Dixie Martin, the Girl of Woodford's Cañon

  CHAPTER ELEVEN PLANNING A WAY OUT

  The evening of the day when Carol had ridden away from her log-cabinhome to live in the handsome colonial residence of the banker of Genoa,Ken and Dixie sat up later than usual. Ken had a slate on the table infront of him.

  "The taxes are twelve dollars a year," he was saying, "so, just as soonas the money comes each month, we must put one dollar in a safe place."

  Dixie nodded and then glanced at the tall grandfather clock. It wasnine. She wondered if Carol had remembered to say her prayers before shewent to bed, and would she miss Dixie's good-night kiss. Perhaps notthat very first night. She'd be so excited and interested, everythingbeing so new and strange. Never before had the older girl spent even onenight away from any of her little brood. She supposed that she might getused to it in time, sleeping alone in the loft.

  "Dix, you're not paying the least mite of attention to what I amsaying." Ken's voice was patient, but he was a little vexed, for he knewthat he, who had always been a faithful brother and friend, was beingneglected while Dixie was yearning for their vain, selfish sister,Carol.

  "I heard what you said, Ken, dear, honestly I did! You were saying itwould take two dollars to buy a sack of dry beans, and another twodollars for potatoes that we need right now. That's five dollars out ofthis month's interest, and there'll be another for extra things likesalt and sugar. It doesn't look as though there'd be enough to buy acoat for Jimmy-Boy, does it? And the cold winter will soon be here."

  The brow of the lad was wrinkled, and unconsciously he tapped his pencilon the slate as he thought. Then suddenly he rose with a look ofdetermination that was so like his father's. "Dix," he said, "I'm notgoing to school any longer. I'm going to work, that's what. I'm fourteenyears of age now, and the law lets you stop then."

  The girl also had risen, and, placing a hand lovingly on the arm of herbrother, she said, "Kenny, you know that your heart's set on going awayto school some day to learn how to make roads and bridges and thingslike that."

  Ken nodded. "I know," he said. "Maybe later I can go to school again,but just now we need money."

  The lad had been twelve years of age the year that the State road hadcrossed the Sierra Nevada Mountains. He had been a frequent andfascinated visitor at the camp where the civil engineer lived, andFrederick Edrington, isolated from people of his own kind, had reallyenjoyed the companionship of the intelligent boy, and had taught himmany things, leaving in the heart of the lad an unwavering ambition someday to become a civil engineer.

  When the camp of the road-builders had been moved farther and fartherwest, Ken had managed to visit his friend until the distance became toogreat, and at last he had to say good-by to Frederick Edrington, who hadbeen a greater influence for good in the boy's life than either of themat that time realized.

  Now and then a letter or a picture postcard had come from the engineer,who had been promoted to a government inspecting-position which took himto many out-of-the-way places. One of Ken's dearest desires was to meetagain this friend whom he so admired.

  "Don't stop going to school yet, Ken, dear," Dixie was saying. "Let'swait till we get close up to troub