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.