Billy escorted the Department of Justice distantly, as far as the

Crossing at the Highway, from which eminence he watched until he saw

that they stopped at the Blue Duck Tavern for a few minutes, after

which they went on toward Economy; then he inspected the recent

clearing of his detour, obviously by the Chief, and hurried down the

Highway toward the railroad Crossing at Pleasant View. It was almost

train time, and he had a hunch that there might be something

interesting around that hidden telephone. If he only had had more time

he might have arranged to tap the wire and listen in without having to

go so near, but he must do the best he could.

When he reached a point on the Highway where Pleasant View station was

easily discernible he dismounted, parked his wheel among the

huckleberries, and slid into the green of the Valley. Stealing

cautiously to the scene of the Saturday night hold-up he finally

succeeded in locating the hidden telephone, and creeping into a well

screened spot not far away arranged himself comfortably to wait till

the trains came. He argued that Pat would likely come down to report or

get orders about the same time as before, and so in the stillness of

the morning he lay on the ground and waited. He could hear a song

sparrow high up on the telegraph wire, sing out its wild sweet lonely

strain: Sweet--sweetsweetsweet--sweetsweet--sweetsweet--! and a hum of

bees in the wild grape that trailed over the sassafras trees. Beside

him a little wood spider stole noiselessly on her busy way. But his

heart was heavy with new burdens and he could not take his usual

rhapsodic joy in the things of Nature. What was happening to Mark and

what could he do about it? Perhaps Mark would have been better off if

he had left him in the old house on Stark's mountain. The chief

couldn't have found him then and the kidnappers would have kept him

safe for a good many days till they got some money. But there wouldn't

have been any money! For Mark wasn't the right man! And the

kidnappers would have found it out pretty soon and what would

they have done to Mark? Killed him perhaps so they wouldn't get into

any more trouble! There was no telling! And time would have gone on and

nobody would have known what had become of Mark. And the murder trial--

if it was really a murder--would come off and they couldn't find Mark,

and of course they would think Mark had killed the man and then run

away. And Mark would never be able to come home again! No, he was glad

Mark was out and safe and free from dope. At least Mark would know what

to do to save himself. Or would he? Billy suddenly had his doubts.

Would Mark take care of himself, just himself, or not? Mark was always

looking after other people, but he had somehow always let people say

and do what they would with him. Aw gee! Now Mark wouldn't let them

locate a thing like a murder on him, would he? And there was Miss Lynn!

And Mark's mother! Mark oughtta think of them. Well, maybe he wouldn't

realize how much they did care. Billy had a sudden revelation that

maybe that was half the matter, Mark didn't know how much any of them

cared. Back in his mind there was an uncomfortable memory of Aunt

Saxon's pink damp features and anxious eyes and a possible application

of the same principle to his own life, as in the case of Judas. But he

wasn't considering himself now. There might come a time when he would

have to change his tactics with regard to Aunt Saxon somewhat. She

certainly had been a good sport last night. But this wasn't the time to

consider that. He had a great deal more important matters to think of

now. He had to find out how he could make it perfectly plain to the

world that Mark Carter had not shot a man after twelve o'clock Saturday

night at the Blue Duck Tavern. And as yet he didn't see any way without

incriminating himself as a kidnapper. This cut deep because in the

strict sense of the word he was not a kidnapper, because he hadn't

meant to be a kidnapper. He had only meant to play a joke on the

kidnappers, and at worst his only really intended fault had been the

putting up of that detour on the Highway. But he had an uncomfortable

conviction that he wouldn't be able to make the Chief and the

Constable, and some of those people over at Economy Court House see it

that way. As matters stood he was safe if he kept his mouth shut.

Nobody knew but Mark, and he didn't know the details. Besides, Mark

would never tell. Mark would even go to trial for murder before he

would let himself out by telling on Billy, Billy knew that as well as

he knew that the old mountain on whose feet he lay stretched now would

stand up there for ages and always keep his secret for him. Mark was

that way. That was why it made it worse for Billy. Judas again! Billy

was surprised to find how much Judas-blood there seemed to be in him.

He lay there and despised himself without being able to help himself

out or think of anything he could do. And then quite suddenly as he was

going over the whole circumstance from the time he first listened to

Pat's message into the moss of the mountain, until now, the name

Shafton came to him. Laurence Shafton. Shafton, son of William J., of

Gates and Shafton. Those were the words the telephone had squeaked out

quite plainly. And Shafton. Mr. Shafton. That was the name Mark had

called the guy with the car at the parsonage. Mr. Shafton. The same

guy, of course. Bah! What a mess he had made of it all. Got Mark

kidnapped, landed that sissy-guy on the Severns for no knowing how

long, and perhaps helped to tangle Mark up in a murder case. Aw Gee!

There's the train! What could he do? That rich guy! Well, there wasn't

anything to that. He would get out as soon as Mark got his car fixed up

and never know he had been kidnapped. And what was he, Billy, waiting

here for anyway? Just a chance! Just to see whether Pat and Sam had

found out yet that their quarry had vanished. Just to wonder what had

become of Link and Shorty.




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