But this was a different matter. This involved Mark's honor. It was up

to him to find Mark!

Billy did not take the High road down from his detour. He cut across

below the Crossroads, over rough ground, among the underbrush, and

parting the low growing trees was lost in the gloom of the woods. But

he knew every inch of ground within twenty miles around, and darkness

did not take away his sense of direction. He crashed along among the

branches, making steady headway toward the spot where he had left his

bicycle, puffing and panting, his face streaked with dirt, his eyes

bleared and haggard, his whole lithe young body straining forward and

fighting against the dire weariness that was upon him, for it was not

often that he stayed up all night. Aunt Saxon saw to that much at

least.

The sky was growing rosy now, and he could hear the rumbling of the

milk train. It was late. Pat would not lose his job this time, for he

must have had plenty of time to get back to the station. Billy wormed

himself under cover as the train approached, and bided his time.

Cautiously, peering from behind the huckleberry growth, he watched Pat

slamming the milk cans around. He could see his bicycle lying like a

dark skeleton of a thing against the gravel bank. It was lucky he got

there before day, for Pat would have been sure to see it, and it might

have given him an idea that Billy had gone with the automobile.

The milk train came suddenly in sight through the tunnel, like a

lighted thread going through a needle. It rumbled up to the station.

There was a rattling of milk cans, empty ones being put on, full cans

being put off, grumbling of Pat at the train hands, loud retorts of the

train hands, the engine puffed and wheezed like a fat old lady going

upstairs and stopping on every landing to rest. Then slamming of car

doors, a whistle, the snort of the engine as it took up its way again

out toward the rosy sky, its headlight weird like a sick candle against

the dawn, its tail light winking with a leer and mocking at the

mountains as it clattered away like a row of gray ducks lifting webbed

feet and flinging back space to the station.

Pat rolled the loaded truck to the other platform ready for the Lake

train at seven, and went in to a much needed rest. He slammed the door

with a finality that gave Billy relief. The boy waited a moment more in

the gathering dawn, and then made a dash for the open, salvaging his

bicycle, and diving back into the undergrowth.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024