the last week of school arrived. it was almost as good as a holiday, for those who had made the required percentage during the year were excused from examinations, and after roll call, released from attendance; and these included billy and most of his cronies.
mrs. bennett spoke frequently of the change in billy. he was growing more thoughtful, observant. he remembered small duties, noticed if mother or sister looked tired or ill, and volunteered help where formerly he would not have known help was needed. perhaps none of them knew, least of all may nell herself, how lastingly her example of watchful kindness had impressed itself on billy’s heart.
if he was more thoughtful, quiet, at home, his hours of play were more keenly enjoyed as they grew daily fewer. he had found a “dandy job” that would not take him away from home; he could still mow the lawn, and do the chores. he was glad now that he had learned various parts of the housework, for he was to be janitor and messenger at one of the banks, a fact to be told his mother as a surprise on the last day of school.
he went home after the engagement, walking on air and talking aloud to himself. “gee! i don’t suppose there’s a squinch-eyed ghost of a chance for me to win that prize money; but twenty-five a month’ll pay mamma for what i eat,—and break, i guess.”
billy didn’t see doctor carter passing in his buggy, nor hear his greeting; neither did he see the understanding smile; the doctor easily guessed that billy was planning fun. and he was; this last week of school should be the happiest ever. didn’t work begin next monday? real work! he couldn’t catch up the bankers in his arms, like his mother, and cajole them into favors. no; it would be all day and every day for a hundred years! only sundays, and they didn’t count; for wouldn’t he have to go to church just the same? mother and sister would be hurt if he “put out to the woods” sunday mornings. and the bank people, too, would expect him to go to church; hadn’t they said none but steady, well-behaved people could remain in their employ?
“jiminy whiz! this is my very last week of boy; next week i’ll have to be a man,” he said gloomily.
he was soon at the “lodge of ample size” made the week before, not of “strong logs” but of old fence-rails and willow twigs. he wondered if the girls would be able to imagine it a “lodge,” or if may nell and jean, who were to come a little later, could fix it according to the poem.
he decided to go first on the mountain and set his traps for rabbits; also to mark the bounds for the “chase,” so that they could gather on time at the island and go on with the second canto. if they didn’t “do” two cantos a day they wouldn’t finish; for friday must be given to school. as it was some of them had to be at the school house each day at three to rehearse for the “last day” exercises.
billy hid his wheel in the same tangle of rose vine, now all pink and fragrant with bloom, that had sheltered it that earlier spring afternoon,—was it years ago? it seemed so. as he crept out of the brush and turned to the steep tangled mountain, he saw the haunted house, with the bare space in front. there were the two brothers fighting fiercely!
billy slipped quickly to cover again where he could watch unseen. the men’s faces were black with passion, and their low, intense words seemed all the more deadly because strange, foreign. a coat split down the back with a ripping report, and the boy saw the flash of a knife, and turned away feeling sick.
was there to be another murder? ought he to call? if he did wouldn’t they turn on him—kill him? no matter. some one might be on the road and hear. and he could run pretty fast. anyway he must risk it.
“murder! murder!” he shouted with all his strength; and his boy’s voice reached far up and down the lonely distances.
he saw the men stop, draw apart, and look around. they discovered no one, but delayed their quarrel and hurried in the direction of the sound, exchanging short angry speeches as they ran.
with a boy’s cunning and swiftness billy made a running creep through the underbrush up the steep mountain side. from a peephole higher up he stopped, breathless, and watched them beat the chaparral round about where he had stood; saw them go down into the road, look each way, turn and scan the mountain; and at last slink off, one to the house, the other to the vineyard.
relieved, yet with his nerves quivering billy plunged into the deep woods of the higher altitudes. the air was unusually hot and stifling, and his eyes watered. “fire in the woods somewhere,” he murmured, recognizing the odor of smoke.
he had left his traps,—the fight had sent all else flying out of his mind. no matter. he could set them in some vineyard. already the short grass on the hills was brown, and many of the wild flowers were past their blooming. the rabbits would be seeking the tender green of the vines, the purpling alfalfa, standing lush and sweet, ready for mowing.
up, up billy climbed. on the bare spaces, or balanced on the point of some slender rock, he stopped frequently to look down on the beautiful valley below; on little farms laid out checker-board fashion, dark green squares for orchards, lighter green for vineyards, with tree-lined lanes running between. overhead fleecy clouds chased one another like freshly washed, woolly sheep across the blue pasture of the heavens. in the north the great blue mountain loomed, all its opalescent tints and shadows hidden till the setting of the sun should light them forth.
billy breathed deep. how he loved this opulent valley which was his birthplace and home! he longed to see all the world, yet he thought no other place could be as beautiful.
as he crashed again through the close-grown brush he almost forgot the ugly scene just enacted below. he had been sorry to leave bouncer to come with the girls; now he was glad. it was good to be quite alone up there with nature in her less familiar places. a dark ravine lured him. well as he knew the mountain he had never explored this gorge. the delicate fragrance of wild azaleas greeted him; he could see their pale pink bloom tipping the tall trees that rose out of the chaparral forty or fifty feet above the stream that tinkled beneath them.
as he climbed down, reaching from branch to branch, very cautiously, he knew not why, he was suddenly halted by the sound of low voices. carefully he crept nearer. a tiny hut came in view, with an open door, and the glint of fire within. a man was standing outside, smoking a pipe, yet wearing hat, coat, and gloves, as if about to set off. he was very large. his clothes were new and showy, too bright in color, too large of check. his watch chain was massive; the big diamond out of place with his colored shirt; and the soft silk handkerchief he drew from his pocket was a brilliant red, and the largest billy had ever seen. another man, in the doorway, was smaller and bareheaded. his sleeves were rolled up, and his hands were stained.
billy heard the hatted one say “so long!” saw him start down a path that followed close beside the stream, perfectly hidden from any one who might be walking the crests above. the other man brought a pail and started up the hill.
billy knew that the man was going to the spring for water; knew where it was hidden, far in the woods, big and round, deep and clear! it was more than a hundred yards away at least. he waited and listened till the noise of snapping twigs was hushed, then crept down and peered into the hut. the place was so small there was no need of entering; he could see all the interior from the sill.
what he saw there lent wings to his feet.
he climbed cat-like to the crest again, slid through the brush, dashed across bare spots, jumped from rocks that jutted in his way, struck stones but righted himself before falling, truly “hit only the high places,” as he breathlessly told the girls waiting for him at ellen’s isle.
“no ‘chase’ to-day, girls. i’ve got business in town.”
“oh, chuck the business,” jean said impatiently. “can’t it wait till noon? i must go home then.”
“no, it can’t wait one minute longer’n it’ll take me to get to town. maybe i can come back though.”
“you’ll have to break the record if you get here before noon.”
“billy, let me plan,” may nell interposed. “we’ll work hard to fix up the lodge before jean has to go home. i’ll stay and wait for you, and bouncer with me; and i’ll search for my idean vine. i must have something that will do for that. i wish i could find a real one.”
“i hate to have you stay without jean,” billy objected.
“what’s the harm? she’s on mr. potter’s land, and the road’s near.”
“and bouncer’s here,” may nell added, hugging the dog affectionately.
“all right. i’m off!”
“but you haven’t told us what hurries you so,” jean called, while billy was already sprinting away.
“can’t stop. it’s private anyway.” he waved his hand, ran across the foot-bridge and down the road, dodged into the brush for his wheel; and in a moment they heard his shout as he sped by toward town.
