“You wouldn’t know my old shack now, would you?” Si Quinn noticed the young fellow’s survey of the room. “You kin lay the hull thing ter Tally, I’ll be boun’—”
“Oh, no, no,” protested the girl, blushing. “I just—”
“Don’t I know your sly tricks? You started hit an’ did a heap besides. Not that Goose Creek folks ain’t the frien’liest, best-hearted critters in the hull mountings.”
“Just think what you’ve done for me!” cried Talitha in a low tone. “Those books and maps—I couldn’t have replaced them this fall—and that box was such a godsend! Billy’s going to see that all the children have a chance to read the books this winter. They’ll be learning a lot and the days won’t seem so long. I’ll send them a package of papers and magazines in the spring.”
“Law me, Tally, hit war little ’nough I did. I’d hev done a heap more, but I couldn’t. Hit’ll seem mighty lonesome with you-uns gone, but I’ll git some comfort thinkin’ of the chanct you’re havin’.”
The call must necessarily be a brief one. Talitha was very tired and there was a long ride before them on the morrow. But as the two rose to go the old man caught at the girl’s sleeve. “Martin, you jest g’long and bide fer Tally by the big tree. I’ve somethin’ special ter say ter her.”
Martin looked surprised, but he obeyed.
“I war told ter keep hit a secret, Tally,” said Si Quinn as the door closed behind her brother. “But I couldn’t let you go ’way a-thinkin’ I sent you thet box, fer I didn’t. I’ll trust you never ter speak of hit long as I live if I tell you. Hit war Jake Simcox—”
“Jake—!” Talitha stopped short in amazement.
“Yes, he’s repented of his folly and is turnin’ over a new leaf. He air a good piece from Goose Creek and he’s got a chanct ter work an’ go ter school. What’s more, he ’lows ter make up—some time—fer all the mischief he done. But he war sech a pore ignorunt feller—I reckon you’ve fergiven him, Tally, hit worked out a sight o’ good fer you and fer Goose Creek.”
“Yes, yes, indeed!” cried the girl, the tears in her eyes, “and I’m so glad he’s having a chance. I wish you’d tell him so.”
“’Tain’t likely I’ll ever see him agin, but he’s goin’ ter make a man of himself yit, I reckon.” The schoolmaster looked down at his favourite pupil and there was a smile on his face that softened the plain, rugged features like sunshine from within shining outwardly. Standing in the glow of the firelight with the Christmas holly and pine on shelf and wall, the twinkling candles—he had lighted in honour of his guests—the white-haired, white-bearded man seemed like the memory of an old-time Christmas that had slipped back to its mountain home for a brief renewal of past pleasures.
Talitha carried the picture away with her as she went thoughtfully down the path toward the big pine where Martin waited.
By dawn the next morning, the little party set forth for the return trip across the mountains. The four had come the distance to Goose Creek on horses and mules hired from the school farm. Talitha was mounted on Dan Gooch’s sorrel he had unselfishly lent her, her father firmly refusing to allow his one mule to be taken from the place.
“I ’low they’ll find room on the farm fer the beastie, a spell,” said Dan, anxious to show Talitha a favour. “I’m reckonin’ on gettin’ down ter Bentville myself, come spring, ter see what the school air like and what you’re doin’ thar.”
“I wish you would make us a visit, Mr. Gooch,” urged Miss Howard, “and then come back and tell the Goose Creek folks all about it and bring them to Commencement.”
“You’d never know whar ter stow ’em all,” Dan smiled broadly.
“We’ll put up some tents on the campus,” put in Gincy. “You ought to see what a splendid, big place it is with such lovely trees—”
“It’s time we were starting,” called Martin in front, and the little cavalcade moved away. The sorrel was in the rear, but the faithful old beast did his best, and Talitha resolved that on reaching Bentville he should have a well-earned rest until his master came after him.
There was a wintry chill in the air, which was not surprising at that early hour. If the sun came out it would be delightful travelling. Martin watched the sky a little anxiously while the others laughed and chatted on unheeding. At last, over the bald peak of the mountain, the sun looked down at them through a veil of mist which gradually disappeared. A cool wind was all that prevented the day from being as delightful as the previous one had been. But their progress would necessarily be slow, for the sorrel proved to have little endurance. Talitha favoured him as much as possible by keeping behind the others and slipping down occasionally to walk beside him with encouraging pats.
“We can easily get as far as Joe Bradshaw’s,” said Martin. “They’ll be looking for us about sundown.”
The gorgeous colouring of autumn had gone from the mountains, but there was still the holly with its scarlet berries, the green of the laurel, the fir, and pine, and here and there, on hickory and oak, a patch of colour where the leaves still clung.
At noon the party stopped for dinner in a hollow shielded from the wind. They spread out the eatables which they had brought in their saddlebags, on the thick, green grass. The horses and mules were tethered to graze, after being watered at a trickling rill which filtered out of the rocks close beside them.
After lingering longer than usual to give the sorrel a chance to rest, the company started on. Miss Howard looked at her watch; it was half-past one. “We’ll just about make it and that’s all,” she commented to herself cheerfully.
For some time after leaving the hollow they followed the dry bed of a stream. The rocky bottom was covered with loose stones, and now and then a small boulder jutted out from the bank. They were in shadow, for hedging them in on either side, rose the mountains thickly covered with pine. At last they left the stream bed and turned into a trail leading over the mountain. Rising above it was the ridge of still another which they must cross before the Bradshaw home could be sighted.
In the effort of guiding their animals into the trail, they did not at first notice the change in the sky until suddenly Martin, ahead, looked up. The sun had disappeared, and a grey mist clung to the tall peaks. The air had grown cold—a sudden drop of the temperature—which was an unmistakable sign of the approaching storm. He did not call out to startle those in the rear, but on reaching a small cove he turned the mule he was riding into it, and beckoned to the others. They were coming up Indian file, and one by one halted beside him—all but Talitha. Martin could see her some distance below them. Something had happened to the sorrel, for his sister had dismounted and was leading it with difficulty.
“There’s a storm coming up.” Miss Howard shivered and looked around anxiously. “It’s growing colder every minute, I do believe; I never knew such a sudden change.”
“It must have been coming on since noon only we were so sheltered we didn’t notice it,” returned Martin. “Just hold Jack and I’ll go back and help Talitha,” slipping the mule’s rein into Abner’s hand.
The sorrel clung to the trail with three feet; the fourth was evidently disabled. The animal’s ears were laid back and there was a despairing look in his eyes. Vainly Talitha tugged at the rein while she gently urged him on.
“What’s the matter?” Martin inquired.
“Well, he’s all tuckered out for one thing, then he’s got something in his foot—a sharp stone, I reckon, for he’s limped ever since he left the creek bed. Poor thing, I might have known he couldn’t stand such a jaunt.”
With difficulty Martin got down and examined the injured member. It did not take him long, with the aid of his jack-knife, to extract the offending stone, which had cut an ugly gash. “There, that feels better, doesn’t it, old fellow? Just see if you can’t step along now.” He stroked the animal’s nose coaxingly. “You’d better go ahead, Tally, and we’ll follow.” The tired sorrel plucked up courage and limped after.
When they reached the cove Abner silently pointed to the peaks on the opposite range, and Martin saw with dismay that they were nearly buried in a storm of flying snowflakes which was gradually drawing nearer. The boys’ faces whitened as their eyes met. If they had been alone it would be serious enough with the prospect of a heavy snowfall to wipe out the trail, but with Miss Howard and the girls to look after—Martin felt a shiver, which was not from the cold wind, creep over him. It was Miss Howard herself who finally spoke with a calm decision.
“Boys, have you plenty of matches?”
“Yes,” they both answered.
“And we have enough left from our lunch to make quite a respectable supper. Well, it’s perfectly useless to think of going on to-night, I can see that; the sorrel can’t endure it for one thing and the storm would overtake us before we were halfway down the mountain. We’ve got to camp out for the night—”
“But where?” inquired Talitha, looking around in bewilderment. How bleak and lonely the mountains looked, how shadowy they were growing already!
“There, there, girls, we’re not going to worry,” Miss Howard said cheerfully, noticing the troubled faces. “I’ve discovered that this is the very place where we were caught in a heavy rain storm when I was out on extension work with Professor and Mrs. Denny, and we found such a nice place to spend the night. If I’m not mistaken I can go right to it—” A snowflake struck Miss Howard’s cheek, another and another. “We haven’t any time to spare. Come on and don’t lose sight of me for a minute.”
“Wait, please, Miss Howard,” called Martin. “Tally must ride Jack and I’ll lead the sorrel.” He helped his sister mount, and then the teacher turned her horse toward the farthest side of the cove, the others following. Martin saw one rider after another disappear, for the moment, over the edge of the slope as though they had mysteriously slipped from sight. He went on with a shamefaced feeling that he was not the one to find shelter for the little company—he was older than Abner. But as well as he knew the caves and passages around Goose Creek, these were strange to him; he had never once thought of the possibility of some time needing shelter among them. Although there was no way to help himself he felt very uncomfortable. He pulled his hat brim low to shade his eyes—the snow was coming faster—and watched the last of the straggling line that in spite of his efforts was getting farther and farther away, winding down around huge boulders and clusters of laurel and pine. Miss Howard had been the first to vanish, now Talitha on the submissive Jack was also out of sight. He urged his reluctant beast forward, several times nearly missing his footing.
Miss Howard had not been mistaken. As her friends said, her bump of location was well developed. Just as the dusk and the storm were closing down upon them, she led her followers into a narrow passageway between rocky walls, and stopped at the large, black mouth of a cave.
“Here we are,” she called back. “Where are your matches? I’d like to see if the place is already inhabited.”
“I have some.” Abner sprang to the ground, handed the mule’s rein to Talitha, and came to the teacher’s side.
“Feel on the ground just inside the cave and find me some dry twigs or splinters, if you can; we must be careful of the matches.”
The boy fumbled about on his knees for a moment. “Here are some and they feel real tinder-y, too. Let me go ahead.” Abner struck a match and applied it carefully to the pine twigs he had bunched. It made a fine torch, revealing what at first appeared to be a small cave, but which gradually widened as they went on to one of considerable dimensions.
Several times the boy stopped to renew his torch. Fortunately there was plenty of material—a litter of pine, balsam, and fir boughs, as though the place had been recently occupied. There were no signs of the presence of wild animals as the young woman had secretly feared, but suddenly Abner stopped in astonishment. He instantly recognized the dark object at the farther end of the cave and shivered, remembering certain events of his boyhood days.
“It’s only an old still that’s been there for years,” reassured Miss Howard, failing to understand. She slipped from her horse. “Now we must have a fire the very first thing. That’s the place,” pointing to what seemed a natural fireplace in the rocky wall where lay a heap of ashes. “There’s a kind of chimney above it, so we won’t be smoked out.”
“Why, there’s a fine bed of coals!” Abner presently exclaimed, uncovering them.
“That’s fortunate; it’ll be such a saving of matches. I think we can pick up plenty of stuff to make a good fire, then we must go out and forage for enough to last through the night.” Miss Howard seemed as cheerful and matter-of-fact as though she were in her own home, while in reality she was much perplexed at the unmistakable evidences that the place had, very recently, been inhabited. It was much too late in the season for surveyors, or parties in search of botanical or geological specimens. They might have been hunters lured to the mountains by the unusually pleasant weather and the prospect of returning with a full game bag. She tried to think of the latter possibility; at any rate the young people’s suspicions must not be aroused.
In a few moments Abner and Gincy had a brisk fire burning. Talitha was feeding the horses and mules some corn she found in the saddlebags. “They’ll have a pretty slim supper, I’m afraid, and they’re so hungry—I wonder why Martin doesn’t come,” she broke off, looking anxiously toward the entrance. “Do you suppose he could have missed the way?”
“I think more likely the sorrel is having a hard time to get along,” said her teacher. “But if he isn’t here soon Abner and I will go to meet him.”
The glow of the fire lighted the cave, and the young woman glanced around with apparent carelessness, but her eyes were keen and watchful. Behind the old still she picked up a man’s coat. It had not lain there long, for it was only slightly damp and no musty smell clung to it. She quietly tucked it into a niche of the wall. Over by the fire the girls were examining the contents of the saddlebags in an effort to eke out a respectable supper. “I wish I hadn’t eaten so much at noon,” she heard Gincy say. “I didn’t need it and I feel just as hungry as though I hadn’t had a bite of breakfast or dinner, either.”
Miss Howard did not allow herself to think of the consequences should they find themselves hemmed in by snowdrifts the next morning, but she was again reminded that Martin had not yet appeared. Something must be done immediately. She hurried over to the young people, and with their help two large torches were made. One was lighted. “We may not need the other, but we’ll keep it for an emergency,” she said. “Stay right here and don’t worry; we’ll be back soon.” Miss Howard and Abner hurried out of the cave.
How dark it had grown! The young woman was startled as, with torch held aloft, she peered out at the end of the passageway. There were no signs of Martin anywhere.
“You’d better call to him,” she said to Abner.
“Halloo! halloo!” the lad repeated again and again, and then they both listened. The echoes died away in the hollows of the great hills, but no answering call came back to them.
Martin saw the last of his party through a cloud of whirling flakes. He followed as fast as the lame and now nearly exhausted horse would allow him, but not a trace of them was again visible. Even the tracks of the animals were obliterated by the fast falling snow. He did not lose courage, however, although the trail itself grew fainter and fainter in the deepening twilight. But finally his steps grew more halting and doubtful; twice he barely saved himself from slipping over a rocky ledge. At last he paused in bewilderment.
Shading his eyes with both hands he looked around. He could not see two rods before him. Which way should he go? Where had the little company disappeared? He hated to call and bring Miss Howard back to show him the way—or perhaps she would send Abner. At any rate he must have help as soon as possible, and lifting up his voice he shouted with all the strength of his lungs, then waited in vain for some reply. The old horse whinnied inquiringly and rubbed his cold nose against Martin’s shoulder. It brought the young fellow’s grievance to mind afresh. If his father had not refused to let Talitha ride Cain—a biddable young mule—although there would be no work for the animal until spring, he would not be in this plight; the whole party could have made much faster progress and perhaps have reached the Bradshaw place in spite of the storm. But there was no time for bitter reflection; he must keep moving. Evidently his companions were already beyond the sound of his voice—call as he might.
In that partially sheltered place he could feel the air growing colder—a wind swept through the pines above his head and sent down light clouds of snow. Martin shivered helplessly, then in despair made a plunge forward, the sorrel stumbled after; both slipped—it was a misstep—and went down, down, the young fellow still clinging to the bridle with one hand while the other caught at bush and sapling to break his fall. Every moment he expected the horse would descend upon him. It was so close he could hear its frightened snorts as it crashed downward.
Martin’s head grew dizzy, a weird light whirled before him; strange cries echoed in his ears, and he felt numb in a helpless fright. Then he suddenly stopped with a jolt and jar that opened his eyes. Still that glow, brighter than ever, was before them.
“Lands!” shouted a voice, “be careful or that critter’ll tromp on you!”
“Why, the poor boy, he must have slipped over the bank and the horse after him. It’s a miracle they were not killed!”
Martin tried to speak, but he was too dazed to put the words together.
“Abner, see if he’s hurt anywhere. I do hope there are no bones broken. We shouldn’t have let him get so far behind,” Miss Howard was reproaching herself severely.
“I reckon he’s stunned more than anything else,” decided Abner wisely, after helping Martin to his feet and brushing off the snow. “But if the sorrel ain’t used up it’ll be a wonder. He air too old fer such servigrous exercise.”
Although the animal floundered about excitedly, his fright was partly due to the flaming torch which Miss Howard held above her head. Abner soon quieted the frantic creature. They were near the passageway leading to the cave and shielded from the fury of the storm.
“Soon as you can, fasten your horse to that pine and help me get Martin in by the fire; we’ll come back after it shortly.”
Together, the two helped the young fellow along the passageway. The torch had suddenly flickered out, but a pale light showed the entrance to the cave. Two heads were thrust anxiously out, then the watchers ran to meet them.
“Is Martin hurt?” exclaimed Talitha as she caught hold of him.
“I don’t really think so,” assured her teacher, “but he must be chilled through. We must get him in by the fire—not too close—and rub him well. I wish he had something hot to drink.”
Gradually Martin came to himself, although he seemed much exhausted. He lay propped up near the fire, the girls hovering over him while Miss Howard and Abner again disappeared. Presently they returned with the sorrel.
Except for numerous bruises and being badly shaken up, the old horse had escaped injury, but it was plainly evident that he would not be able to carry Talitha farther on her journey.
None of the party were thinking of that now, they were too thankful to be together once more. Fortunately the cave was large enough to allow of the animals being tethered near the entrance and leave room about the fireplace for their riders to spread the scanty supper. It was meagre enough, and the party thought hungrily of the bountiful dinner they had eaten that noon—it seemed like yesterday. If the weather permitted them to go on the next morning there would be several hours’ journey before they could get anything more to eat, and if they were obliged to stay longer— That was too serious to think about and they tried to help Miss Howard make as light of the situation as possible.
“I saved an ear of corn for the sorrel,” whispered Talitha to Abner. “It’s in Jack’s saddlebag.” It was terribly hard to see the faithful animals nosing about on the ground for a bit of provender—much worse than going without herself, Talitha thought. Abner nodded and slipped away. After a time he returned with an armful of sticks and threw them down before the fire.
“I can easily find enough to last through the night, and perhaps I can get a little fodder if I look around. It doesn’t seem to be snowing quite so much, but I can hardly tell, it’s so sheltered here,” he said, choosing some dry pine for another torch.
“If you are going to start out foraging I’m going with you,” Miss Howard declared. “I don’t want any more people getting lost. I’m sure that Martin wouldn’t care to repeat his experience.”
The young fellow shook his head. “I’ll be all right come morning, though,” he announced confidently.
“Let us go along and help Abner, then we can get all that is needed in two or three trips,” begged Gincy.
The young woman hesitated. “I don’t know but it might be a good plan,” she answered finally. “But Martin must stay right where he is and try to get rested.”
Miss Howard halted at the entrance to the passageway, holding the torch aloft and keeping a sharp eye on her charges. She might have been Liberty enlightening the mountains as she stood there—the light flaming out over the white slopes beyond. The snow was still falling upon them, but in more scattering flakes as though the storm had spent its force.
Suddenly, she saw—with a start—little gleams of light flash far upon the opposite mountain-side. They vanished and again appeared in another place as though people—there were certainly more than one—were moving about. She thought of the coat she had found in the cave, and her old anxiety returned. Talitha and Gincy coming up—their arms heaped with firewood—wondered at her pale face.
“I reckon you’re plumb tuckered out,” said the latter sympathizingly. “My, what a pile Abner’s got! Don’t you ’low it’ll do us to-night if we’re careful?”
The teacher surveyed it with doubt, but she only said calmly, “I’m sure it will last a long time, and if we should need any more it can be easily gathered.”
“If I only had a hatchet I could get some big sticks down in that holler,” panted Abner. “I picked up a little green stuff for the beastes to nibble at, it’ll make ’em more content, but it’s mighty poor feedin’.”
Entering the cave they found Martin asleep by the fire. Quietly they moved about, making themselves comfortable as possible for the night and were soon dozing around the fireplace.
Miss Howard did not allow her eyes to close. She watched and listened, alert to catch any unusual sound, while the young people around her slept fitfully.
Late in the night she heard voices, then a wild shout and the crunching of hoofs in the snow. The mules did not stir, but the horses became restless and one of them whinnied. The sleepers awoke suddenly and sat up. Miss Howard looked at her watch, it was nearly twelve o’clock. She smiled at them sleepily.
“Don’t you want to sing something?” she inquired. “Perhaps the night won’t seem so long if we do.”
Talitha rubbed her eyes. It was a strange request at that late hour and in such a place, but she cheerfully joined in with the others when her teacher began the old choral so familiar to Bentville pupils:
“A mighty fortress is our God,
A bulwark never failing—”
The strong, young voices filled the cave with strange echoes which penetrated into the night. The singers caught the spirit of the song as they went on and on. All their fears for the morrow had vanished. The dumb creatures looked around at them in astonishment.
Miss Howard was keeping her eyes on the entrance as she sang. Over the animals’ heads she could see a light coming along the passageway. It grew brighter and brighter as it neared the cave opening. Her charges did not see it; Martin was singing with closed eyes, and the two girls were watching Abner pile fresh sticks upon the fire. She knew how superstitious were the mountain people, especially the lawless ones who were fugitives from justice because of their propensity for appropriating their neighbours’ horses and cattle. Was it possible that after all her little party was to be molested?
As the last note died away, a man’s head, covered with a coonskin cap, was thrust inside and then as suddenly withdrawn. “Come on, Joe, Gid, here they are safe and sound!” shouted a bluff voice, and the Bradshaws—father and sons—hurried into the cave.
With delighted shouts the wayfarers gathered around them.
“We’ve been beatin’ ’bout these here mountings sence nine o’clock,” said the older man, “and we war jest ready ter give up when we heard the singin’. Hit war powerful deceivin’ at first—a-comin’ up out’n the ground that-away, till I ’lowed you war nowhar but in that old still cave.”
“Then it was the light from your lanterns I saw when the young people were gathering the firewood. Didn’t you see my torch?”
Joe Bradshaw laughed while his father and brother looked sheepish. “Yes, we did see it, but Pappy and Gid ’lowed it was a harnt. At first it looked like a fire from where we were, and then it disappeared so suddenly it really was mystifying.”
“’Twas the singin’ thet fetched us,” persisted the elder Bradshaw. “We’d been expectin’ you sence before sundown, and when hit went on nine o’clock and war dark and snowy I ’lowed you war lost and we jest set out ter sarch. Thar war a passel o’ hoss thieves in these parts a leetle spell back, and we ’lowed, too, thet mebbe they’d got a holt of your beastes and left you ter foot hit. Thet’s the reason we didn’t sarch here fust thing. This has been the place ter find sech as them, and we warn’t nowise anxious ter make their ’quaintance.”
“Gid has some corn in the saddlebags for the beastes,” said Joe, “and I have something for your supper that mother sent. You must be nearly starved.”
But Talitha agreed with her teacher that it would be better to wait until morning and have a hearty meal before continuing their journey. Relieved of the necessity for watchfulness, Miss Howard was soon asleep. After talking a little longer her charges followed suit while the Bradshaws kept careful guard.
It was later than usual when the little company breakfasted the next morning. There was no finer cook in all the mountains than Mrs. Bradshaw. A large loaf of light bread and a bag of crullers were a welcome addition to the potatoes Joe had put roasting in the ashes at an early hour, and the bacon, eggs, and coffee served in true camp fashion. As they ate they could hear the melting snow dripping from the rocks. The sun was shining and sent splashes of light into the passageway. They could not be otherwise than merry, although they listened with a shiver to Martin’s account of his experience the previous night.
“It seemed as though I slipped miles—that I should never get to the foot of this awful mountain. And I could hear the old sorrel tearing along after me. Every minute I expected he’d land on top and I’d be crushed to a pulp—”
“But he didn’t,” Abner chimed in. “The old beastie is sure ’nough game. I’ve seen him slide down into the holler from Red Mountain when it was icy, and he just put his legs together stiff and slipped along as slick as—”
“You’d better ride my hoss critter the rest of the way,” Gid offered with true mountain hospitality. “I’ll lead the sorrel home and keep him ’til he’s called fer—thar’s ’nough stable room.”
Talitha felt as grateful for this proposal as Abner and Gincy could possibly have done, for she knew the animal would have the best of care and a long rest. Dan Gooch would not be able to come for him until spring opened.
Before leaving the cave Miss Howard brought out the coat she had tucked away. The elder Bradshaw examined it closely, while the others watched his face, which wore a mysterious expression. “I’d best pack hit ’long with me,” he said presently. “I might happen on the owner; I reckon he war in haste ter git away or he’d never left sech as this behind in the ol’ still cave. I call hit downright onlucky.”
“I never knew before there was a still in these parts,” said Martin. “I thought it was over by Pigg Branch.”
“Mebbe you’ll find one thar now if you’ll take the resk of sarchin’ fer hit, but this here one war put out o’ business a cornsiderable spell back.” The man chuckled with such evident amusement that all but Miss Howard and his two sons stared in surprise.
“I think you’d better tell them,” urged the former, “it is a very interesting story.”
“My mam war sure ’nough peart,” grinned the old man. “Lish Dumley kep’ this still when I war ’bout Joe’s age, and pap and I uster come up and call on him oftener’n war fer our good. Hit made mam mighty sober-sided, but we never paid no ’tention ter anythin’ she said. One day she tuk hit inter her head ter go ter the Gap ter see Lizy Sneed-they war gals tergether—and left pappy and me ter tend the young-uns.
“That night this ol’ still war raided and Lish Dumley and his men caught red-handed. Hit’s the last they seen of the mountings fer many a year, ’cept mebbe what they could view through the bars.”
“I ’low your mammy was mightily pleasured to have the stillin’ stopped,” said Gincy innocently.
Mr. Bradshaw smiled broadly. “Law, yes. When mam undertook a thing hit war good as done. She never said nothin’ ter nobody, but the sheriff let hit leak out; he war thet pleased mam war so gritty. Pappy ’lowed Dumley’d burn our cabin once he got out’n the pen, but I reckon he war too broken-sperited ter take revenge thet’d only shut him up agin.”
“I ’low our mammy’d do the same thing if thet still war a-runnin’ now,” said Gid proudly. “She air mighty servigrous when hit comes ter whiskey and sech, and pappy air jest as set agin hit, too.”
The little party looked with a new interest around the cave, and at the dark silent object which the sheriff and his men had wrecked that it do no more harm. If it only had a voice how many strange tales it could tell them.
Out on the trail once more with the sun shining above their heads, they made more rapid progress than the day previous. Gid was far in the rear leading the sorrel. Not more than a quarter of a mile from the cave, Mr. Bradshaw, who was ahead, stopped suddenly. As the rest of the party came up he pointed into a sheltered hollow shut in by rocky walls.
“See whar those fellers stopped last night. Hit’s a wonder they didn’t rout you out of thet cave and take your beastes.” A heap of ashes and the much trodden earth showed where the desperadoes had camped. Gincy and Talitha were pale with fright. How near they had been to danger after all!
Because of their late start, the party did not reach the Bradshaw home until nearly noon.
“I ’lowed you’d come,” Mrs. Bradshaw declared. “The boys and their pappy generally gits what they go after. Only I reckoned they might hev fetched along a couple or so of them hoss thieves, the sheriff and his men hev been a-sarchin’ fer, seein’ thar war sech a comp’ny of you,” she added.
“I hev found whar they war last night,” exclaimed Pappy Bradshaw triumphantly. “And I hev somethin’ ter remember the leader of the gang. He may be a-callin’ fer hit some day.” The man chuckled loudly to himself, but Miss Howard instantly changed the subject.
In good season the next morning the party were once more on their way and reached Bentville early that evening.
Spring came on apace. There was a lingering perfume from the apple blossoms in the air when Lalla proposed a walking party. “We’ll go to the Crater, have our supper, and come back by moonlight. Miss Howard’s going with us—isn’t it grand?”
“Splendid!” said Gincy. “I reckon Miss Howard’s planning to let some one else inspect the rooms and hall this afternoon; she knows I can’t squeeze in another thing and go. I’m worn out already trying to plan for my work, and lessons, and music.”
“That’s all arranged,” said Lalla, “we’re to start promptly from the front steps at two o’clock. I’ll help you put away the towels; I’m all ready this minute!”
Gincy looked at Lalla’s short, brown skirt and percale waist as she was counting the sheets. “Well,” she said at last, “I don’t believe I’ve a thing to wear—climbing’s terribly hard on clothes.”
“I’ve another old skirt you’re welcome to; it’s a fright, though.”
“Bring her along, I’ll be plumb tickled to improve her looks,” agreed Gincy gaily.
Lalla ran off and soon reappeared with a bright homespun. “That’s what I wore for the first three months. I thought it was pretty then; I never saw such a thing to wear, you can’t tear it to save your life!”
“I’ll be a regular beacon light, we won’t need the moon coming back,” said Gincy as she flew around to finish her morning’s work. “I’ll put a twist of red ribbon around Abner’s old hat. I’ve a piece that’s almost a match.”
When the four girls gathered on the front porch of the Hall, there sat Miss Howard with her folding easel and box of paints. “Girls,” she said, “suppose we change our minds and go to Slate Lick this afternoon, then I can do some sketching.”
“Good!” exclaimed Gincy delightedly. “I haven’t been out that way at all.”
“It’s mighty pretty, and not so hard walking,” said Kizzie, and the rest seemed equally pleased with the change.
“We’ll go down Scafflecane Pike and cut across to the railroad, it’s a good deal shorter.” Miss Howard gathered up her belongings and started off ahead at a brisk pace. At the gate they met Mallie and Nancy Jane, the latter had been crying.
“Let’s ask them to go with us,” said Miss Howard, turning suddenly. There was a brief consultation behind the cypresses, then Lalla sped back after the two.
“Tell them to come just as they are!” called Urilla. “Thank goodness, they aren’t dressed up.”
“What a queer looking bundle,” remarked Mallie as the two joined the waiting group.
“Isn’t it?” responded Gincy, patting a bulky parcel. “Shooting irons come handy whar thar air dangerous animals,” relapsing into her former vocabulary.
Nancy Jane brightened visibly. “I’m glad some one feels funny; I’ve been too homesick for anything all day. I haven’t had a letter this week.”
“You’ll get one on the evening mail,” Gincy assured her. “No news, good news. I belong to the Don’t Worry Club; you’d better join.”
“Guess I will. I’ve got to scratch around and find out about a lot of new birds before I see Professor Lewis again. I don’t know any, for sure, except robins and buzzards. This will be a good time to get information.”
There was a general laugh in which Nancy Jane joined, her sorrows for the moment occupying the background. They filed down the long, straight road and crossed Silver Creek. There was a substantial bridge—built for high water—but Lalla and Mallie preferred the rickety foot-bridge farther down which trembled at every slight bit of weight imposed upon it. Miss Howard watched rather anxiously, but was soon reassured. They reached the farther end safely and started off across the fields toward the railroad.
The foothills seemed a vast, undulating semicircle. One bold knob higher than the rest, with precipitous sides patched with pines, stood out with more importance; but it lacked their allurement of tender colouring.
Straight into the heart of the range, the railroad cut its way, and a long, creeping freight train trailed by just as they turned to follow the track. A shower of cinders deluged Mallie and Lalla; they wheeled and walked backward until Gincy and Kizzie caught up. Nancy Jane panted close behind.
“I’ve got a monster in my eye!” moaned Mallie, plucking at the offender. Her efforts were vain, and each girl, in turn, was rewarded in the same way. Urilla and Miss Howard, far in the rear, were talking too earnestly to make much progress, or notice the group ahead.
“I’m so glad your mother’s better,” the teacher was saying. “I know you want to stay, and we can’t spare such girls as you very well.”
Urilla’s face beamed. “Oh, Miss Howard, do you really mean it? I feel that I’m improving, I was so stupid at first—now I can see through things better. Gincy’s helped me, she’s always saying something nice and encouraging.”
“Gincy’s a treasure!” said Miss Howard warmly. “But where are the girls, they were on the track a minute ago?”
Another train thundered by. “I wish they wouldn’t keep so far ahead, that’s the 3:15, and it goes like lightning when it’s making up time,” Urilla remarked uneasily.
They hurried along, scanning each clump of bushes and stack of grain, but no one was visible. “They couldn’t have gone in here!” exclaimed Miss Howard, looking at a little weather beaten cabin very near the track. Then she listened. Yes, there were voices that sounded familiar. Through the half-open door, the two caught glimpses of Gincy’s bright skirt and gay hat.
“I wonder what they’re doing, and why we didn’t see them when they turned off the track,” said Urilla as they opened a rickety gate and went into the yard. “What a dreadful place to live!”
Miss Howard agreed as she looked at the forlorn and desolate little cabin with not one home-like feature; even the yard was bare and wind-swept.
“Why, there’s Talitha!”
“What?” The two pushed up eagerly.
“Mrs. Donnelly told me this morning she had gone to see some of her kinfolk, but I didn’t know they lived here,” said Urilla, looking curiously at the bare little cabin.
Standing just inside the door, the missing girls were talking to Talitha, who, with her dress pinned up around her and a towel over her head, was busy cleaning. Three small children played near the fireplace, and beyond, propped upon an old pillow, her bright eyes watching the newcomer, was the tiniest woman they had ever seen.
“Have you had measles?” asked Talitha, waving her broom at them. “If you haven’t, stay out.”
“Of course,” answered Urilla scornfully, “years ago; but I don’t see any.”
Another wave directed them to a small bed near a darkened window. Two flushed faces peered above a ragged quilt.
“Why!” gasped Urilla, taking in the situation. “But how did you know? I thought—”
Miss Howard suddenly interrupted with, “This must be Mrs. Gantley. I intended to find you yesterday, but I thought you lived on the Big Hill pike. Are you feeling better?”
The little woman shifted her position slightly, a shadow of a smile flitting across her face. “Yes, since Tally came I’m easier in my mind. The children ain’t bad sick—jest feverish and powerful troublesome; I couldn’t keep ’em from ketchin’ cold no way, out o’ bed.”
Gincy and Talitha were having a quiet conference in another part of the room. “I found out this morning that she’s kin on mother’s side—way back,” said the latter in a low voice. “They used to live in Cowbell Hollow, but he ran away and left them a month ago.”
Talitha looked unutterable things as she referred to the recreant Mr. Gantley. Accustomed as she was to the delinquencies of the mountain men, the desertion of a helpless family seemed the blackest of crimes. She glanced meaningly in the direction of a large basket in the corner, and whispered, “They were almost starving. Martin helped me or I couldn’t have got it here—Mrs. Donnelly gave me so many things, but—”
“See here,” said Gincy, slipping an arm around Talitha’s waist, “I’m going to stay and help; I can go for a walk any Saturday. We’ll scrub the children, gather wood, and cook. Won’t it be fun!”
“Are you sure you want to?” asked Talitha, her tired face brightening.
“Of course; the rest can trot along just the same.”
“Dear me,” grumbled Lalla as they proceeded without Gincy, “I’d like to get hold of that man. Do you know anything about the family, Miss Howard?”
“Not much, only he’s fond of moonshine. He sold the home about three weeks ago—told her he was getting ready to come to Bentville, where there was a good school for the children. When she found that he had really gone, she thought he might be here and followed him.” Miss Howard walked on with her head held high; she did not want the girls to read in her face the fulness of disgust which she felt for a man of that type. There were others like him whose sons and daughters were working their way through school, trying to redeem the family name and become worthy citizens.
“It’s a shame!” said Mallie. “They ought to catch him and make him work good and hard—beat him if he didn’t—and give all his wages to his folks. I’d teach him to run away from those pretty children, and—”
“There isn’t a chair in the house,” interrupted Nancy Jane, “and I didn’t see a dish. That poor woman might just as well chase a Bushy tail; she’ll never see him again—not until the children grow up, then he’ll come back and live on them.”
“I should be glad to get rid of him,” said Urilla conclusively. “I’ve seen men like that before.”
There was silence for a moment, and the group became more widely scattered. Lalla forged straight ahead until she was several rods in advance. She scanned the great slate boulders on either side and listened. There were voices, familiar ones, then all was quiet. Everywhere the foothills hemmed them in. Suddenly a rock crashed in front of her. Looking up she saw Abner’s shock of light hair as, flat on his stomach, he peered over the edge of the cliff. The head disappeared and an improvised mask took its place.
“Halt!” commanded a muffled voice which closely resembled Martin’s. Lalla threw up her hands in mock fright. “Come around behind that pine tree, we’re laying for some of our crowd. There’s something in the wind to-day, for Raphael Sloan and Joe Bradshaw sneaked off without letting us know—dropped out all of a sudden. Keep your eye peeled for them, won’t you? Likely they’re up at the springs.”
“Don’t let the rest know we’re here,” warned Abner, peering over Martin’s shoulder, “it might spoil the fun.”
“I guess not,” agreed Lalla with her old love for a joke. “Go ahead and have your fun; but what if they go back the other way?”
“You mustn’t let ’em. Think up some scheme; you can do it.” Both heads disappeared as Nancy Jane’s voice was borne to them from below.
Lalla picked a few violets and walked on carelessly, looking up at the mountains on the opposite side. “Hurry up or we’ll never get there!” she called back, waving her flowers; “there’ll be heaps of these at Slate Lick.”
The gorge widened. A trickling, shallow stream crept through the bed. The foothills seemed suddenly to have become mountains and surrounded them, making a basin-like valley. On the opposite side, sheltered by walnuts, stood a few deserted houses and a building which seemed halfway between a store and a peanut stand.
“There’s quite a colony here in summer,” said Miss Howard, when at last they stood in front of the spring house and fitted the long key into the padlock. “The sulphur water calls them, and the view. Isn’t it beautiful! I want to get the Knob painted in while the haze is over it. You young folks run along and do your climbing; I’ll whistle for you when it’s time to go back.”
“If Talitha and Gincy were only here!” sighed Kizzie after the first long climb. Together they stood panting for breath and watched the scene below.
“Where’s Lalla? She beats everything for disappearing right before one’s eyes,” Nancy Jane frowned.
“Couldn’t lose her though, that’s the beauty of it,” remarked Urilla as they looked around behind the trees and boulders. Below, Miss Howard sat intent upon her canvas. A tinkling cowbell was the only sound which greeted their ears. “I’m for going on. It’s one of Lalla’s tricks; she’s a good deal nearer than we think—probably laughing at us this minute.”
But Lalla, when she dropped behind the rest, had taken a trail leading off to the left. She was sure that it came back to the main trail again, and it would give her a splendid opportunity to pop out and surprise them. She soon found that it led around an immense boulder, that it was steep, and grew steeper. As she paused quite breathless, the sound of men’s voices came from behind the rock.
A clump of small evergreens made a convenient hiding-place; behind them Lalla listened. She was not in the least alarmed, only curious. The voices grew louder, one of them seemed to be chanting or reciting something; it was hard to tell which. Lalla stole out a little farther and crouched close to the rock, listening breathlessly.
“Louder, Raf, so I can hear you at this distance.” Lalla fancied she could have touched Joe Bradshaw had not the rock projected a thin edge between them. She sank noiselessly into a bed of tall ferns. So here were the truants! Martin and Abner should hear about them; she would jump out and give Joe the scare of his life.
On and on went the voices, the nearer one correcting and halting the speaker from time to time.
Lalla listened intently; her eyes grew larger. What was Raphael saying! She sat perfectly rigid as the truth flashed upon her. It was his speech for the Mountain Congress, and he was to speak against Abner. No wonder they stole away from the boys.
For some minutes Lalla sat undecided. Raphael Sloan was a formidable opponent, and Abner new at the business of debating. If she could only give the latter a hint—she wouldn’t tell right out. How proud Gincy would be to have her brother win the debate. Her heart beat fast and she listened as she had never listened before; not a word must be lost and she must not be discovered now for the world!
“You’ll have to be ready for the rebuttal; they’ll get you on that point—Abner’s working like a tiger.” And then there was an audible movement on the other side of the boulder which made Lalla’s heart beat like a trip-hammer. To her infinite relief, Raphael Sloan moved on up the trail and Joe after him. She could hear their voices growing fainter and fainter each moment.
Cautiously she slipped from her hiding-place and retraced her steps to a point lower down. There was a way to cut across the other trail, but it was through blackberry bushes, wild grapevines, and a tangle of underbrush. Lalla did not hesitate, however; slipping and sliding, she fairly rushed forward, not stopping for scratches nor even bruises. From the thicket she suddenly emerged into a small opening—hardly a clearing—in which was a tiny shack of logs. To all appearances it was deserted, but Lalla decided to avoid it and come out just beyond. A gun sounded very near; a hound bayed. She shrank back where the shadows were deep, and silently threaded her way in the direction of the old trail. It could not be many rods farther on.
For fully a half-hour she stumbled along, then she heard Nancy Jane’s voice, and the girls fell on her with loud reproaches.
“I was exploring,” Lalla said with shining eyes, and then she told them about the cabin. “It’s mighty secret; I’d never found it only for taking the short cut. Folks could do stillin’ and no one be the wiser.”
“I wonder if they do make moonshine there,” said Mallie after a pause. “We heard that shot and were worrying about you. Don’t you run away again.”
Lalla smiled, but did not answer.
A long whistle came from below. It was repeated. “That’s Miss Howard!” exclaimed Kizzie. “She wants us right away; see how late it’s getting.”
All the way down Lalla was very quiet. Her head was full of plans to help Abner and find out more about the mysterious cabin. Mystery appealed to her vivid imagination and stimulated her to immediate action.
A thin trail of smoke came up to them as they made the last steep descent into the basin. “Oh, Lalla, Miss Howard’s getting supper and I’m so hungry,” said Kizzie. But Lalla was thinking of the two boys—which way could they have gone home?
It was several days before Lalla saw Abner alone. He was certainly working like a tiger. He rushed over to meals, and when the boys were dismissed, was gone like a shot, not waiting to join the groups who visited in the yard.
It wanted a week of the Mountain Congress when she followed him into the library one day and straight back to the stack room. There was a long table in one corner and piles of reference books on it. Abner had snatched his cap off and was digging for the bottom one of the nearest pile when Lalla touched his shoulder.
“Working on your debate?” she whispered. “I hope you’ll win.”
Abner looked up gratefully. “I don’t reckon on it much—Raphael’s an old hand, they tell me—but I’m learnin’ a lot, that’s one sure thing.”
“I’ve thought of some points which will be likely to help you.” Lalla pushed a sheet his way. “You can never tell what they’re going to spring on you just at the last.”
Abner took it with a look of surprise. “I didn’t know that you even knew the subject of the debate; we’ve tried to keep it a secret.” Lalla reddened—she had not thought of this emergency. “Of course I told Gincy,” Abner continued, “and I know she trusts you, so it’s all right.”
He had misconstrued her evident embarrassment, and was trying to reassure her. For one moment Lalla’s courage failed, but she was sure Abner stood little chance of winning without some help, and there was almost no risk of discovery, not even if Gincy told her brother that she had kept the secret.
Lalla’s impetuous nature was capable of a good deal of self-sacrifice—mistaken at times, but nevertheless genuine in motive. She had a warm feeling of gratitude toward the girl who had not, by even so much as a look, hinted at her adventures with the master key. Indeed, Lalla felt that Gincy had entire confidence in her assurance that she would be perfectly straightforward from that time on.
It was the mountain warfare over again, and Lalla did not feel any real compunction about the methods. She knew instinctively, however, that Gincy and Abner would look at it differently and was prepared for questions.
However, they did not come. “These seem like dandy points; they might do me a heap of good when it comes to the final touchdown.” Abner showed her the result of his digging for the last few weeks—a whole tablet full of notes, disorderly enough but right to the point.
Lalla glanced over them with a shrewd eye, and nodded. “Abner, they’re splendid! But won’t you be scared half to death in front of that crowd?”
He shook his head resolutely. “I’m going to bluff it if I am; it doesn’t do to show one’s feelings.”
“No, and Goose Creek folks aren’t the scary kind.”
“You bet they aren’t—not the girls, anyhow.” Abner spoke with conviction.
Devotional exercises the next morning were brief. Then the excitement began. Banners went up all over the chapel, and nominations were made for governor of Appalachian America. There were speeches and special music to arouse enthusiasm for the Mountain Congress.
The girls from Clay sat in the gallery—a row of bright faces keenly watching every movement below to see what counties were represented.
“There’s Pike, and Letcher, and Magoffin!” whispered Gincy excitedly.
“And Floyd, and Knott, and Breathitt!” added Talitha.
“Perry, Harlan, Leslie, and—Oh, look at Clay! Goody! Goody!” Mallie almost lost her balance and fell into the crowd below. Nancy Jane pulled her back and kept a firm grip on the excited girl for some time.
“It’s awfully interesting!” sighed Lalla, her eyes growing bigger as she watched the platform. “But I suppose the congress itself will be twice as exciting.”
There were funny speeches from the candidates, each vying with the other in promising favour to his particular section of the country. The applause was frequent, and the college band played “Dixie.” Every one filed out full of enthusiasm; they would know the result of the election by evening.
Lalla and Gincy walked over to Memorial Hall behind Abner and Martin. There was a grand rally out in front—practising yells and singing class songs. The noise was deafening.
“I’m saving my voice until Friday night,” Lalla told Abner in the first lull. “I know you’re going to beat and then you’ll hear me yell!”
Gincy smiled happily. “Abner’s going to do his best; that’s the main thing. I’m proud to think he’s even got a chance to do it, without his beating.”
“Of course it’s an honour to have the chance,” said Lalla, “but, Gincy, just think how proud Goose Creek will be to have Abner come home with the medal.”
In spite of himself Abner flushed with pleased anticipation. He was making the fight of his life for a public honour and did not intend to be beaten. Every word of his speech was photographed upon his brain, ready for instant use, if—and here was the hard part—if his opponent did not think of some entirely new line of argument.
Friday evening found the Hall alive with excitement. The girls were divided into factions. Raphael Sloan was the best debater Bentville had had for some time, and while Abner was popular, he was too new to inspire general confidence. Nearly everybody—except the Goose Creek folks—was sure of the boy who had never been defeated.
The chapel was in an uproar when the girls arrived. Occupying the centre and front were delegates from each county to the Mountain Congress. Class colours were everywhere in evidence. Pennants were fluttering, and yell after yell went up when the Governor of Appalachian America—one of the senior boys—took his seat on the platform.
Afterwards the whole thing seemed like a dream to Lalla. Raphael, tall, dark-eyed, with the flush of anticipated victory on his face. Abner, intense, pale at first and somewhat hesitating, but warming up with fiery eloquence toward the last and meeting every argument with growing confidence.
Not once did he fail in the rebuttal, nor even hesitate, and Lalla saw an amazed look creep over Joe Bradshaw’s face as Abner answered with a glibness born of knowledge, sweeping the very foundation from under his opponent’s feet.
There could be but one verdict, and the Goose Creek girls saw Abner hoisted upon strong, young shoulders and borne in triumph around the room. Once more the pennants waved and pandemonium broke loose. This time they joined in the yells. Lalla, in the centre of the circle of girls, never stopped until her voice gave out.
Joe Bradshaw took his roommate’s defeat quite philosophically. He was fond of Abner and Martin, but somewhat puzzled at the former’s quick replies to every argument. “You did splendidly!” he said, wringing Abner’s hand. “Clay County is right to the front to-night.”
Abner gave Lalla a quick glance of gratitude. She was watching him as he talked to Joe and the surrounding boys, not forgetting to wave at the home girls who found it impossible to reach him. Gincy’s eyes were full of tears—proud ones. If her father and mother could only have been here to see Abner beat the best debater in all the mountain counties. It would have rewarded them for every sacrifice.
There was to be a spread in the Industrial Building for the winner. Talitha and Martin held frequent conferences all the next day, and by four o’clock a constant procession of boys and girls were busy carrying parcels, bunting, and branches of pine for decoration, and making the rooms of the Agricultural Department attractive for the evening crowd. It was to be a great event for the Goose Creek folks, and they had prepared accordingly. Pete Shackley guarded the chickens. “I knew Abner’d beat, those roosters have been crowing under my bed for two nights. I toted the box into my room the minute I bought them; there’s no telling where they’d be to-day if I hadn’t.”
Gincy and Mallie kept the door of Number 4 securely locked, but that precaution did not prevent savoury odours from escaping which the boys sniffed eagerly.
“Cake!” exclaimed Martin delightedly. “Tally said Miss Browning was going to let them use the cooking room all day. I smell fruit cookies, too. My, but it’s going to be a spread! I wonder what Piny Twilliger’s doing ’round here; she likes good eating, I suppose.”
“Of course, but didn’t you know she’s Abner’s cousin from Redbird?” and Isaac Shackley grasped a big pot of ferns and moved on, leaving Martin staring in astonishment.
Piny was so tall and snappy and altogether loud—such a contrast to Gincy—Martin had taken a special dislike to her the very first time she came to Harmonia. That was at the opening of the spring term and now it was getting pretty well along toward Commencement. But the girl’s voice did not seem to improve—it was still coarse and penetrating—she wore the gayest colours, and Martin couldn’t enumerate all the reasons why he disliked her, but he did.
It was growing dusk when everything was ready for the spread. They were to serve it in the Domestic Science room at eight o’clock. Nancy Jane had the key and was instructed to remain in charge until the ice cream arrived, then hurry over to the Hall to dress. Nancy Jane turned on the lights and surveyed the room with satisfaction; there was a good deal to show for all their work. The cake was delicious, the chicken fried to a turn. There were great plates of rolls and plenty of pickles. The long table down the centre of the room was decorated with Abner’s class colours, while all around, in festoons, were the orange and black of the Mountain Society—the first typifying the brilliant autumn colouring of the hills; the second, the wealth of coal found in their mines.
The building was far from deserted. There was a clatter of feet up and down the bare stairs—fully a dozen boys roomed on the third floor—and Nancy Jane locked the door to secure herself from unceremonious callers. “They’d like to play some game on us—those seniors,” she thought. “They’re pretty sore because a new pupil carried off the honours.”
It was seven o’clock, but the cream had not come, and Nancy Jane was in a quandary. Some one rattled the door knob. “Who is it?” she asked.
“Piny, Piny Twilliger. Let me in; I’ve come to take your place and let you get dressed. Martin had a message that the cream wouldn’t be here for half an hour yet. There wasn’t another soul ready, so Gincy asked me to come.”
Nancy Jane unlocked the door to let in—was it really Piny? The tall figure was attired in a bright red muslin much beruffled. A brilliant bow with generous outstanding loops surmounted the dozen or more puffs of hair, and excitement lent additional colour to cheeks that were always flushed.
Nancy Jane hurried over to the Hall and up to her room. She didn’t even take time to ask Gincy why she had sent Piny Twilliger to guard the precious cream. It wouldn’t do to say much about kinfolk. But all the time she was hurrying into her white dotted lawn, she wondered if anything would happen to their eatables. Surely some of the girls would be ready in a few minutes.
It was almost a quarter of eight when Nancy Jane ran down the front stairs. She rapped lightly at several doors, but there was no response. Evidently everybody who belonged to the Mountain Society had gone. It was only a short distance to the Industrial Building, and she ran across the campus toward the lights. There was the buzzing of excited voices—the front walk seemed thronged with students. What could have happened? Nancy Jane felt an awful premonition of disaster. Of course it was the cream. Piny must have left her post and some of the boys carried it off.
“Is that you, Nancy Jane?” It was Mallie’s voice. “The cake’s gone—every scrap! Some one rapped on the door and Piny went out; it was the boys with the cream, and while they were talking some one tore the screen and jumped in the side window and took every smitch of cake off the table. Piny’s rushing ’round like a hornet and vows she’ll find out who did it before she sleeps a wink to-night. But I don’t believe she can; it’s either eaten up or hidden by this time.”
Nancy Jane listened in dismay. All their lovely frosted cake gone! She ran into the room looking for Piny—somehow she wanted to hear the whole story from her lips.
But among the babel of voices Piny’s could not be heard. She had disappeared completely and did not hear Martin’s angry comment. “I shouldn’t wonder if she had hidden it herself; she’d think that was a great joke.”
“Hush, Martin,” said Talitha, “Piny isn’t mean if she is fond of a joke.” But Martin’s eyes continued to flash as he walked out into the dark, around the building, and looked up at the outside stairs. They were built more as a fire-escape, but the boys on the upper floor often used them. Martin stood in the shadow of the wood-working department and eyed the row of lighted windows. A dark object was crouched on the upper step and as he eyed it intently, it rose and began a noiseless descent.
Martin edged as close as he dared. It passed the lower window and he saw, to his utter amazement, that it was Piny Twilliger, who seemed in great haste to get down. He intercepted her as she reached the ground. “What is it, Piny?” he whispered.
“I’ve found them!” she gasped, “and the cake isn’t eaten yet. Get all the boys together you can. Some will have to watch the door of their room—it’s Seth Laney and that crowd. You’d better get the Shackley boys and go up on the outside—that’s the only way you’ll get in. While the rest are making an awful racket in the hall to attract their attention, you can climb in the window.”
“You do beat everything!” exclaimed Martin, quite conscience-smitten to think he had ever suspected Piny. “You’re a regular general! You bet we’ll get that cake,” and he ran around the building and into the big front entrance like a shot.
It took only a minute to plan the campaign as outlined by Piny. There was an instant siege—within ten minutes an unconditional surrender—and the cake was saved. Borne down in triumph by Martin and Abner, they paused in front of her with a low bow. “Madam,” they said, “the honour belongs to you. Have a piece.”
But Piny laughingly refused to be made a heroine of, and waited until every one else was served. She blushed furiously when they toasted her in lemonade for her presence of mind and courage. “I reckon hit wan’t much,” she said, modestly disclaiming all honours. “I’d promised to watch things, an’ I wan’t goin’ to be beaten nohow.”
The spread was a great success. Afterwards, Abner walked back to the Hall with Gincy and Lalla. “You helped me a lot,” he assured the latter. “I worked up all those notes you gave me and they seemed to strike the nail on the head. I don’t see how you ever thought of them.”
“That wasn’t anything,” said Lalla, “you had a dozen points a good deal better than mine. I’m glad the decision was unanimous for you, though; it was a bigger honour.”