying the bark of that elm jest under our winder only this mornin'. He's likely aimin' to 162 A SON OP COURAGE shin up that tree an' fall on your face, most any night, so if you want your eyes an' your life you'd better do what I say." " 111 do jest as you say, Bill," Anse promised, fervently, and Billy knew that he meant it. "All right, that's a go," he said and went off to the menagerie to feed his pets. Something else was to happen shortly to make Billy feel that his world was full of mysterious agents sent for no other purpose than to give him fresh worries. That evening, as he drove the cattle down along the Causeway for water he met two teams of horses hauling loads of greasy-looking timbers and black, oily pipes. The men who drove the teams were strangers to him. Scroggie, or Heir Scroggie, as he was now commonly called in the neighborhood, sat beside the driver of one of the wagons. " He's movin' a saw-mill up into the big woods," thought Billy. " But where in the world did it come from? " he pondered as he looked after the creaking loads. He was not long to remain in doubt on that point. As he approached the lake road another load of timbers and metal rounded the corner. Two men were seated on the load, a big, broad-shouldered man and a thin one. Some little distance behind another man was walking. It was Hinter. As the load drew close to where Billy stood partly con- cealed by a clump of red willows, the driver halted his team for a rest after the pull through the heavy sand, and apparently not noticing the boy, spoke in guarded tones to his companion. " If I had only listened to you, Jack, we wouldn't have ] ^t that whisky, ' ' he said. " I was dead sure nobody would BILLY'S PROBLEMS MULTIPLY 16a go near that place. And at that we didn't find what we did the job to get, did we? It'll be just our luck to have that will turn up in time to cook our goose, yet." " Well, Tom, I reckon it's none of our funeral whether it turns up or not," growled the other. "We're gettin' paid well fer what we're doin', ain't we? If it turns up, Scroggie and the boss '11 have to do their own worryin'." The driver cracked his whip and the load went on, sway- ing and creaking as it left the soft sand for the corduroy. A little further on Billy came face to face with Hinter. " How are you, Billy ? " spoke the man, pleasantly. " Still driving the cows down to the lake for water, I see." "Yep; they don't seem to take to the crick water, "" Billy replied. " It's sort of scummy an' smells queer." Hinter laughed constrainedly. "I've been pretty well through the Settlement, and most of the creeks are like that, ' ' he replied. ' ' What do you suppose causes that scum and that peculiar odor ? " he asked, casually. The boy shook his head. ' ' I dunno ; them cricks shouldn't be that way; they're all gpring-fed. Maybe you know? " looking straight into Hinter 's eyes. " No," said Hinter, startled at the directness of look and question. " I don't know." He turned abruptly away to follow the wagons but Billy 's voice stopped him. " Mr. Hinter, where did that stuff on them wagons come from? " " Why, it belongs to Mr. Scroggie," Hinter answered. " It was brought across from Ohio by schooner. You know what it is, I suppose? " " I take it it's machinery an' stuff for a saw-mill," answered Billy moodily. " Is it? " " No. It's a couple of boring rigs, Billy. Mr. Scroggie 164 A SON OF COURAGE is going to earn the good will of all of us here by boring for water and giving us fine wells on our farms. Don't you think that is mighty good of him ? ' ' " Yes, sir. If we had a good well I wouldn't have to drive the cows down to the lake every night, like this." " That's so, Billy." Hinter laughed and slapped the lad's shoulder. " Well I'll see that he bores on your daddy's farm just as soon as he strikes water on his own. I intend to help him get started, because I think it's going to be a good thing for everybody. Besides, I know boring- rigs from bit to derrick. It's my trade, you see." Billy nodded. "An* is the schooner still anchored off here? " he asked. " I might take a fish-boat an' row out to her, if she is." ' ' No, ' ' Hinter answered. ' ' She didn 't anchor off here ; water's too shallow. She anchored off Gibson's Grove, five miles up the point. She's on her way back to Cleveland by now." He was already several paces away, anxious to overtake the wagon. Billy stood looking after him, a frown on his brow. ' ' Gibson 's Grove, ' ' he repeated. ' ' So that 's where Gibson 's Grove is ! " Then the message which the strangers had sent by old Harry might have had some significance, after all. Billy passed on slowly after his cows, up through the spicy pines to the pebbled beach of the lake, pondering for a solution to the biggest problem his young mind had ever had to wrestle with. He seated himself on the prow of the big fish-boat, his eyes on the thirsty cattle now belly-deep in the blue water, drinking their fill. Along the shore stood the big reels used for holding the seines and nets when not in use. The twine had been newly coal-tarred and the pungent odor of the tar mingled pleasingly with the breath BILLY'S PROBLEMS MULTIPLY 165 of pine and the sweet freshness of the sun-warmed water. Billy's eyes strayed to those reels and he sighed to think that the washing and retarring of the nets was just another sign that the glad summer holidays would soon be over and the drab days of fall and school would soon be there. A low-flying flock of black ducks passed over his head in flight from the lake 's bosom where they had rested through the day to the marsh feeding ground* across the point, and the shadow passed from the boy's face. After all fall had its compensations. Glorious days beneath lowering skies in a wind-whipped blind were before him ; stormy days when the ducks would sweep in to his decoys and his old " double-barrel " would take toll. If only Frank Stanhope was to be the teacher instead of that cold-eyed, mean looking Johnston. He knew he would not get along with Johnston. And school was to open on Monday. Great Scott ! The very thought made him shiver. The cows waded to shore slowly, pausing to brush the troublesome flies from bulging sides with moist noses, halt- ing to drink again and again, loath to leave this great body of cool delicious water. Billy did not hurry them. He thought he understood their feelings in the matter. It would be a long while before they would have a chance to drink again. It must be awful, he reasoned, to have to do without a drink so long. The thought made him thirsty. With his hands he scooped a hole close to the edge of the lake, and slowly the miniature well filled with milky water, which immediately cleared, and lay before him limpid and sweet and fit for king or thirsty boy. He stretched himself full length on the sand, and drank. When he arose, wiping his mouth, the cows had moved off lazily towards the Causeway. Billy did not follow at once. He did not want to miss the dance of the fire-flies above 166 A SON OF COURAGE the darkening marsh, along the Causeway, the twilight blush on the pine tips of Point Aux forest, the light-house gleam, nor the prayer-time hush of the mystery-filled rush-land. So he tarried beside the lake until the pines and cedars had melted into indistinct masses and the call of the whip-poor-will sounded faintly from far away. Then he turned homeward. As he left the pine grove for the main road he discerned a lone figure standing on the Causeway, with head lifted and turned towards the still faintly glowing west, and his footsteps quickened. " Teacher," he cried in surprise, " you here? " Prank Stanhope turned slowly and held out his hands.