European Peasants And Their Markets Essays In

Agrarian Economic History Reprint William Parker

download

https://ebookbell.com/product/european-peasants-and-their-
markets-essays-in-agrarian-economic-history-reprint-william-
parker-7018998

Explore and download more ebooks at ebookbell.com

Here are some recommended products that we believe you will be
interested in. You can click the link to download.

European Peasants And Their Markets Essays In Agrarian Economic

History William N Parker Editor Eric L Jones Editor

https://ebookbell.com/product/european-peasants-and-their-markets-
essays-in-agrarian-economic-history-william-n-parker-editor-eric-l-
jones-editor-51950200

Transforming Peasants Property And Power The Collectivization Of

Agriculture In Romania 19491962 Constantin Iordachi Editor Dorin
Dobrincu Editor

https://ebookbell.com/product/transforming-peasants-property-and-
power-the-collectivization-of-agriculture-in-
romania-19491962-constantin-iordachi-editor-dorin-dobrincu-
editor-51922850

Physicians Peasants And Modern Medicine Imagining Rurality In Romania

18601910 Constantin Barbulescu

https://ebookbell.com/product/physicians-peasants-and-modern-medicine-
imagining-rurality-in-romania-18601910-constantin-barbulescu-51922786

Peasant Economy Culture And Politics Of European Russia 18001921

Esther Kingstonmann Editor

https://ebookbell.com/product/peasant-economy-culture-and-politics-of-
european-russia-18001921-esther-kingstonmann-editor-47242314
Peasant Economy Culture And Politics Of European Russia 18001921
Course Book Esther Kingstonmann Editor Timothy Mixter Editor

https://ebookbell.com/product/peasant-economy-culture-and-politics-of-
european-russia-18001921-course-book-esther-kingstonmann-editor-
timothy-mixter-editor-51951214

Beyond Lords And Peasants Rural Elites And Economic Differentiation In

Premodern Europe Frederic Aparisi Vicent Royo

https://ebookbell.com/product/beyond-lords-and-peasants-rural-elites-
and-economic-differentiation-in-premodern-europe-frederic-aparisi-
vicent-royo-55480618

Peasant Violence And Antisemitism In Early Twentiethcentury Eastern

Europe 1st Ed Irina Marin

https://ebookbell.com/product/peasant-violence-and-antisemitism-in-
early-twentiethcentury-eastern-europe-1st-ed-irina-marin-7148978

The Last Peasant War Violence And Revolution In Twentiethcentury

Eastern Europe 1st Edition Jakub S Bene

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-last-peasant-war-violence-and-
revolution-in-twentiethcentury-eastern-europe-1st-edition-jakub-s-
bene-230896762

Europes Green Revolution And Others Since The Rise And Fall Of
Peasantfriendly Plant Breeding Jonathan Harwood

https://ebookbell.com/product/europes-green-revolution-and-others-
since-the-rise-and-fall-of-peasantfriendly-plant-breeding-jonathan-
harwood-23999838
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 CHAPTER XIV

Pretty soon we couldn’t even hear the tin-peddler’s whistle, and

Mark got up onto his feet, painful-like. He stretched, which was
taking a chance on busting out some seams, and yawned. Lots of
things Mark Tidd does look funny, but if there’s anything more
comical a fat boy can do than yawn I’d give something to see it.
“Just an hour,” says he, “to f-find that opportunity.”
“Might not take ten minutes,” I says. “From what I know of
opportunities they’re onreliable. They’re just as apt to catch you
early in the mornin’ as late at night. No tellin’ when they come
prowlin’ around.”
“We’ll go ahead like I p-planned for an hour. Then we’ll go home if
nothin’ hasn’t turned up.”
“Good!” says I. “That suits me down to the ground.”
“There ain’t but sixty minutes in an hour,” says he, “and every one
that gits away from you is one less you got. Let’s be stirrin’ around.”
“Stir ahead,” I told him, getting onto my feet. “Get your old spoon
to workin’.”
Mark was looking at Sammy with a kind of glint in his eye. He
didn’t need to tell me he was thinking of some use to put that big
fellow to; you could see it sticking out all over him.
“Um,” says he. “You’re too dangerous-lookin’ to waste, Sammy.”
Sammy grinned like it was the finest compliment a boy could think
of, and wriggled his toes. Well, sir, that was all Mark needed to give
him an idea—just the wiggling of a toe.
 “That’s the ticket,” he says in his tickled-to-death voice. “Wasn’t
there a fresh-spaded flower-bed just in front of the porch there,
Tallow?”
“All raked over and as neat as a pin,” I says. “Bet the seeds hain’t
been planted six hours.”
“It’s where they’ll be s-s-sure to see it.”
“Right under anybody’s nose that comes out on the porch.”
“Fine! We’ll give ’em somethin’ to look at, then. Now, Sammy,
listen to what I’m a-goin’ to say to you, and listen good. You jest
make believe all of you is Injun and that you’re a-crawlin’ up on a
camp of enemies. The camp of enemies is the house, and if you git
seen they’ll more’n likely burn you at the stake. Well, you go
mouchin’ along till you git to that flower-bed, and then you up and
step careful right in the middle of it with that b-b-busted foot of
yours. Leave a good, plain mark like was in the sand at the cave.
Then come back a-kitin’.”
Sammy grinned some more and wriggled his hands and sort of
twisted all over like a cat does when it wants you to feed it. We
watched him crawl down along the hedge, and then all at once he
ducked out of sight, and, no matter how we strained our eyes, we
couldn’t catch even a wabble of the bushes.
“If it looks as mysterious to Batten as it did to us I guess they’ll do
considerable wonderin’ about it,” I says.
We sat pretty anxious and quiet waiting for Sammy to come back.
It didn’t look to us like the folks in the house could do Sammy harm
once he got a start, but somebody might come onto him unexpected
and swat him with something; and then where’d we be, with nobody
to carry the turbine if we did manage to get a hold on it? But we
needn’t have worried. The first thing we knew there was Sammy
standing right by us, chuckling like all get out.
“Sammy step on flower-bed. Sammy careful—oh, very careful.
Make foot show plain. Make Sammy’s funny foot show in dirt.
Sammy helps, eh? Big help?”
 “You b-bet Sammy’s a help,” Mark told him, and patted him on the
back. “We never’d git anywheres without you, would we, Tallow?”
“I should say not,” I says, just as solemn as I could; and maybe
you think Sammy wasn’t tickled. Why, he most wiggled out of his
skin!
“I’m goin’ to sneak over and see if anything happens,” says I. “I
kin hide among the evergreens and watch. It ought to be worth
seein’.”
“Don’t go takin’ no r-r-risks.” Mark like to have strangled over the
last word. “Keep your ears open, and if I whistle the whistle, come
a-runnin’.”
I went around in front and wriggled through the hedge. Nobody
was in sight around the house, so I squirmed up, dodging from tree
to tree until I was only about twenty feet away from the steps.
There I crouched down among the prickles of a fat evergreen and
waited. I could see the steps as plain as could be, but you’d have
had to hunt for me careful to have found me, even if you knew I
was hiding around.
Well, it wasn’t more than ten minutes before Bill came out rubbing
his hand like he’d been writing or drawing and the muscles were
tired. He sat down on the top step and pulled a cigar out of his vest.
I could see the red-and-gold band around it. He bit off the end and
struck a match. I was interested to see how he snapped the match
away, and made up my mind to try it myself. He shot it just like I’d
shoot a marble, and it went straight. It fell right on Willis’s flower-
bed. Now, when you snap a thing that way you always watch to see
if you hit what you shot at, or, anyhow, to see where you do hit, and
Bill saw the match strike right alongside of Sammy’s footprint. I saw
him lean forward quick and stretch his neck. He grabbed a hold on
the post and pulled himself up, and then walked over to the bed. He
leaned over, knelt down, and I could hear him grunt with surprise.
“Well,” says he to himself, “well.”
In a minute he got up and went into the house. Before long he
came back with Batten, and both of them looked at the footprint.
 “What is it?” says Bill.
Batten looked kind of funny and shook his head.
“Look at them toes,” Bill says, after a while. “Look at ’em, growin’
right out of the side of the foot. No man ever made that,” says he.
“Too big,” Batten agreed, shaking his head some more.
“There’s only one footprint. I looked,” Bill says. “It hasn’t made a
mark anywhere else around. I don’t like it, not me. Feet with toes off
to the side and bells ringin’ without anybody to ring ’em. I tell you I
don’t like it.”
“Shucks!” Batten snorted.
“Well, what made it, then? Looks as if it didn’t have but one leg
and come down out of the air just to make a footprint. I wish we
was a good ways away from here.”
“So do I, but not on account of the bells or the tracks in the dirt.”
“I never took any stock in ghosts, but that track makes me shiver
—and them bells ringin’. And old Willis is so scairt he can’t eat.”
“Come on,” Batten says, sort of savage, “let’s skirmish around the
yard and see if we can’t see what’s doing it all.”
“Batten, you can skirmish all you want to, but not for me. I ain’t
hankerin’ to meet the thing that made that mark, not me.”
“Shucks!” Batten growled again. “Get a club and come on.”
That sounded fine to me, I can tell you. Get a club and come on! I
was afraid enough of them without clubs, so I waited just long
enough to let them turn their backs, and off I was. I couldn’t get out
of the yard, though, before they were back, and each of them had a
cane big enough to knock a horse down with. They didn’t separate—
seemed like both of them wanted company—but they did begin
poking all over the front yard. Every chance I got I edged away
farther, and I managed to keep a bush between the men and me all
the time. At last I had to take a chance of being seen or else get
caught, for they had me cornered, so I watched for the best time,
and up and dived through the hedge like I was jumping off a spring-
board. I landed all in a heap outside.
 “What’s that?” Batten says, sharp.
“Somethin’ went slam through the hedge—somethin’ heavy.”
You can just be sure I didn’t wait. I picked myself up and
skedaddled, keeping close to the bushes, and was safe and sound
before they got up courage to look over at the place I dived through.
“They’re consid’rable stirred up,” I says to Mark, when I got back.
“You ought to have seen Batten and Bill look at that track.”
“Did it s-s-scare ’em?” He was excited as could be.
“Scare ’em! Huh, I bet they won’t go to bed in the dark for a
month. Let’s not give ’em any rest. Jest keep whangin’ away at ’em
all the time that’s left to us.”
“Well, then, git over where you were behind the fence, and we’ll
give ’em some more ghost-ringin’.”
I went crawling back, and got into my fence corner all right. I’d
been so lucky getting one place and another without being seen that
I was feeling pretty well satisfied with myself and figuring that I was
about as good, maybe, as Leatherstocking and a lot of those old
fellows that have been written about so much. Which shows that it’s
bad luck to get to liking yourself. I never knew it to do any good,
and nine times out of ten it upsets your apple-cart.
I peeked up through the bushes, and there, not more than fifty
feet off, sat Henry C. Batten and the big young man he called Bill
smoking and taking it easy in the shade of a little apple tree. I sat
quiet and listened to them talking.
“The funny thing,” says Batten, “is where that dog has gone to.
That’s what’s bothering me.”
“Gone off chasing a rabbit.”
“I s’pose a rabbit rang the bell, too, huh? And let out that screech.
I ain’t denying it’s got on my nerves, and Willis is ready to crawl
under the bed. ’Tain’t ghosts, I know that—when I get time to think
it over—but it’s all-fired queer. I’d give something to know how that
bell was rang and who rung it.”
 I just couldn’t resist the temptation to let her fly. My sling-shot
was all ready with a pebble in it, and I hit the old bell a good clip.
Glang it went.
Batten and Bill sat up straight. Maybe they were sure ghosts
hadn’t anything to do with it, but they didn’t like it. They got up and
walked over by the shed where they could look up at the bell.
“There isn’t any string tied to the clapper,” says Batten. “I thought
it might be a black thread—some kid trick. If it is a kid I’d like to
catch him a minute.” He looked good and mad and a little
frightened, which is a bad combination. I said to myself I’d be in for
a good mauling if he did catch me.
I was having too much fun, though, to quit, so I let her have
another one. This time I hit it sort of glancing on the side, and it
rang, all right, but the pebble went bouncing off and whanged
against the side of the shed not a yard from Batten, and fell almost
at his feet. He couldn’t help seeing it.
“Well,” says I to myself, “you’ve gone and spilled the beans now.”
And I had, too. Batten stooped over and picked up the pebble and
then looked around to see where it could have come from. It didn’t
take more than a cabbage-head to puzzle that out, for I was in
about the only place where a fellow could hide and shoot at the bell
—outside of the icehouse. Batten didn’t wait for anything, but came
running right at the fence, and Bill was at his heels.
I didn’t wait.
The orchard was behind me, and I turned, letting out a holler, and
was off through it, running faster than I ever ran before. Batten and
Bill had to climb the fence, which gave me a good start, and the
trees kept them from getting a good sight of me. I made for the
road, which was foolish, but when a fellow’s frightened he’s likely to
do foolish things. You see, I wanted to get where I could run faster,
and didn’t stop to think that the men who were after me would be
able to run faster, too. I should have kept to the fields and the
woods. A heavy man can’t get over the ground when it’s rough and
bumpy like a boy can.
 Batten wasted quite a bit of breath yelling at me, and so did Bill. I
guess between them they made racket enough to stir up a good
slice of that side of the country. But they were better at yelling than
they were at running, and even in the road, where things were
easier for them, I kept all of my lead, and even gained some. But
they stuck to it. I suppose both of them were pretty mad. There
aren’t many things, I’ve noticed, make a grown-up man so mad as
to be scared good without any reason, especially if the scaring has
been done by a boy. They chased me clean to the bend of the river,
and then all at once I heard old Willis letting out screeches and
hollers from the house.
Batten stopped as quick as a wink, and Bill stopped, too. I
slackened down some myself and listened. Whatever could have
happened to the old man I couldn’t figure out, but he was sure
enough excited, bawling Batten’s name and things I couldn’t make
out and hollering “Help!”
Well, sir, those two men forgot all about me. They turned around
and hit for the house. I kept right on going, because I studied it out
that Mark and Sammy had been up to something and, whatever it
was, it was too late for me to help; and, mad as Batten was, I didn’t
think that neighborhood was a very good one for me to be hanging
around. It was five miles to town almost, but I set out to walk it.
As I went along I got to thinking about the dog that had been tied
up now for three or four hours, and I was sorry for him. “I might as
well let him loose,” I says to myself; “he can’t do any harm now.”
He was tied up just around the next bend. When I turned it there
was Zadok Biggs’s red wagon, but Zadok wasn’t on top of it. The
horse was taking advantage of his opportunity again. I says to
myself that if the peddler stopped very often and gave the horse
many more opportunities he’d eat so much he couldn’t walk, and
then Zadok would have an opportunity to doctor him.
I came up close and called. Zadok answered from back among the
trees, and I found him petting the dog and feeding him sandwiches.
 He didn’t seem a bit surprised to see me, but went on feeding the
dog, and the dog wriggled around and worked his tail back and forth
so hard it rocked his hind legs.
“He likes sandwiches,” says Zadok Biggs. “That is an interesting
fact. Always make a note of interesting facts. They may some day be
of advantage to you—come in handy is the general way of saying it.
You see, if you owned a dog like this and had nothing to feed him
but sandwiches, you, with this fact in your possession, would not
hesitate to give them to him. You would know he liked them. Very
interesting and very useful.”
“I’m going to let him go,” says I.
He nodded. “Where is your companion—Marcus Aurelius
Fortunatus Tidd? A name to admire!”
“Back there somewheres, in some kind of a mess, I guess.”
“You’ve been running,” he said, and eyed me a minute. “What
for?”
“I was being chased.”
“A very good reason, very good, indeed. I know of no better
reason for running than that you are being pursued—chased, as you
say. Who chased you?”
“Batten and Bill,” I says.
He began to hop up and down on his short legs; his eyes got
bright and he slapped his leg. “Did they chase you far? Away from
the house?”
“Quarter of a mile, maybe.”
“What made ’em stop?”
“Old Willis was hollerin’ his head off back at the farm.”
“Opportunity!” says Zadok Biggs, and he danced a little jig. “You
never know when it’s coming. Never! How does it feel to be an
opportunity?” he shot at me sudden-like, “or, at least, part of one?”
“I dunno.”
 “Martin, I believe your name was? Well, Martin, you have been
part of an opportunity for your friend Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus
Tidd. The point is—did he avail himself of it? I think! I consider him
in the light of acquaintance, and I say to myself, ‘Zadok, a boy
whose name is Marcus Aurelius would not neglect an opportunity.’ If
you add the fact that Fortunatus also is part of his name the matter
becomes certain. I am reassured—relieved, or made easy in my
mind are simpler ways of stating it—Marcus has seized the
opportunity. You will see.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about, but he seemed to be all
puffed up just like he’d done something wonderful. Mark might have
seized an opportunity, but the way things sounded to me it was an
opportunity to skedaddle with old Willis screeching after him. I
figured it out he’d guess I got away all right and wasn’t likely to
come back for more, so he and Sammy would take the boat and
make for home down the river. The road ran right along the bank, so
more than likely they’d be catching up with me before long.
“Martin,” says Biggs, “you ain’t what I’d call quick; no, not quick,
so to speak. I’ll tell you what’s happened; what your friend Marcus
Aurelius has done. He’s got the engine, that’s what, and he’s gettin’
away with it this very minute, this identical second.”
I saw it all right then, and without so much as saying good-by to
Zadok Biggs I went pelting up the road toward the farm. I’d wasted
as much as five minutes fussing with the old peddler just when I
was being needed, but I ran to make up for it. As I turned the last
bend I saw old Willis jumping up and down on the bank, shouting at
Batten and Bill, who were leaping down the steps, and a few feet
away from the dock was the boat with Mark Tidd and Sammy and
the engine in it.
I was most out of breath, but I kept on. When I got pretty close to
the cut I jumped over the bank, and, forgetting all about snakes and
mud and everything, I wallowed right into the marsh, at the same
time bellowing as loud as I could to Mark. The mud wasn’t as deep
as we’d figured, probably on account of the dirt dredged out of the
cut, and I went faster than Sammy could row the boat. I caught
them just at the end of the cut and jumped in ker-bang! And there I
was.
 CHAPTER XV

I have to tell you from hearsay what happened to Mark Tidd and
Sammy while I was being chased. I’ve heard it all so many times I
can see it, and if I’m not careful to remember I almost get to
believing I was there and taking part in the things that happened.
When I left Mark and Sammy to go around and shoot pebbles at
the bell they crept up to the fence on the east side of the house and,
Mark says, waited for an opportunity to come along. They heard me
whang the bell a couple of times, and then the racket that started
when Batten and Bill began chasing me.
“Sammy,” says Mark, “run quick and see what’s the matter.”
Sam ducked around in front and then came running back, all
excited. “Men chase Tallow!” he said. “He run! They run! Not catch
him, I guess.”
They could see old man Willis out behind the house dancing up
and down and capering around, but not offering to join in the chase
after me. He was pretty nearly over to the opposite fence. The
house was all alone.
“Opportunity,” says Mark to himself. “He said it would come.” Then
he turned to Sammy. “Over the fence,” he whispered. “Git through
that winder and git the engine that’s in there. Understand? It’s
heavy, but you g-g-got to carry it down to the boat. Quick!”
Sammy jumped over the fence and ran to the house, with Mark
following as fast as he could. It didn’t take any kind of a whack to
knock the screen out of the window; and Sammy crawled in,
grinning and happy as though he was playing some sort of a game,
which I suppose he thought he was.
 The engine stood right in the middle of the floor, and he stooped
to lift it. First he couldn’t get a good hold, but he tipped up one end
and got his fingers under, and then got a grip some way with the
other hand, and lifted.
Mark says he never saw anything like it in his life. Sammy had a
thin kind of a shirt on, and it drew tight across his back and arms so
Mark could see the muscles come up in big bunches and knots and
rolls. Sammy lifted so hard the muscles seemed like they were going
to snap. He bent his knees and got his legs and back into it, and up
came the engine from the floor. It seemed like an hour to Mark, but
most probably it wasn’t a whole minute. Sammy staggered to the
window and rested the turbine on the sill. There was just room for
him to squeeze by and jump outside while Mark steadied it for him.
“Hurry!” panted Mark. “Hurry!”
Sammy tipped the engine so it slid down into his arms, while Mark
grabbed one side so it wouldn’t topple over. It was a whopping
heavy thing, and Sammy grunted when he got the full weight of it;
but he braced himself firmly, using all his strength, and there he
was.
“Down to the boat!” stuttered Mark. “Quick!”
Sammy couldn’t go very fast with all that turbine to carry, and
Mark wasn’t much good to help. He was so fat he couldn’t get close
enough without getting in the way, so he just trotted alongside and
held her steady. Sammy panted and puffed and grunted and
staggered, but they got along smooth for maybe fifty feet. They
were just going to turn in among the evergreen trees, where they
would be safe as far as old Willis was concerned, when what should
the old man do but come poking around the back of the house!
 SAMMY GRUNTED WHEN HE GOT THE FULL
WEIGHT OF IT

His eyes lighted on them right off, and he let a holler out of him
that ’most split their ears, and stood there shaking his fist and
dancing up and down like he was on the end of a rubber. Mark
wasn’t worried much about him because he knew he wouldn’t dare
do anything, but he was worried about the racket, for it was sure to
bring Batten and Bill down onto him. He couldn’t do a thing, though,
but urged Sammy to hurry, which Sammy did the best he could. It
was mighty slow going and seemed a lot slower than it was.
Old Willis followed as close behind as he dared, yelling all the time
at the top of his voice; but they got to the top of the bank, and in a
couple of minutes they were in the boat and all right. But Mark
looked down the road and saw Batten and Bill coming pell-mell,
looking as though they meant business. This time neither of the men
that had been chasing me bothered about yelling. There was more
important business now than catching a kid that had been playing a
joke on them, so they saved their breath and put all their attention
to getting where they wanted to be as soon as they could.
Sammy started down the steps, and like to have broken his neck,
but he managed to keep his feet and make the boat. It is a pretty
hard thing to get a heavy machine down easy, and Sammy wasn’t
used to handling heavy things very much. When he went to lower
the turbine it slipped out of his hands and went whang onto the
bottom of the boat. They didn’t have time to see if any damage was
done, though they did hear a board split, but just dug in their oars
and started out through the cut. Mark had time and presence of
mind to grab one oar out of Willis’s boat so they couldn’t make very
good time chasing them, and off they went.
They weren’t more than half-way out of the cut before Batten and
Bill were at the foot of the steps bellowing and threatening. Mark
said it made him grin to see how mad they were, and how helpless.
And right then Mark and Sammy heard me a-yelling to the top of my
voice and saw me come plunging into the marsh like I was a regular
frog. Batten and Bill tried that, too, but right where they were was a
bad hole, and it was so mushy and wet they sank in to their hips and
had to go back. I had better luck, like I told you. Then Batten ran off
up the steps, and we didn’t see him for quite a while, but it turned
out he’d gone after another oar.
Sammy had the oars, of course, and he rowed like all get out. We
went pretty fast, and the current helped us, but we hadn’t got more
than what you might call a healthy lead before the nose of Willis’s
boat came poking out of the cut, and in another minute it was
skimming down-stream as fast as Bill could shove it.
When we were almost to the island I felt my feet getting wet, and
when I got to investigating I found that there was an inch of water
in the boat. When Sammy dropped the turbine it had knocked a hole
in her bottom, and she was filling as quickly as a boat could be
reasonably expected to, and there we were in a pretty bad pickle.
Mark saw it the same time I did.
“Boat’s s-s-sinkin’, Sammy!” he stuttered. “What we goin’ to do?”
Sammy kept right on rowing as fast as he could, and said never a
word. “Looks like he’s tryin’ to think,” says Mark, and I guess
thinking was more hard work for Sammy than carrying the turbine.
But he did it all right—got an idea, and it tickled him so he grinned
the widest grin I ever saw on his face.
“We row fast—hide—Sammy know place. Hide boat, hide engine,
hide you and me, eh? Good thing. Bad man can’t find us. Sammy
knows.”
I said to myself that it would be mighty lucky for us if Sammy did
know, but there wasn’t a thing we could do but wait to find out.
The other boat wasn’t gaining any; but if our boat should sink,
why, there would be an end of the whole thing. And she was getting
fuller and fuller every minute. It seemed like an hour before we
rounded the head of the island and were out of sight of the men
who were chasing us; and then Sammy rowed faster than ever more
than half the way to the other end, when, all of a sudden, he turned
toward shore and rowed through a mess of weeds and little willows
into a sort of bayou, all surrounded by swampy ground, but with a
couple of big willows with droopy branches growing right at the
edge of the water. Sammy made for one of these and pushed the
boat right through the leaves. Mark and I almost hollered, we was so
relieved, for back under that tree was plenty of room for the boat,
and the growing things were so dense all around that no one could
see them from the shore or from the bayou if they found their way
in.
“F-f-fine,” says Mark; and he patted Sammy on the shoulder.
That tickled Sammy, and he grinned again as wide as before.
But being pleased with the place didn’t keep the water from
coming through the bottom of the boat, and she was settling and
settling. Sammy jumped out up to his knees and grabbed hold of the
bow. It wasn’t any job at all to haul her up on the mud so she
couldn’t sink any farther, and that part of it was all right. We noticed
that Sammy didn’t take any more time about it than was necessary,
and scrambled into the boat about as quick as he could. He sat
down on the seat and grinned again. “Snakes,” he said, “lots of
snakes—big. Go k-r-r-r-r-r.” He imitated a rattler as if he’d gone to a
rattler school and learned their language.
Mark pulled his feet up and kept them on the seat; partly on
account of the water slopping around in the boat, and partly
because it made him feel easier in his mind, he said. He never did
have any use for snakes—particularly rattlers. For that matter,
neither did I.
It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was safe. Batten and Bill, most
likely, would keep on chasing us down the river, at least for quite a
piece. It wouldn’t occur to them that we had put in to the island
until they got past the lower end of it themselves, and our boat was
nowhere in sight. They might come back to look after that, but there
didn’t seem very much danger of getting found, and more so when
you think about the bad name the snakes and poison ivy had given
the island.
In about five minutes we heard the sloshing of oars in the river
outside, and Batten’s boat went splashing past hot-foot—if a boat
can go hot-foot, seeing it hasn’t any feet, and if it had they’d be in
cool water. Sammy chuckled and pointed and showed his big white
teeth in the middle of a grin.
“Good place to hide, eh? Bad men go past quick, so. Sammy fool
’em; nobody find Sammy when Sammy hide—no.”
 “I hope not,” Mark told him; “but they ain’t begun to miss us yet.
Wait till they git around the h-h-head of the island. They’ll be comin’
back to l-l-look for us then.”
“They can’t find. Sammy knows. Good place to hide.”
For more than an hour we sat in the boat, with muddy water
standing a couple of inches deep in it. Mark didn’t feel much like
talking, and Sammy didn’t think of anything to say, and I was scared
as all get out. When it was beginning to get dusk we heard the other
boat coming slow from up-stream, not down-stream, the way it
should have come. It was just moving, and the men were talking.
We could hear their voices, but what they said we couldn’t make out
because it came to us all in a muddle.
They stopped outside the bayou, and we understood Batten when
he said: “Looks like there was some sort of a bay in there. See how
the weeds and things turn in. Let’s poke in there; maybe it’s big
enough to hide a boat.”
Sammy looked at Mark, and he grinned again and winked. He was
trying to make Mark feel safe; but it didn’t work. Mark didn’t feel
safe, and I didn’t, either, especially when I saw their boat come
poking through the high weeds not thirty feet away.
Batten stood up and looked all around. “They ain’t there,” he said,
growling-like. “Where they got to I’d give a dollar to know. Here we
rowed all around this confounded island, and not a sight of them.
Even if I lost the turbine I’d like to get my hands on that fat kid a
minute. He’s too smart, he is.”
Mark was pretty pleased at that; but, all the same, he didn’t
hanker to let Batten get hold of him. Compliments are all right, but
that kind of a compliment is one you don’t get up and bow and say
“Thank you” for.
Batten and Bill sat there and rested and grumbled quite a spell,
and then, because it was getting dark, they pulled out for home.
“Might’s well give up,” said Bill. “We can’t find ’em to-night.”
“And we’re going to disappear before morning ourselves,” said
Batten. “We’ll keep an eye out for them till the last minute, though.”
 When they were gone Mark drew a long breath and took time to
think about the predicament we were in. It wasn’t pretty to think
about. There we were, five miles from home by road and I don’t
know how many by river, with a heavy engine and a smashed boat,
and the only land near enough to do any good full of rattlers and
poison ivy. How were we ever going to get to the mainland; and if
we did, what could we do with Tidd’s turbine? Mark never denied
that we was up a stump. Anybody would have been.
The only way out of it he could see was to fix the boat and go on
down the river that way, but he hadn’t anything to fix it with. He
didn’t even know how badly smashed it was. We could haul it out on
shore, of course, and find that out, but a shore like that island made
Mark prefer to sit in the boat and figure out some other scheme.
Even though it was my boat that was smashed, I felt the same way
about it.
“Sammy hungry—Sammy very hungry.”
Through the dusk we could see him rubbing his stomach and
looking bothered.
“So am I,” says Mark, “but I guess I’m goin’ to stay that way. We
can’t eat the b-b-boat.”
“Maybe catch fish. Got bait, got line, eh? Fish in river.”
“That’s all right, but how you goin’ to git there to fish for ’em?”
“Sammy dunno. Maybe swim, eh? Maybe git out on island. Maybe
git ’em somehow. Sammy very hungry.”
“And cold, too, I expect. I know I am. Ugh-h-h!”
“Go ’shore and make fire. Sammy fix so men can’t see. Sammy
will. Then catch fish, eh?”
“S-s-snakes,” said Mark.
“Poison ivy,” says I.
“Got to go, anyhow. Maybe snake bite, maybe not; can’t tell. Can’t
fix till we get on shore, eh? Got to fix boat.” Sammy seemed to think
that when you had to do a thing the only way was to do it; and if
rattlers and poison ivy got in the way, why, that was all there was to
it—you just had to take what came. It made me feel sort of
ashamed of myself to have a half-witted Indian setting a good
example like that, and I noticed Mark was looking pretty sheepish.
“Sammy carry boys, eh? Mark pretty heavy, maybe, but Sammy
can carry. Tallow he light.”
“Sammy’ll do nothin’ of the kind,” says Mark. “I can walk, I guess,
if you can.”
“Me, too,” says I; but I wished I wasn’t so proud.
“All right. We go now, eh? Go quick and maybe dodge snake.” He
grinned like it was a good joke. Maybe dodging rattlers is funny, but
I never did anything I felt less like laughing at in my life; and there
was the poison ivy, too.
Sammy stepped out of the boat and wallowed toward shore.
“Me n-next,” says Mark. “If a snake hits at me he can’t m-m-miss.”
“Not if he ain’t blind,” I says, as I followed after.
The way Mark went puffing and plunging like a hippopotamus the
rattlers, if there were any around there, must have thought their last
day was come. I bet they skedaddled.
Once we got on firm land we never said a word, but made off for
the middle of the island, where the big butternut trees were,
because we knew we were less likely to run into snakes or poison ivy
there. When we got among the trees and stopped, panting for
breath, I says:
“I dunno whether I brushed agin any poison ivy, but there didn’t
no snakes bite me. I heard one, though.”
“I heard two,” Mark spluttered; “and I heard somethin’ a-rustlin’
off through the grass. I guess there’s more’n a million around here.”
Sammy had carried up a little ax and a bundle of other things
which he dumped on the ground in front of us.
“Now make fire,” says he. “Get warm. Get dry. Trees all round so
nobody see. Can’t see smoke in dark, eh? Down here good place.”
He pointed to a little hollow with brush growing all around it and
trees along the ridge.
 Mark and I didn’t feel like moving around much. I had heard a
rattler won’t bother you if you don’t bother him, and nobody has any
idea that poison ivy will sneak up and nip you while you’re standing
quiet. Sammy didn’t seem to be worried, though, for he hustled
around gathering dry wood. But before he started out I noticed he
got him a good big club.
We were tired, but we didn’t sit down. We could have sat down,
but we didn’t want to; we might have sat on a snake. Now, if a
rattler is going to bite you I can’t see what difference it makes
whether he does it when you’re on your feet or lying on your back,
but I s’pose it’s natural to feel safer on your feet.
Pretty soon Sammy had the fire made, not a very big one, and
went off to see if it showed. He walked around it in all directions and
came back satisfied. He was the most careless fellow of snakes I
ever heard of.
“Now get fish,” he said, and took his lines and hooks and bait; and
off he smashed across the island, leaving Mark and me alone. Maybe
you won’t believe it, but Mark didn’t seem like much company. There
was enough of him, goodness knows, but it didn’t seem to be the
right kind. He told me afterward he felt the same way about me. He
sat on top of a stump close to the fire, with his feet pulled up out of
danger and a club in his hand. I was on another stump and if my
club was smaller than his it wasn’t my fault. I got the biggest one I
could find.
“Well,” says he (it was the first good chance we’d had to talk since
I came sprawling into the boat) “where’d you come from all of a s-s-
sudden?”
“Batten and Bill found out I wasn’t a ghost,” says I.
“Purty lucky they did,” says he.
“You wouldn’t ’a’ thought so if they’d been chasin’ you,” I told him;
and he wouldn’t, neither.
“It was opportunity,” he says. “I’ve heard tell of lots of
opportunities, but I never seen one that come in so h-h-handy.” It
took him half a minute to get out the last word.
 “Zadok Biggs said somethin’ like that. I met him a piece down the
road, or I’d never have got back.”
“I wouldn’t ’a’ come rampin’ through that marsh like you did for a
farm,” says he.
“You’d ’a’ sunk in so deep it would ’a’ taken two teams of horses
to drag you out,” says I. “How’d you manage to git the engine out of
the house?”
Then he told me all about it like I’ve told you at the beginning of
this chapter, and that was the first I knew about just what had
happened.
It wasn’t comfortable perching on stumps with our feet hauled up,
but we were a lot easier in our minds that way, especially as we kept
hearing things fussing around in the grass.
“There goes one rattlin’ off there,” I says; and I pulled my feet up
farther and gripped my club.
“I h-h-hear him,” Mark said, kind of strangled-like. I could see him
squirming around trying to get more of him up higher on the stump.
We kept hearing rattlers, or thinking we heard them, which was
just as bad; and every time one whirred we wished our stumps were
full-grown trees and we were sitting on the top branches. The fire
was close, but not close enough, and we kept getting hungrier and
hungrier. It was good and dark by that time, and the woods looked
plenty spooky. Take it altogether, and we weren’t having a very good
time of it. Even if we did have the engine we weren’t what you could
call happy about it, and you can’t blame us.
Sammy was gone maybe an hour, but when he came back it was
worth the waiting, for he had a good bass and six or seven
bullheads. The bass was just luck, but the bullheads were easy to
get. You can catch them by the dozen all along the river when it gets
dark.
Sammy got out his knife, and so did Mark and I. Between us we
cleaned those fish in no time and had them sizzling and smelling
over the fire. There wasn’t a thing to eat with them, only a little salt
and pepper; but when we were through there wasn’t anything left
but bones, and some of them were gnawed pretty bad. When a
fellow gets so hungry he’ll gnaw fishbones he must be pretty close
to starvation.
I was beginning to get considerably sleepy, and Mark’s head
nodded once or twice, but with the snakes around I couldn’t quite
see my way clear to lying down on the ground. I tried to imagine I
could go to sleep sitting on the stump, but I couldn’t make myself
believe I could do it.
“I’m sleepy,” I said to Mark.
“Me, too,” says he.
“Goin’ to lay down on the ground?”
“Well, I g-g-guess not. I’m goin’ to make a snake-proof bed.”
“G’wan,” says I, for I didn’t see how he was going to manage it.
After all, it wasn’t so hard. Mark got up courage to come down off
his stump, but he didn’t wander far away. He cut four saplings with
crotches in them and trimmed them into stakes that looked like Y’s.
He drove these into the soft ground so they stuck up more than a
foot in the air, and then fitted long poles for the frames, and made
cross-pieces like the slats of a bed. In between he filled with short
limbs and leaves and things to make it soft to lie on. When it was all
done it was as comfortable a bed as a fellow could want, and safe!
Mark climbed on it and lay down.
“Um!” says I. “Guess I’ll make me one.”
Sammy watched us both all the time, chuckling and grinning and
winking and blinking. He didn’t go about making any bed, but just
gathered more dry wood for the fire and threw himself down on the
grass. It wasn’t long before he was asleep, and the way he snored
would have made a dinner-horn jealous. He’d begin high up and sort
of slide way down low. Then he’d start out low and strangle and
rumble and snort. Then he’d puff out his cheeks and blow like he
was trying to blow out a lamp. He had more than a dozen different
kinds of snores. It seemed like he could snore half an hour without
repeating the same noise.
 “Maybe Sammy don’t know much,” I says to Mark, “but he’s sure a
mighty skilful snorer.”
 CHAPTER XVI

Did you ever try to sleep on a rattlesnake-proof bed on a poison-

ivy island? Well, if that was all there was to it it isn’t likely you’d drop
right off into a doze and have pleasant dreams. But throw in for
good measure that two men like Batten and Bill were out looking for
you; and if you close your eyes a wink, then I’m pretty much
mistaken.
Mark and I tried to sleep. I know I shut my eyes and pretended I
was at home with father and mother in the next room. Somehow
that didn’t do much good—I couldn’t pretend hard enough, I guess.
Then I tried counting sheep jumping over a fence, but the sheep
jumped so slow that I had time in between to figure what Batten
would do to us if he caught us. I counted up to a thousand, and
watched an imaginary wheel go round and round. But in spite of
everything I could think of I was just as wide awake at the end as I
was at the beginning.
Mark was perfectly still, and of course I didn’t know whether he
was asleep or awake. Everything except Sammy was still, too still
altogether for comfort. When things are so quiet you just have to
listen. You can’t help it if it was to save your life; and I didn’t want
to listen. Listening for something you don’t hear makes you shivery.
I don’t know but that it was more scary than the night we sat up by
the cave before we knew what Sammy was. I couldn’t help
imagining a rattler was trying to climb the leg of my bed, and every
snap of a twig or rustle of a leaf I turned into a man sneaking
through the underbrush.
Besides, there was Sammy snoring for dear life. Just you get into
a tight place like we were in and have the only person you can
depend on start to snore! I tell you, you feel even lonesomer than if
nobody was there at all. I was mad at Sammy, mad all the way
through. It didn’t seem right that anybody should be comfortable
and happy when I was so miserable. Once I made up my mind to
yell at Sam, but then I thought how hard he’d been working for us,
and kept still.
After a while I couldn’t stand it any longer, though, so I raised my
head and whispered, cautious, “Oh, Mark, are you awake?”
“Awake!” he says, cross-like. “If I was as sound asleep as I’m w-w-
wide awake an earthquake wouldn’t rouse me.”
“Let’s talk,” says I; “it’ll seem more sociable.”
We started in to talk, but there didn’t seem to be anything to talk
about but snakes and Batten and Bill. The more you talk about
things that scare you the more afraid you get, so our conversation
wasn’t what you’d call a success. We both laid back and kept quiet.
I don’t know whether it was two hours or fifteen minutes after
that when I sat up straight and listened. I thought I heard voices out
on the river, and I sat there stiff, holding my breath, with chills
running up and down my spine ten to the minute. For a while I
didn’t hear another thing; then, up the river some place, something
creaked. It isn’t natural to hear something creaking out on the water,
for fish don’t creak, and neither does water. It’s surprising how few
things there are that do creak that aren’t made by men. Just listen
around and see. As soon as I heard that sound I knew it couldn’t be
anything else but an oar-lock, and an oar-lock meant a rowboat, and
a rowboat meant Batten and Bill. Nobody else would be poking
around the river at that time of night.
“Mark,” I says, my voice trembling in spite of all I could do to keep
it steady.
“Yes,” he answered, right off.
“Did you hear it?”
“Yes.”
“It must be Batten and Bill.”
 “L-l-l-lookin’ for us!” he sputtered.
“What’ll we do?”
“Sammy—wake Sammy.”
“Go and wake him,” says I, for I didn’t like to put my feet down on
that ground for fear of stepping right in the middle of a rattler.
We didn’t dare call Sammy, for fear of being overheard; and it
wasn’t safe to throw a stick at him, because he might wake up and
holler. There was nothing for it but to take a chance with the snakes.
“Come on,” says I. But I didn’t trust my feet on the ground till I’d
found my club. I took it and reached all around as far as I could,
thumping the earth so if there were any rattlers hanging around
they’d be scared away, or at least rattle so we’d know where they
were. I didn’t hear anything, so I made up my mind it would be safe
for a little ways at least.
We got down and made for Sammy as quietly as we could go.
Sam lay with one arm over his head and the other across his face,
and his mouth open wide enough to take in an apple. Mark tickled
the palm of his hand, but Sammy only closed his fingers. Then I
tapped him on the cheek. Sam just slapped at me like I was a
mosquito. It was plain Sammy was a sound sleeper.
There wasn’t anything left but to shake him good and hard, so
Mark shook. As soon as he did he slapped his hand over Sammy’s
mouth so he couldn’t holler, but that isn’t what Sam did at all. He
just heaved himself onto his feet all at once and grabbed Mark with
his big hands. He’d have broken him in two if I hadn’t spoken quick.
“Sammy,” says I, as sharp as I could, “it’s us—Mark and me.”
He came to in a minute and grinned at us sheepish-like.
“Sammy most bust fat boy,” he said. “Sammy wake up quick.
Scairt. He grab—no find out who.”
“Hush,” whispers Mark. “There’s a boat a-comin’ down the river.”
“Batten come? Bill come? Eh?”
“I guess so. C-c-couldn’t be anybody else.”
 “Sammy go see.” Off went Sammy as quiet as a fish in the water,
leaving us all alone.
“Let’s stamp out what’s left of the fire,” says I.
It had burned almost out, but we trampled the coals, and when
they were black we covered the place with brush so nobody’d know
there had been any fire at all. Now it was as dark as if we were in
somebody’s pocket, and mighty uncomfortable, I can tell you. Both
of us made for our beds and sat on them with our feet pulled up, to
wait for Sammy.
In no time he was back. I didn’t hear him coming, but all at once
he was there. It was just as if he’d popped up out of the ground.
“Who is it?” Mark whispered.
“Batten and Bill,” says Sammy.
“Where are they?”
“In boat. Come along island slow, very slow. Look here, look
there. Goin’ to land, Sammy think.”
It was a nice pickle, wasn’t it? There were two grown men against
a couple of kids and a queer-headed Indian. Of course, Sammy was
so big he was a comfort, but, then, there was no telling what Batten
and Bill would manage to do.
“Can we hide away from them, Sammy?” I wanted to know, and I
wanted to know quick.
“Can’t hide if men hunt good. Try, maybe.”
“And we can’t hide the boat and the turbine,” says Mark. “They’d
rather have the engine than us.”
That was a fact, all right. If the men took to searching the island
they’d find my boat hauled up on the shore of the bayou, and they’d
get back the turbine. All our work and trouble would be for nothing.
“We got to keep them from l-l-landing,” says Mark. He was so
excited and anxious I thought he’d never get through stuttering over
“landing.”
“Sammy throw men in river.” He grinned and shook his head and
opened and shut his great big hands as though it would be quite a
joke to give Batten and Bill a ducking.
But Mark didn’t want that; besides, he didn’t know if Sammy could
manage both the men. What we wanted was to find some scheme
that would keep the men from landing at all. I just sat still and
waited, because Mark is the schemer of the party. I’m no good that
way, and I knew if Mark couldn’t think up something there was no
use for me to try.
“Sammy,” says Mark, “maybe you can do it.” He spoke slow, so as
not to stutter. “There’s a chance of scarin’ ’em off.”
“Sammy do it. Sure. Sammy yell like panther, eh?”
“No, Sammy won’t yell like a panther. Sammy will keep quiet like a
f-f-fish till I get through.”
Sammy showed his white teeth, and I could almost hear him purr.
It tickled him all over every time Mark spoke to him, and it didn’t
make any difference what he said, either.
“You got to pretend you’re a rattlesnake,” says Mark. “Go quiet as
you can to the shore wherever they try to land. Hide so’s they can’t
see you. Then as soon’s one of ’em puts a f-f-foot ashore you rattle.
Understand?”
“Sammy know. To be sure. Sammy go kr-r-r-r-r-r.”
I jumped and looked around before I thought. It was the
rattlesnakiest noise you ever heard.
“That’s it,” says Mark. “Now hurry!”
Mark stayed where he was because he couldn’t move very quiet.
No matter how careful and still he tried to be, he would have
sounded like a cow mired in a swamp. There are good things about
being fat, but there are bad ones, too, and that was one of the bad
ones. I went along with Sammy as far as I dared and then hid
behind some bushes. Sammy crawled along to the very edge of the
water and kept even with the boat, which had come into sight and
was rowing along about twenty feet out. From where I was I could
hear Batten and Bill talking to each other low and cautious.
 “I’m not crazy to go ashore,” says Batten. “That island’s alive with
snakes.”
“Bosh!” says Bill. “Who’s afraid of snakes?”
“You come from the city, or you wouldn’t be sticking up your nose
at rattlers. I bet you never saw a rattler.”
“If I did see one I wouldn’t run away from it.”
“Um!” grunts Batten.
“There’s a chance they’re hiding there,” Bill went on, in a minute.
“We went all around it and then down-stream without catching a
glimpse of them. I believe they stopped off here and hid.”
“We’ll soon find out, anyhow,” Batten says, and turned the boat
toward the shore. “You’re not afraid of snakes,” he says, sort of
sneering, “so you step out first. Don’t be afraid.”
I couldn’t see Sammy, but I could see Batten and Bill. A couple of
strokes of the oars brought the boat up against the marshy shore. I
could hear the keel grate against the bottom.
“Out you go,” says Batten, and Bill stood up and stepped ashore.
Then Sammy rattled. “Kr-r-r-r-r-r,” he went. It sounded as if it was
right under Bill’s feet. Well, sir, you should have seen Bill jump. He
didn’t even wait to turn around, but just went up in the air backward
and let out a yell as loud as a locomotive whistle. He landed one foot
in the boat and the other in the water.
“No,” says Batten, and I bet he was grinning mean, “you wouldn’t
run away from a snake, you wouldn’t. Oh no!”
“I most stepped on him,” Bill says, shaky-like. “When he struck he
just missed my leg. I felt him.” Now, that shows you what a fellow’s
imagination will do for him, especially if he’s startled.
“Try again,” Batten says. “He’s probably gone by now.”
“Try yourself if you want to. If you expect me to step on this
confounded island you row to some other spot.”
They argued about it a while and then pushed off. When they
started away Sammy followed after, and I went along, too. I was so
interested I plumb forgot about snakes myself. They rowed about a
hundred feet and then tried it again, but Sammy was there first. As
soon as Bill put his foot on the ground away went that Kr-r-r-r-r-r,
and back he scrambled into the boat.
“Must be alive with them,” he panted. “Hear that one?”

HE LET OUT A YELL AS LOUD AS A

LOCOMOTIVE WHISTLE
 “I heard him,” says Batten. “We’ll try another place.”
They tried again three times, but every time Sammy was there to
rattle. At the last place Bill got mad at Batten and says: “This is a
fool thing, prowling around this island. Nobody ever landed on it—
there’s a snake under every blade of grass. If you want to go
ashore, all right; but me, I’ll stay right in the boat, engine or no
engine.”
“They do seem sort of thick,” Batten says; and he didn’t make any
offer to go ashore himself. “We might as well go home. Tomorrow
we can set out to look for them again.” He stopped a minute and
says, “Changed your opinion of rattlesnakes, Bill?”
Bill just grunted, and then they rowed off up the river and out of
our sight.
We were pretty relieved, I tell you. After that we were sure the
men wouldn’t bother us any more that night, so we went to bed
again. It wasn’t long before I fell asleep, and I guess the others did,
too. Anyhow, I didn’t know another thing till Sammy shook me next
morning. It wasn’t light yet, but Mark was up and ready.
“They said they’d be lookin’ for us this m-m-mornin’,” he said, “so
we better be stirrin’. It’s half past three now.”
The first thing to do was to haul out the boat and see how badly
smashed it was, and to do that we had to take the turbine out on
shore. Mark and I got big clubs and stood right by Sammy while
Sammy worked. He killed one rattler with eight rattles on his tail the
first thing, and between us we got three more before Sammy had
the boat up and turned over. One plank was split and sprung out so
that there was a big gap for the water to run through. It wasn’t
nearly as bad as it might have been, and Sammy wasn’t any time
fixing it up with the little ax. It wasn’t as good as new, by any
means, but the water couldn’t leak in very fast. Mark figured he and
I could bail while Sammy rowed, and so keep the thing afloat.
Mark was too anxious to get home with the turbine to bother
about breakfast, so we started off, rowing and bailing, and didn’t
have any trouble to speak of. It was a fine bright morning, with the
sun coming down so clean and shiny and light that it looked as if it
was something being poured all over everything—something you
could touch. I’ve seen lots of spring mornings like that, when the
sunlight didn’t seem like sunlight at all, but as if it were a kind of
dew that made every leaf and stone and the water, and even
animals and folks, sort of glow. Mark was a great fellow for noticing
things like that, even when he had worries on his mind, and he kept
talking about it all the way down the river.
Along toward the last the boat commenced to leak pretty bad
again. I guess it was the weight of the turbine pressing down on the
weak board, so Mark decided to stop at the cave and hide the
engine there while somebody went into town for a wagon to haul it
in. It was a pretty hard pull getting it up on the hill and into the
cave, but we managed it, and Mark and I were able to help with a
rope that we had there. He and I went first with the rope and held
the engine from slipping back when Sammy had to put it down to
rest. We were pretty tired when the turbine was safe inside the cave,
so we lay down and took a little rest.
“Sammy,” says Mark, “you stay here and guard the turbine while
Tallow and I go to town for help. Don’t let anybody git it away from
you.”
“Sammy watch. Nobody get machine.” He got a big club and
whirled it around his head so it whistled. “Nobody take it away from
Sammy, eh? Sammy guess not.”
Mark guessed not, too. He and Sammy and I walked to the road
together, and Mark and I were just for starting off toward town
when we saw a couple of men coming in a buggy. At first I thought
it was Batten and Bill, but it wasn’t, and my heart went back where
it belonged. We turned to Sammy to say good-by, but a more
frightened fellow there never was. His eyes bulged, and his knees
sagged, and he was muttering and shaking his head and pointing.
“After Sammy,” he chattered. “Take him back to poor-farm. Make
Sammy dig in fields. Make him sleep in house.” Then all of a sudden
the idea of running popped into his head, and without so much as
an “Aye,” “Yes,” or “No” to Mark he turned and scooted down the hill
and out of sight.
Sure enough, when we took a good look at the men one of them
was Mr. Grey, superintendent of the poor-farm; but it turned out
they weren’t looking for anybody, but just driving home from the
next town, where Mr. Grey had been on business.
That wasn’t any help to us, though, for it left us without Sammy
just the same, and Sammy seemed to be pretty necessary. We felt
we could leave the engine with him and it would be safe. He could
guard the mouth of the cave sort of like Horatius at the bridge, and
Batten and Bill would find it was close to impossible to chase him off.
Now it looked as if either Mark or I would have to go to town, and
that would leave just one boy on guard.
“It ain’t safe,” says I. “Sammy could have done it, but neither of
us can alone. I wouldn’t even want to try it with both of us here.”
“Neither would I,” Mark answered. “But what are we going to do?”
“We might send word in by Mr. Grey,” I says. “He could send out
help.”
The buggy was almost to us now, and without thinking how he
might frighten the horse Mark stepped into the road and held up his
hand. The horse snorted, jerked back, and then took the bit in his
teeth and tore off as tight as he could go. Mark had to jump quicker
than I ever saw him jump before to get out of the way.
It did seem as if luck was against us. We stood there a minute and
looked after the rig, which was getting farther away every second.
“Let’s get back to the cave and see what there is to do,” I says.
Mark never said a word, but just started off with a discouraged
hunch to his shoulders, and I trailed after. We sat down in front of
the cave, tired, hungry, and pretty sick of the whole business.
Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.

More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge

connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and

personal growth every day!

ebookbell.com