5. DAN
The boy stood about ten feet away, near a pot-bellied wood stove behindwhich he probably had been hiding when Jeff came in. His clothing wasrumpled, but at the same time it was fairly new and not the fadedhand-me-downs that were to be expected on ten-year-olds aroundSmithville. His face and hands were dirty, and straight black hair thathad once been well-groomed tumbled all over his head.
Jeff knew a surge of pity. Never, in hill or any other country, should aten-year-old stand so. It was not right that any youngster's eyes shouldspark with such unbridled fury, or that any child should have thecomplete willingness to kill that was so evident in this one. At thesame time, Jeff felt something else. The youngster had control ofhimself and the shotgun did not waver. But taut lips seemed ready totremble and tears lingered behind angry eyes.
It was as though the boy had taken up burdens which were far too heavy,but which he was determined to carry, even while he longed for afriendly arm to help him and a sympathetic ear to which he might tellhis story. And somehow, in spite of his anger, quality was evidentwithin him.
Jeff said gently, "Put your gun down, son."
"Tell me what you're doing here! _With my pop's dog!_"
Jeff was astounded. "Your pop's dog?"
"That's him! That's Buster!"
Hearing the name, Pal flattened both ears and wagged his tail. He lookedat the boy without going near him. Jeff tried to collect his thoughts.
"I found him a long ways from here. Clear over beyond Cressman."
Uncertainty stole some of the boy's fury. "You--you did?"
"That's right."
"Who are you?"
"My name's Jeff Tarrant and I'm a peddler. Put your gun down."
"Well--" He lowered the shotgun. Two tears broke from his eyes and heshook them off with an angry whirl of his head. Jeff extended his hand.
"Maybe you'd better let me have the gun."
"It--it isn't loaded. I didn't have any money to buy shells!"
Jeff said gently, "Taking a bit of a chance, weren't you? What if you'dpulled it on someone with a gun that was loaded?"
"I--I don't know."
"This is really your dad's dog?"
"I ought to know him."
"He doesn't seem especially happy to see you."
"I--I only saw him twice. Last time a year ago. But it's my pop's!"
"Who are you, son?"
"Dan Blazer."
"And where is your pop?"
"Dead!" Dan said fiercely. "Shot by those--Whitneys!"
He whirled so that his back was to Jeff, put both grimy hands to hiseyes, and shook with sobs. Pal looked worried. Jeff strode swiftlyacross the floor, knelt beside the sobbing youngster, gathered him up,and sat with him on a homemade wooden chair whose back and seat were oflaced buckskin. Laying his head on Jeff's shoulder, Dan sobbedunrestrainedly. Then he wriggled, turned away quickly so that Jeff couldnot see his face, and slid to the floor. He wiped his eyes with ahandkerchief that was almost as dirty as his face. When he turned againto Jeff, he was calmer.
"Cry baby!" he accused himself. "Big cry baby!"
"Come here, Dan," Jeff said gently.
"What do you want?"
"To talk to you, and I've seen men cry over a whole lot less."
"Really?" The thought seemed a reassuring one.
"Really. Where is your mother?"
"She died when I was--When I was just a child." He spoke quietly. Hismother had died so long ago that all pangs were gone.
"I see. What were you doing when these--uh--when these Whitneys shotyour pop?"
"I was in Ackerton." Dan named the nearest city.
Again Jeff was surprised. "What were you doing there?"
"Pop sent me to Jackson School there. Said he was a hill man but hedidn't want me to be one. He said there were better things."
"_Hm-m._ How did you get here?"
"Walked," Dan answered matter-of-factly.
"Didn't anyone try to stop you?"
"A policeman did before I was out of Ackerton. I got away, and afterthat I walked at night."
"Do you have any relatives?"
"I'm the only one left in the Blazer family and I aim to kill everydanged Whitney! That way I'll be sure to get the one who got Pop!"
Jeff said drily, "Nothing like being thorough. You're sure the Whitneysdid get your pop?"
"They're the ones he fought most with."
"But he fought with others too?"
"Well, yes."
"Hadn't we better do a bit of thinking before we shoot all theWhitneys?"
"We? Why do you want to mix in?"
"I've got your pop's dog, haven't I? That gives me the right, doesn'tit?"
Dan looked doubtfully at Jeff. "Do you really think so?"
"Certainly I think so, but let's not go off half-cocked. This is goingto take a bit of figuring. We can't just wander around leaving corpsesall over the woods."
"What would you do?"
"Find who really shot your pop and get him."
"I never thought of that," Dan admitted.
"Let's talk about it over a good meal. That sound all right?"
"Great but--I'm down to corn meal mush."
"Tonight we'll have something else," Jeff decided. "I was just going into Smithville to buy grub. Do you like pork chops?"
"Oh, boy!" Dan licked his lips. "But why should you buy me anything?"
"If we're partners," Jeff said firmly, "we share and share alike. Youcan understand that. We're already sharing the cabin."
Confidence and hope warmed Dan's eyes. He smiled, and Jeff reflectedthat that was the way he should always look.
"Uh--Jeff."
"What's up?"
"Do you think you could bring some shells for this shotgun?"
"On one condition. The gun isn't shot at anything, or anybody, unlessboth of us know about it."
"All right," Dan agreed.
Pal went to the door with him. Jeff shoved the dog back, shut the door,and struck into the gathering twilight. He shook a bewildered head.
Was it a year ago, or only a few days, that he had been the footlooseowner-manager-working force of Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd.? Why was heburdened now with a dog that few other people wanted and a boy thatnobody wanted very much? Why hadn't he left both where he found them andaccepted just his own responsibilities? He shook his head again andmurmured to himself, "Darn fool! Tarrant, of all the pinheaded thingsyou've ever done, these take the hand-polished railroad spike!"
At the same time he knew that he couldn't have done otherwise. The doghad helped him, therefore the dog must not be abandoned. Nor could Jeffsimply leave Dan to any fate that awaited him. The only man left in theBlazer family, Dan had walked all the way from Ackerton--more than ahundred miles--to avenge his father. He intended to make sure he did itby shooting all the Whitneys, and he would die if he raised the gun tothe first one. It was a staggering situation and how should he, Jeff,solve it?
Again Jeff gave himself over to the idea that first things must be firstand walked into Smithville.
It was a small town, with perhaps four hundred inhabitants, and asnearly as there could be such a thing, it was a place where the outerworld intruded on the hills. Smithville was about half-civilized. Thestreets were dirt and rutted, but instead of the log houses in whichhill families abode, the dwellings here were frame. The Smithville Innwas largely a place for those who wished merriment in its louder forms,and there was one store. Wagons piled high with logs offered mutetestimony as to the way the town's residents earned a livelihood butthere were no horses to be seen. Doubtless, with night approaching, theteamsters had stabled their draft animals.
Jeff halted in front of the store, a rather large building whose frontend consisted of numerous small panes of glass inserted in woodenframes. There was the legend "Abel Tarkman, General Store," and beneathit was printed, "Post Office Too."
Knowing before he did so what he would find, Jeff entered. Isolatedstores such as this one cat
ered to all the wants of many people. As aresult, they had to stock a little bit of everything that was practical,and Abel Tarkman's store was no exception. Counters stretched its fulllength. Pails, straps, lanterns and bits of harness, were suspended fromrafter beams. There was a rack of hoes, rakes, spades and other gardentools, but no plows or harrows; this was not a farm community. Jeff sawa shelf of drugs, a vast assortment of chewing and smoking tobaccos, awhole rack of vari-calibered firearms and ammunition, a food counter, adry goods counter, and toward the back--a small cubby hole of unpaintedlumber that was labeled "Post Office."
Two other people, a stocky man with a badge, and a woman, were in thestore. Jeff stood aside while the proprietor, evidently Abel Tarkmanhimself, served the woman. A small, quiet man with an inoffensivemanner, he wrapped the woman's purchases and looked inquiringly at Jeff.
"Four pounds of pork chops," Jeff said.
He ordered a dozen eggs, two loaves of bread, a three-pound slab ofbacon, two quarts of milk, a pound of coffee, a peck of potatoes, andmindful of the youngster at the cabin, a head of lettuce and a bunch ofcarrots. To these purchases he added a broom, four panes of glass toreplace those broken out of the cabin, putty with which to hold them, alantern, a gallon of kerosene, and finally, "A half dozen eight gaugeshotgun shells."
"I've nothing but number fours in eight gauge."
"They'll do and I want to stick them in my pocket."
Abel Tarkman looked doubtfully at the rest. "It's a lot to carry."
"Put it in gunny sacks. I'll manage."
Tarkman reached beneath the counter for a gunny sack and said amiably,"Fishing?"
"Loafing," Jeff answered. "Nothing strenuous."
"Staying long?"
"I don't know."
"Where you staying?"
"Blazer's cabin."
Abel Tarkman's jaw tautened and he said no more. Jeff frowned. It was asthough something cold had crept between them, and why should the mentionof Blazer bring that about? Without speaking any more, the storekeepertotaled Jeff's bill on a piece of brown wrapping paper and Jeff paid incash. Ordinarily he'd have tried to barter, but, though the pack wasfull, he still had ideas about trading with the hill people.
Shouldering two half-filled gunny sacks, Jeff left the store. The sunhad set, but enough light remained so that he could see. Between twofar-spaced houses, and a sufficient distance from the store, Jeff tookthe six shotgun shells from one pocket and a knife from another.Carefully he pried the wadding from each shell and poured the shot out.Just as carefully replacing the shot with tightly-rolled bits of paperthat he tore from his packages, he re-assembled the shells. Notforgotten was the fury of which Dan was capable. He had promised Jeffthat he'd do no shooting on impulse, but Jeff wanted no accidents shouldDan encounter a Whitney when he had the shotgun in his hands.
Jeff was reassembling the last shell when, his badge shining in theday's last light, the man he'd seen in the store came to and pausedbeside him.
"Howdy."
"Howdy."
"My name's Ellis," the constable said. "Bill Ellis and I'm constablehere."
"Jeff Tarrant," Jeff extended his hand. They shook and Bill Ellis asked,"You said you're staying at Blazer's cabin?"
"That's right."
"See anything of a youngster thereabouts?"
"You mean Dan Blazer? Yes, he's there."
"Then I guess I'd better walk out with you and pick him up. Poor littletad's all alone in the world."
"No, he isn't. I'm taking care of him."
Bill Ellis was suspicious. "Since when?"
Jeff managed to sound more than a little astonished. "Didn't he tellyou?"
"All he did was walk through Smithville yesterday with a little sackover his shoulder and a shotgun big's a cannon in his arm. All he saidwas that he would meet somebody at the cabin. I waited this long to seeif he really would."
Jeff gave thanks for this bit of coincidence. "I met him at the cabinand he's all right. He's getting everything a youngster should have,though of course if your official duties call for so doing, you may takehim. Naturally, I'll have to go with him and bring him right back, sothere may be a bit of trouble. You were going to take him to anorphanage, weren't you?"
"Where else?"
"Ah, yes," Jeff agreed. "Where else? Splendid place, an orphanage. Idealfor those with no one to whom they might turn."
"I got a letter from some school in Ackerton. Said the kid left thereright after his dad's funeral and hasn't been seen since. Said theythought he'd come here and I should be on the watch for him."
"An error," Jeff murmured. "Why don't you write to the school?"
"Maybe I'd better."
"Do that," Jeff urged. "How long does it take a letter to get toAckerton and a reply back here?"
"About a week."
Jeff made up his mind to visit Ackerton before the week was out--andmaybe Bill Ellis needn't send his letter.
"I'm going to Ackerton," Jeff said. "I'll bring written confirmationfrom the school if you want it."
"Well, if you're going there--"
"Let's leave it that way," Jeff said quickly. "If you care to check inthe meanwhile, you can ask Dan. Who killed his father, anyway?"
"If I knew, he'd be in jail."
"Haven't you any ideas?"
"Sure I have. It's one of maybe twenty-five or thirty people."
"Have you questioned them?"
"How well are you acquainted around here?"
"I just got in."
"That explains it then."
"Explains what?"
"Your not knowing why I haven't questioned twenty-five or thirty people.Let me tell--"
Bill Ellis spoke at length of those who lived in Smithville and thosewho abode in the mountains surrounding it. The town dwellers, with fewexceptions, were industrious people who were glad to work for the lumbercompany and to accept a weekly pay check. They seldom caused trouble.
Those residing in the hills were a different breed. They worked whenthey felt like it, which was not often, and few of them could bear theyoke of a steady job for more than three weeks at a time. They did forthemselves and took their living from the wilderness. Of late years,with hunters and fishermen finding their way into the hills, guidingthem had become a good source of income. But the only reason the hillpeople were willing to guide was because they usually spent all theirtime hunting or fishing anyway. They made their own laws, lived by theirown code, and united only when outside forces threatened any part oftheir way of life.
When they fought, they fought hard and often for little reason. For manyyears a feud, with the Whitneys on one side and the Paynters on theother, had raged. It had started, of all things, over a muskrat stolenfrom Jed Paynter's trap. His own judge, jury, and executioner, Jed hadshot Enos Whitney. Two days later Jed was found with a bullet in hishead and, though everybody knew one of the Whitneys had shot him, nobodyhad ever proven it. Finally, with four Paynters and two Whitneys dead,the remainder of the Paynters left the hills. No officer had ever provenanything. One who'd gone into the hills had simply disappeared.
Bill Ellis knew only that someone had shot Johnny Blazer. But who?Johnny had done well trapping, hunting medicinal roots, and guiding andboarding hunters and fishermen. There was not a man in the hills whowouldn't have liked what Johnny had and not a man who wouldn't havequarreled with him about it. But to go into the hills with wholesaleaccusations would do nothing except rouse fury. Accusing, or evensuspecting, whoever had not shot Johnny would be insult of the deadliestsort and inevitably bring on shooting.
Far from being interested in local quarrels, the outside world seldomeven heard of them and little help could be expected from anyone. IfBill Ellis knew who had shot Johnny, he would go get him. But he had toknow and had to have indisputable proof before he moved. He'd alreadydone everything he could and was no nearer a solution than he had beentwo months ago.
Jeff listened intently, and realized that he was hearing the truth. Ifit was more extreme
than what he already knew about mountain dwellers,Smithville was more isolated than any other place he had ever visited.Jeff thought of the youngster in the cabin. Dan Blazer had attended acity school, but his were hill blood and hill traditions. He had askedno one to help him avenge his father, but vengeance was a point ofhonor.
Jeff gritted his teeth. Dan was a child. It would be the essence ofsimplicity, using force if necessary, to place him in an orphanage ormake him go back to school. But it would solve nothing. A boy now, Danwould be a man. When he was, he'd be back here in the hills. There wouldbe no forgetting.
"Where was Johnny found?" Jeff asked.
"Between here and his cabin. If you noticed a big sycamore right besidethe road, he was lying against the trunk."
"Who found him?"
"Couple of fellows from Ackerton. They were fishing back in themountains and they brought Johnny here. Mike Severance, he does firstaid work for the lumber company, patched him up and they took him toDelview. He died in the hospital there. Bullet went right through him."
"Where is he buried?"
"In Delview." Bill Ellis narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"A peddler," Jeff answered honestly. "I thought I could do some businesshere."
"You will, too. Now tell me straight why that kid came back."
"I told you. He's with me."
"We'll leave it that way," the constable promised, "at least until youbring word from Ackerton. But if you have any ideas except peddling,you'd better get some shells that are loaded with something besidespaper wads."
"I'll think about it."
Bill Ellis guessed, "The kid toted the gun. Does he want the shells?"
"That's about it."
"You aim to watch him?"
"Why do you think I'm giving him blanks?"
"Why do you bother with him?"
"I'm an orphan myself. I could have used somebody to look after me whenI was ten years old."
"For pete's sake, be careful!"
"I'll keep that in mind."
"You know where to find me if you need advice," Bill Ellis promised."But if you start any half-baked ruckus, you finish it. I've a wife andtwo kids to think about. Well, maybe I'll be seeing you."
Pocketing the shells and shouldering the gunny sacks, Jeff walkedswiftly back up the road. He halted when he came to the big sycamore. Itwas a monstrous tree that shaded the road and murmured gently as theevening breeze danced through its branches. There was nothing whateverto show that a man had died violently beside it. But a man had diedhere, and Jeff looked quizzically at the tree. If it could talk, itprobably could tell who had killed Johnny Blazer.
He left the tree and hurried along. Trees did not talk and--Jeff wasdeep in thought until he came to the cabin. There he brushed his frownsaway and forced a sparkle back into his eyes. Dan was a ticklishproblem, and like all such, he had to be handled delicately. There mustnot be even one wrong move. Jeff burst into the cabin with a cheerful,"Poke the fire up, Dan! There's pork chops for supper!"