CHAPTER XVIII
A DUMB FRIEND
At three o'clock that afternoon Bart Stirling sat down to rest at theside of a dusty country road, pretty well tired out, and about ready toreturn to Pleasantville.
When old Professor Cunningham gave him the names Buck and Hank Tolliver,Bart was positive that the same covered the identity of the two men whohad been at the Sharp Corner with Lem Wacker.
Bart had started at once for Millville. His first intention was to get aconveyance at the livery stable, his first impulse to solicit theco-operation of the town police.
While discussing these points mentally, however, a farmer driving westcame down the road. He had a good team, said he was passing throughMillville, seemed glad to give Bart a lift, and so it was that the youngexpress agent found himself on the solitary lookout there, two hoursbefore noon.
He experienced no difficulty whatever in finding out all about theTollivers inside of twenty minutes after his arrival.
They were the last members of a shiftless, indolent family who had livedon the edge of Millville for twenty years.
When the father and mother died the family broke up. The two boys, Buckand Hank, kept bachelor's hall at the ricketty old ruin of a house onthe river until ejected by its owner for non-payment of rent, and thenwent to the bad generally.
They patched up an abandoned shack over on the bottoms, the postmasterat Millville told Bart, and lived by fishing, hunting and theirdepredations on orchards and chicken coops.
In one of their nightly forays about a year previous they were capturedand fined heavily. They could not pay the fine and were sent to jail forsix months.
About the first of June they were released, came back to Millville,found their old shack burned down, and since then, the postmasterunderstood, had camped out in the woods, giving the town a wideberth--in fact, only occasionally appearing, to buy a little flour,sugar or coffee, or, mostly, tobacco.
Nobody had seen them for over a week--nobody knew anything of anewly-painted red wagon.
It seemed probable, Bart theorized, that if they had made for hiding inany of their familiar woodland haunts, they had reached the same bydriving through Millville before daylight, and when nobody was astir.
Bart finally found a woodcutter who knew where the Tollivers had hadtheir camping place the week previous. He described the spot and Bartwas soon there--a secluded gully about two miles from town.
The place showed evidences of having been used as a camp, but notrecently, and Bart went on a general blind hunt.
He traversed the woods for miles, both sides of a dried up rivercourse,and inquired at farmhouses and of occasional pedestrians he met.
It was all of no avail. At three o'clock in the afternoon, tired,bramble-torn and a little discouraged, he sat down by the roadside torest and think. He began to censure himself for taking the independentcourse he had pursued.
"I should have telegraphed the company the circumstances of theburglary, and put the matter in the hands of the Pleasantville police,"he reflected. "If the trunk had belonged to anybody except Mrs. ColonelHarrington, I would have done so at once. Somebody coming!" heinterrupted his soliloquy, as he caught a vague movement through theshrubbery where the road curved.
"No--it's only a dog."
The animal came into view going a straight, fast course, its headdrooping, a broken rope trailing from its neck.
Bart suddenly sprang to his feet, for, studying the animal more closely,something familiar presented itself and he ran out into the middle ofthe road.
"Come here--good fellow!" he hailed coaxingly, as the animal approached.
But with a slight growl, and eyeing him suspiciously, it made a detourin the road, passing him.
"Lem Wacker's dog--I am sure of that!" explained Bart, naturallyexcited. "Come, old fellow--here! here! what is his name? I've gotit--Christmas. Come here, Christmas!"
The dog halted suddenly, faced about, and stared at Bart.
Then, when he repeated the name, it sank to its haunches panting, and,head on one side, regarded him inquiringly.
The animal was a big half-breed mastiff and shepherd dog that Lem Wackerhad introduced to his railroad friends with great unction, one Christmasday.
He had claimed it to be a gift from a friend just returned from Europe,who had brought over the famous litter of pups of which it was one.
Wacker had estimated its value at five hundred dollars. Next day he cutthe price in half. New Year's day, being hard up, he confidentiallyoffered to sell it for five dollars.
After that it went begging for fifty cents and trade, and no takers. Lemkicked the poor animal around as "an ornery, no-good brute," and had tokeep it tied up on his own premises all of the time to evade paying fora license tag.
Meeting the dog now, gave a new animation to Bart's thoughts.
The sequence of its appearance, here, ten miles away from home, was easyto pursue. It had broken away from its new owners--Buck and HankTolliver--and they were somewhere further up the road.
Christmas was making for home. It was hardly possible that the animalknew Bart, for, although he had seen it several times, he had neverspoken to it before. The call of its name, however, had checked theanimal, and now as Bart drew a cracker from his pocket and extended it,the dog began to advance slowly and cautiously towards him.
Bart saw the importance of making a friend of the animal. He stoodperfectly still, talking in a gentle, persuasive tone.
Christmas came up to him timorously, sniffed all about his feet, andsuddenly wagged its tail and put its feet up on him in a friendlymanifestation of delight.
Its keen sense of scent had apparently recognized that Bart had been avisitor to the Wacker home that day. It now took the cracker from Bart'shand, then another, and as Bart sat down again stretched itself placidlyand contentedly at his side.
"This looks all right," ruminated Bart speculatively. "If I can only getChristmas to go back the way he came, I feel I have found the righttrail."
Bart finally arose, and the dog, too. The animal turned its face east,wagged its tail expectantly, and eagerly studied Bart's face andmovements.
As he took a step up the road the animal's tail went down, nerveless,and its eyes regarded him beseechingly.
"Come on, old fellow!" hailed Bart encouragingly, patting the dog. Itfollowed him reluctantly. Then he made a rollic of it, jumping theditch, racing the animal, stopping abruptly, leaping over it, apparentlymaking Christmas forget everything except that it had a friendlycompanion.
At length Bart induced the dog to go ahead. It led the way with evidentreluctance. It would stop and eye Bart with a decidedly serious eye. Heurged it forward, and finally it got down to a slow trot, sniffing theroad and looking altogether out of harmony with its forced course.
Christmas was about twenty yards ahead of Bart at the end of a twomiles' jaunt, when he shied to the extreme edge of the road and drew tohis haunches.
Here wagon tracks led into the timber. The road had been used lately,Bart soon discerned.
"Come on, Christmas!" he hailed, branching off into the new obscureroadway.
The dog circled him, but could not be induced to leave the main road.Bart made a grab for the trailing rope. The animal eluded him, gave himone reproachful look, turned its nose east, and shot off, headed forhome like an arrow.
"I've lost my ally," murmured Bart, "but I think I have got my clew.Christmas does not like this road, which looks as if he left his captorssomewhere down its length. I'll try to locate them."
Bart followed the tortuous windings of the narrow road, through brush,over hillocks, down into depressions, and finally into the timber.
He came to a clearing, forcing his way past a border of prickly bushes,the tops of which seemed freshly broken, as though a wagon had recentlypassed over them.
As he got past them, Bart came to a decisive halt, and stared hard andwith a thrill of satisfaction.
Twenty feet away, under a spreading tree, a horse
was tethered, andright near it was a red wagon--holding a trunk.