Pat shut off his flash quickly, stuck it in his pocket backed off with

a low relieved, "All right Kid, you'll do. I guess you're all right

after all, now you jest lay--!" and slid away down the slope into the

cypress clump.

Billy with upturned face eyed the moon and winked; again, as if to a

friend up there in the sky. He was thinking of the detour two miles up

the road.

It was very pleasant lying there in the cool moonlight with the evening

breeze blowing his rough hair and playing over his freckles, and with

the knowledge of those twenty-four bucks safely buttoned inside his

sweater, and that neat little gun in his pocket where he could easily

close his fingers about it. The only thing he regretted was that for

conscience sake he had had to put up that detour. It would have been so

much more exciting than to have put up this all-night camouflage and

wait here till dawn for a guy that wasn't coming at all. He began to

think about the "guy" and wonder if he would take the detour to Sabbath

Valley, or turn back, or perhaps try Economy. That would be

disappointing. He would stand no chance of even hearing what he was

like. Now if he went through Sabbath Valley, Red or Sloppy or Rube

would be sure to sight a strange car, particularly if it was a high

power racer or something of that sort, and they could discuss it,

and he might be able to find out a few points about this unknown, whom

he was so nobly delivering for conscience sake--or Lynn Severn's--from

an unknown fate. Of course he wouldn't let the fellows know he knew

anything about the guy.

He had lain there fifteen minutes and was beginning to grow drowsy

after his full day in the open air. If it were not for the joke of the

thing he couldn't keep awake.

Pat stole out from the weeds at the slope of the road and whispered

sepulchraly: "That's all right, Kid, jest you lay there and hold that pose. You

couldn't do better. Yer wheel finishes the blockade. Nobody couldn't

get by if he tried. That's the Kid! 'Clare if I don't give you another

five bucks t'morrer if you carry this thing through. Don't you get cold

feet now--!"

Billy uttered a guttural of contempt in his throat and Pat slid away to

hiding once more. The distant bells struck the midnight hour. Billy

thrilled with their sweetness, with the fact that they belonged to him,

that he had sat that very evening watching those white fingers among

the keys, manipulating them. He thought of the glint on her hair,--the

halo of dusty gold in the sunshine above--the light in her eyes--the

glow of her cheek--her delicate profile against the memorial window--

the glint of her hair--it came back, not in those words, but the vision

of it--what was it like? Oh--of course. Cart's hair. The same color.

They were alike, those two, and yet very different. When he had grown a

man he would like to be like Cart. Cart was kind and always understood

when you were not feeling right. Cart smoothed the way for people in

trouble--old women and animals, and well--girls sometimes. He had seen

him do it. Other people didn't always understand, but he did. Cart

always had a reason. It took men to understand men. That thought had a

good sound to the boy on his back in the moonlight. Although he felt

somewhat a fool lying there waiting in the road when all the time there

was that Detour. It would have been more a man's job if there hadn't

had to be that Detour, but he couldn't run risks with strange guys, and

men who carried guns, not even for--well, thirty pieces of silver--!

But hark! What was that?




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