4. THE CABIN
The rising sun turned the tops of the mountains to gold, and likeslow-flowing water, sunshine crept gradually down the slopes. In a groveof pines, a chickaree came out of the warm nest where he had spent thenight. Three inches from his nest, the chickaree paused on an outjuttingstub.
A hawk winged through the pines regularly, and though it had alwaysmissed by a comfortable margin, it had struck three times at thechickaree. The pines were part of a marten's beat, and the marten hadchased the chickaree several times. In addition, on their way to oneplace or another, various other predators wandered through the pines andfew of them were averse to eating chickaree.
The chickaree held perfectly still, bright eyes glowing and small earsstraining. Neither the hawk nor the marten were present, and thechickaree was puzzled because he could see nothing else. That should notbe. Three big bucks were spending the season on this slope and everynight they bedded in the pines. This morning there was no sign of them.
Though he could neither see nor hear anything, the chickaree knew thatsomething was present, if only because the deer were not. After fiveminutes, having assured himself that there was no immediate threat, thechickaree set out to find whatever he had sensed.
He scampered up the pine, leaped effortlessly into another, and took adifferent stand. Again he examined the grove. A smell of wood smoketickled his nostrils and the chickaree knew that a man had come to thepines. That much discovered, he went into action.
He leaped to another pine, raced swiftly up it, and made a leap so longthat the twigs upon which he landed bent precariously. A master ofaerial travel, the chickaree paid no heed.
Three minutes later he found the man sleeping under a big pine. Therewas a huge dog beside him and a bed of glowing coals so arranged thatthe heat they cast enveloped both man and dog. The chickaree paused,anger in his eyes. He had squatters' rights in these pines and he lackedthe remotest intention of sharing them with any man. Biting off a pinecone, the chickaree dropped it squarely on the man's face.
Jeff Tarrant came awake.
There was no lingering struggle to achieve complete wakefulness and nodropping back for another five minutes' slumber because Jeff had longsince learned that that must never be. He had to awaken instantly, andat the least disturbance, because there was always a possibility that hemight have to get up fighting, and he had a distinct impression thatsomething had dropped on his face.
Swift glances in all directions told him that there was nothing exceptPal near, and Jeff relaxed. Now he could attend to the ceremony ofawakening. Jeff rubbed his eyes, yawned, stretched and rose. Rising withhim, Pal saw the madly-fleeing chickaree; following the dog's gaze,Jeff saw it, too. Appalled by his own boldness, the chickaree wasputting distance between Jeff and himself as rapidly as possible. Jeffgrinned.
"So! He doesn't want us around either! Pal, seems to me that latelynobody has wanted anything to do with Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd.! Shameon them!"
Pal wagged his tail and made an enthusiastic attempt to lick hismaster's face. Jeff pushed him away; Pal's tongue was approximately thesize of a dish towel and the consistency of sand paper. Not to bedefeated, Pal got in a number of good licks on his friend's hand andJeff chided, "Cut it out! I can wash myself!"
As he walked to a little runlet that trickled through the pines andwashed his face and hands, Jeff thought of last night.
In the valley up which he had traveled, that runlet became a good-sizedstream, with several deep pools. Having fallen into two of them lastnight, Jeff had discovered the pools the hard way. But he had achievedhis purpose. It was not only possible but highly probable that JoeParker and Pop had ideas which they hadn't bothered to disclose whenletting Jeff out of jail. If they were able to catch him again, he wouldbe charged with jail breaking. That meant six months, and six months wasplenty of time to steal the pack's contents. However, even if theyfollowed him into the mountains, they couldn't catch him.
A satisfying vision of the Delview police looking for him, and of Popand the constable hopefully waiting, formed in Jeff's mind. He grinnedhappily. Even though he was stranded in a wilderness with no customersin sight, and no telling when he would find any, Tarrant Enterprises,Ltd., was in business again. Jeff took his watch out, saw that it hadstopped, set it for nine o'clock, and wound it.
He might be an hour, two hours, or three hours, off. It made nodifference. Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., guided its fortunes by thecircumstances of the moment and not by the dial of a watch or clock. Anyhour of the twenty-four, or any minute of any hour, might present aprecious and never to be repeated opportunity. Therefore, it was betterto be alert for what the moment might present than to depend too heavilyon any timepiece.
Last night he had been in too much of a hurry to think of eating, andwhen he had finally put what he considered an adequate distance betweenCressman and himself, he had been too tired. Now he took the remainderof bread and cheese from his pack and divided both in half.
"Chow time!" he said grandly. "Here, Pal, a wonderful breakfast!"
Pal gulped his portion. Jeff ate more slowly, and when he had finishedthe last crumb he was completely serene. It mattered not at all that hewas completely out of food or that it was an unknown distance to thenext place where he would be able to buy more. By all means, the futureshould be carefully weighed, but the future was a great and shiningpromise and lack of food a small inconvenience.
"Let's go!" he said happily.
A little breeze sang to him, the sun warmed him, and he was completelycheerful as he resumed his journey. This was a new and fresh experience,and as such it was to be treasured. Pal ran a hundred feet ahead, slowedto a walk, and further slowed to a stalk so deliberate that he moved ata snail's pace. He looked questioningly back at Jeff.
Jeff wrinkled his brows. In town, or even near other people, Pal had notmoved more than a yard away. Here he would leave Jeff and that wasentirely understandable. Naturally he would feel freer in thewilderness, but what did he want? Jeff halted.
"What's up, Pal?"
The dog stared hard at a copse of brush and for a moment Jeff remainedstill. Then he advanced slowly.
"Hope I'm not doing it wrong," he murmured. "I know you're trying totell me something, but I'm too dumb to understand your language."
Pal stayed perfectly rigid until Jeff was within five feet, then went into flush two grouse from the brush. They winged thunderously up anddrummed away, and a great light dawned on Jeff.
If Pal had not had a former master, he would not have been wearing acollar, and obviously that master had lived partly by hunting. Scentingthe grouse, Pal had been asking Jeff, as plainly as a dog can askanything, whether or not he cared to shoot them. Jeff petted Pal andheaped praise upon him.
"Good dog!" he exclaimed. "That's the boy!"
Pal sighed ecstatically because he had pleased his master. He hadalready helped Jeff out of two difficult situations, and for that alonehe deserved loyalty. Now it became evident that he would not be whollydead weight. Jeff, who had learned something about dogs, reviewed whathe knew.
There were various dogs for various purposes. Thus the bull was forfighting, the dachshund went into burrows and dragged out whateversought a refuge there, the setter hunted game birds, the hound trailed,etc. Occasionally there was an intelligent mongrel that combined thefunctions of two or more such specialists. It was difficult to imaginePal crawling into burrows, but he had already proven his ability to huntbirds. Would he do anything else?
It occurred to Jeff that he knew little about his new partner and untilnow he had had little chance to do any probing. Now there was everychance.
"Heel!" he ordered.
Pal fell in beside him, walking at his left and just far enough away sothere was no danger of collision. Jeff was delighted; he had alreadydiscovered that Pal responded perfectly to other commands and must havehad much training. Five minutes later there came an interruption.
Buzzing angrily through the trees, a bee made straight f
or Jeff. Itdanced up and down in front of his face, seeking a place to light. Jeffswiped at it with his right hand.
When he did, Pal bounded forward. Swift as a deer, and as graceful, heraced among the trees. With seeming lack of effort, he leaped high, thebetter to see what lay about him. Finding nothing, he looked backperplexedly.
"Come on," Jeff coaxed. "Come on, Pal!"
Pal returned and Jeff petted him fondly. Now he knew something elseabout the dog. A hand waved forward was Pal's signal to look for game.Jeff stored the knowledge away, pending the time it might be useful.
Pal ranged ahead and on both sides. Jeff strode on. The mountain hadbeen steep, but its summit was a broad plateau covered with pine forest,and somewhere in the distant peaks that Jeff could see must lie the townof Smithville. Sooner or later he would get there, and if he needed twoor three days, that was all right. He was enjoying the hike, and thefarther away Smithville was, the farther he'd be from Cressman.
He stopped to rest at a pond that fed a stream and saw trout in theclear waters. Removing his pack, he opened the right compartment, andtook from it a fishing line and a box of hooks. He tied a hook to theline, cut a pole from a copse of willows growing beside the pond, kickeda rock over and gathered up the fat worms beneath it, baited, and cast.
A dozen trout rushed the bait. One got it, and Jeff landed him. Hecontinued to cast until he had nine trout. Jeff dressed them, washedthem, took a grill and salt and pepper from the pack, and cooked hisfish. Pal cleaned up all the heads, all the bones, and four trout. Jeffate the rest, smacking his lips over them and entirely happy.
"This," he sighed, "is the way to live!"
They descended into a valley and were crossing a field when a rabbitflushed in front of them. White tail flashing, it streaked through thegrass. Jeff waved his right arm and Pal raced forward. So effortlesslythat he almost seemed to float, he overtook the fleeing rabbit andsnatched it up. The rabbit dangling from his jaws, he trotted back andlaid his game in Jeff's hand.
Jeff laughed in sheer delight. Almost always he canvassed the backcountry, because that was the only place where, usually, he could bepretty sure of doing good business. But he had been so interested in hiscustomers that he had had little time for the wilderness. Now there wasan opportunity to see and observe, and he liked everything around him.He still wanted to wander, but if he ever did settle down, it would bein such a place.
The two camped that night in another grove of pines, not knowing wherethey were and not caring, and Jeff broiled the rabbit. It was stringyand tough, but hunger proved a powerful sauce and when Jeff chewed andswallowed the last few shreds of meat he felt as though he had partakenof princely fare.
"I wouldn't mind if this went on for a long while!" he told thecontented Pal. "I like it almost as much as you do!"
He arranged a fire to reflect against a fallen tree trunk, slept soundlyall night, and awakened with dawn. There was nothing for breakfast, butthere had been nothing for a lot of breakfasts and it made littledifference. Sooner or later they would eat, and this morning it wassooner.
No more than four hundred yards from their camp they reached a brawlinglittle stream that raced frantically downslope. Again Jeff strung histackle and caught trout. He laid them in the grill and was about tobuild a fire when Pal growled.
It was a sound so soft that nothing more than a few feet away would haveheard it. Jeff looked quickly at the dog and glanced around the forest.He saw nothing. Pal was on all fours, straining into the wind, and hegrowled again. Again Jeff found nothing. Leaving the pack and fish, Jeffstole to a big pine about thirty feet away and crouched behind it. Hewhispered,
"Down!"
Pal lay down and Jeff continued to watch. Two minutes later he saw a mancoming through the forest.
Very tall and very thin, the man was dressed in a sun-faded shirt fromwhich half of the right sleeve was missing. Protruding from it, whatcould be seen of his right arm had been scorched by so much sun that itwas almost black. His left sleeve was tied at the wrist. As dilapidatedas the shirt, his gray trousers ended six inches above scuffed shoes,and an expanse of naked leg showed that he wore no socks. A luxuriantbeard covered his face, and curly black hair dangled over his ears anddown the back of his head.
In many parts of the country Jeff had seen other men who might have beenthis one's twin. Obviously a hillbilly, he carried a carbine as thoughit were a part of him.
He lingered behind a pine about fifty yards from Jeff's pack and for afull minute he regarded it closely. Then, making no noise whatever, heapproached and prodded the pack with his foot. As he looked curiously atthe grill of trout, Jeff spoke.
"That's mine, stranger."
The man whirled, shouldered the carbine, and put it down again. Jeffrose. Bristling, his lips slightly lifted, Pal stayed very near. Palknew what Jeff could not; the man was Barr Whitney and presently hespoke.
"I wa'nt goin' to tetch it."
"I know that." Jeff had a customer. "I can see that you're an honestman. But I thought I'd better make sure first."
"Right smart idea."
Barr Whitney looked swiftly at Pal and glanced back at Jeff. His eyesrevealed nothing, but he kept the carbine down. Expecting a flow ofquestions, Jeff was momentarily disconcerted when his visitor did notspeak. Jeff glanced at the knife on his belt.
With a six-inch blade, the point of the knife was thrust into adeer-skin sheath and there was a six-inch guard that protected thecutting edge. Sparkling keen, the blade probably was made out of an oldfile and fitted with an ingenious hilt of deer antler. Jeff watched theknife for only a split second. Homemade, it was the work of an artistand Jeff knew of lowlanders who would pay a good price for it. But hemust not let the stranger know this. Barr Whitney remained silent andJeff said nothing. Often it was productive of the best results to fithis own mood to that of a potential customer.
Jeff flicked his pack open, took from it a clasp knife that was almost asmall tool chest within itself, removed the trout from the grill, andarranged them on a slab of bark. He became absorbed in the grill.Opening the file on the clasp knife, he filed a sharp point from thegrill's wire handle.
He closed the file, opened a long, pointed blade, and cut the fishes'heads off. As he did so, he brushed the grill with his trousers, caughta loose thread which was always kept purposely loosened, and snipped itoff with the scissors that the clasp knife also contained. Carefully heworked with the awl blade, poking the cut thread back into place.
Barr Whitney watched silently, then said, "Give me leave to look at it."
"Sure."
Without looking at the other, Jeff gave him the knife. He started afire, laid the trout back on the grill, and started cooking them. Jeffseasoned the fish and asked, "Had breakfast?"
"Yup."
Jeff gave half the trout to Pal and gravely stripped the flesh from hisown share. He gave Pal the stripped bones, went down to the stream, duga handful of sand from it, and scrubbed the grill clean. Barr Whitneywas still opening and closing the blade, scissors, awl, screwdriver,file, and fork that folded into the clasp knife's stag handle. He spoke,
"Good knife."
"Yeah," Jeff agreed.
"How much?"
"Six dollars."
Silence followed. Jeff, who had guessed that Barr Whitney was as likelyto have six thousand as six dollars, made up his pack.
The other spoke again, "You swap?"
"Maybe."
"For what?"
"Your rifle."
The other jumped as though stung. Jeff, who knew that it's as easy totrade a hillbilly out of his hand as to separate him from his rifle,continued to work calmly. The pack, never cumbersome, could be made sowhen he wanted to gain time.
Barr Whitney asked, "Trade knives?"
"Let's see yours."
Stripping the knife from his belt, Barr handed it to Jeff. Betrayingnothing of what he thought, Jeff unsheathed the homemade weapon.Razor-sharp, it was exquisitely balanced and so finely made that bladeof ste
el and hilt of horn flowed into each other as smoothly and asnaturally as two placid creeks mingle their waters. Ordinarily Jeff wasable to do little in towns and cities. But he could if he hadmerchandise like this to offer. Aside from being highly practical, theknife was a collector's item. Jeff handed it back.
"Guess not."
"What do ye want?"
"Two knives like that."
Smirking faintly, Barr Whitney thrust a hand inside his shirt andbrought out the twin to the first knife. Obviously he'd been wearing itin a shoulder sheath. He dropped both knives beside Jeff and for thefirst time there was a change in his expression. His eyes were gleeful,as though he'd been too sharp for a peddler, and he clutched the claspknife firmly.
Jeff said in pretended disappointment, "Guess I talked myself out ofthat one."
"Guess you did."
"Well, I do sometimes. Which way is Smithville?"
Barr Whitney pointed down a valley. "Thar."
"How far?"
"A piece."
Without further comment, Barr Whitney turned and strode into the forest.Jeff shouldered his pack and looked at Pal. The dog stood erect, stillfaintly bristled as he looked after the departing man and Jeff wonderedwhy. He shrugged. Some people just naturally roused a dog to anger andit was not important. Jeff started toward Smithville.
Ike had spoken highly of Smithville, and in Ike's eyes its virtue lay inthe fact that people there minded their own business. What Jeff had seenbore that out. Hillbillies were independent, not at all inclined tomeddle in the affairs of others or to having their own investigated.Scornful of anyone who wore an officer's badge, they were quick to takeviolent action if what they considered their personal rights wereviolated. But usually they did not bother those who let them alone.
Jeff strolled in the direction Barr Whitney had indicated. Somewhereahead lay Smithville, and Barr Whitney had given him a completely newidea. This could not be a wealthy land if the man Jeff had met was anyindication of its riches. Shut off from the world and with little money,the hill people must of necessity do for themselves, and few of themwere satisfied to have everything slipshod. It naturally followed thatthey would have brought handicraft to a high perfection. Jeff planned ashe walked.
Seldom had Jeff even tried to peddle in any town larger than Cressman;in big cities he could do no business at all. But not all of the peoplein cities were contented with the monotonous sameness of the stamped andstereotyped products available to them. They had lost the art ofhandicraft themselves, but some still appreciated it and were able topay for it. On the other hand, there was an excellent chance that theinhabitants of these mountains, lacking the money to buy city goods,would be eager to trade for them. Jeff began to whistle.
"Pal," he said happily, "maybe, just maybe, Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd.,is about to become an even bigger business!"
Pal was padding ahead, glancing from side to side and making eagerlittle excursions into the brush and forest. This was his country. Timeswithout number he had walked through these same woods with JohnnyBlazer. Returning excited him. He went from a boulder to a patch ofbrush, and from there to a stump. His tail wagged constantly as onceagain he saw all the old landmarks that were so familiar and so dear.Not understanding, Jeff wondered.
They came to a foot path. Jeff followed Pal down the path, not knowingwhere it led but sure that it would take them somewhere. If it did notbring them to Smithville, it would certainly lead to some house whoseinhabitants could tell him exactly how to get there, and Jeff was in nohurry. He was naturally footloose and the woods were free. Jeff knew amounting disinclination to go to Smithville at once. It would suit himbetter to camp in the open again tonight.
The path joined a road. There were wagon tracks, hoof prints, and eventire tracks left by venturesome drivers of automobiles. Jeff came to asure sign of the latter, a blown tire lying beside the road, and shook asympathetic head. He did not share the views of those who proclaimedcars a passing fad. They would be the conveyance of the future if onlybecause they could travel as far in one hour as a horse could in three.Their many faults were sure to be corrected.
Pal frolicked like a puppy, ears shaking and tail wagging as he bouncedaround with a wide canine grin on his mouth. When he came to another dimfoot path leading out of the woods, he halted to look inquiringly backat his master. Hesitantly--he had not yet had any assurance that Jeffwanted to visit it--he looked longingly toward Johnny Blazer's cabin.
Wondering what Pal wanted now, Jeff halted beside him. The cabin washidden by trees; from this distance no part of it could be seen. Then apuff of wood smoke drifted to Jeff's nostrils and the cabin betrayeditself. With Pal dancing eagerly ahead, he started up the path.
Fifty yards from the road, he came to Johnny Blazer's cabin and halteduncertainly. The place looked abandoned. Of the two windows he couldsee, a pane of glass was missing from each. Still, smoke drifted fromthe chimney. Obviously someone was living in the cabin.
Jeff knocked on the door. Nobody answered. He knocked again, and whenthere was no response, he walked in.
A homemade chair with one broken leg lay upended on the floor. Therewere a few broken dishes, a stove, scattered papers and dust. Wind blewthrough empty panes where glass had been. About to go farther in for acloser inspection, Jeff was halted by a near hysterical command.
"All right, mister! Raise both hands and raise 'em high!"
"Certainly," Jeff agreed pleasantly. "Anything to oblige."
Jeff raised both hands and heard, "Turn around!"
He turned to confront the yawning muzzles of a double-barreled eightgauge shotgun. Holding it and dwarfed by it, but never flinching, was ablazing-eyed boy who could not possibly be more than ten years old.