Then swiftly turning he stole down the front stairs and took the key
from the lock, shut the door, pushing a big bolt on the inside. With a
hasty examination of the lower floor that satisfied him that he was
safely ensconced in his stronghold and would not be open to immediate
interruption he hurried upstairs again.
His first act was to open a window and throw back the shutters. The
morning sunlight leaped in like a friend, and a bird in a tree carolled
out gladly. Something in Billy's heart burst into a tear. A tear! Bah!
He brushed it away with his grimy hand and went over to the bed,
rolling the inert figure toward him till the face was in plain view. A
sudden fit of trembling took possession of him and he dropped
nervelessly beside the bed with his hands outstretched and uttered a
sob ending in a single syllable, "Cart!"
For there on the bed still as the dead lay Mark Carter, his beloved
idol, and he had helped to put him there!
Thirty pieces of silver! And his dearest friend dead, perhaps! A Judas!
All his life he would be a Judas. He knew now why Judas hanged himself.
If Cart was dead he would have to hang himself! Here in this house of
death he must hang himself, like Judas, poor fool. And he would fling
that blood money back. Only, Cart must not be dead! It would be
hell forever for Billy if Cart was dead. He could not stand it!
Billy sprang to his feet with tears raining down his cheeks, but his
tired dirty face looked beautiful in its anxiety. He tore open Mark
Carter's coat and vest, wrenched away collar, necktie and shirt, and
laid his face against the breast. It was warm! He struggled closer and
put his ear to the heart. It was beating!
He shook him gently and called, "Cart! Cart! Oh, Boy!" with sobs choking in his throat. And all
the while the little bird was singing in a tree enough to split his
feathered throat, and the sweet air full of wild grape was rushing into
the long closed room and driving out the musty air.
Billy laid Mark down gently on the dusty pillow and opened another
window. He stumbled over the cup and spoon, and a bottle fell from the
table and broke sending out a pungent odor. But Billy crept close to
his friend once more and began rubbing his hands and forehead and
crooning to him as he had once done to his dog when he suffered from a
broken leg. Nobody would have known Billy just then, as he stood
crooning over Mark.