Part 12 (1/2)
Slowly, cautiously he backed away from the door, down the hall and into the next open door, groping his silent way toward a little half moon in the shutter. He made a quick calculation, glanced about, did some sleight of hand with the door till it swung noiselessly shut, and then slipping back to the window he examined the catches. There was a pane of gla.s.s gone, but it was not in the right place. If he only could manage to slide the sash down. He turned the catch and applied a pressure to the upper sash, but like most upper sashes it would not budge. If he strained harder he might be able to move it but that would make a noise and spoil his purpose. He looked wildly round the room, with a feeling that something must help him, and suddenly he discovered that the upper sash of the other window was pulled all the way down, and a sweet breath of wild grape blossoms was being wafted to his heated forehead. With a quick move he placed himself under this window, which he realized must be almost over Shorty's head. It was but the work of an instant to grasp Pat's gun and stick its nose well through the little half moon of an opening in the shutter, pointed straight over Shorty's head into the woods, and pull the trigger.
The report went rolling, reverberating down the valley from hill to hill like a whole barrage it seemed to Billy; and perhaps to Shorty waiting for his pard below, but at any rate before the echoes had ceased to roll Shorty was no longer on the door step. He had vanished and was far away, breaking through the underbrush, stumbling, and cutting himself, getting up to stumble again, he hurled himself away from that haunted spot.
Ghosts were nothing to Shorty. He could match himself against a spirit any day, but ghosts that could shoot were another matter, and he made good his going without hesitation or needless waiting for his partner in crime. He was never quite sure where that shot came from, whether from high heaven or down beneath the earth.
As for Link, if he was giving more dope, he did not finish. He dropped a cup in his hurry and darted like a winged thing to the head of the stairs, where he took the flight at a slide and disappeared into the woods without waiting for locks or keys or any such things.
”He seems a little nervous,” grinned Billy, who had climbed to the window seat with one eye applied to the half moon, watching his victims take their hurried leave. And lest they should dare to watch and return before he was ready for them he sent another shot into the blue sky, ricochetting along the hills; and still another, grimly, after an interval.
Then swiftly turning he stole down the front stairs and took the key from the lock, shut the door, pus.h.i.+ng a big bolt on the inside. With a hasty examination of the lower floor that satisfied him that he was safely ensconced in his stronghold and would not be open to immediate interruption he hurried upstairs again.
His first act was to open a window and throw back the shutters. The morning sunlight leaped in like a friend, and a bird in a tree carolled out gladly. Something in Billy's heart burst into a tear. A tear! Bah!
He brushed it away with his grimy hand and went over to the bed, rolling the inert figure toward him till the face was in plain view. A sudden fit of trembling took possession of him and he dropped nervelessly beside the bed with his hands outstretched and uttered a sob ending in a single syllable,
_”Cart!”_
For there on the bed still as the dead lay Mark Carter, his beloved idol, and _he had helped to put him there!_
Thirty pieces of silver! And his dearest friend dead, perhaps! A Judas!
All his life he would be a Judas. He knew now why Judas hanged himself.
If Cart was dead he would have to hang himself! Here in this house of death he must hang himself, like Judas, poor fool. And he would fling that blood money back. Only, _Cart must not be dead!_ It would be h.e.l.l forever for Billy if Cart was dead. He _could not stand it!_
Billy sprang to his feet with tears raining down his cheeks, but his tired dirty face looked beautiful in its anxiety. He tore open Mark Carter's coat and vest, wrenched away collar, necktie and s.h.i.+rt, and laid his face against the breast. It was warm! He struggled closer and put his ear to the heart. It was beating!
He shook him gently and called,
”Cart! Cart! Oh, _Boy!”_ with sobs choking in his throat. And all the while the little bird was singing in a tree enough to split his feathered throat, and the sweet air full of wild grape was rus.h.i.+ng into the long closed room and driving out the musty air.
Billy laid Mark down gently on the dusty pillow and opened another window. He stumbled over the cup and spoon, and a bottle fell from the table and broke sending out a pungent odor. But Billy crept close to his friend once more and began rubbing his hands and forehead and crooning to him as he had once done to his dog when he suffered from a broken leg. n.o.body would have known Billy just then, as he stood crooning over Mark.
Water! He looked around. A broken pitcher stood on the table half filled. He tasted it dubiously. It was water, luke warm, but water! He soused a towel he found on the washstand into it and slopped it over Mark's face. He went through all the manoeuvres they use on the football field when a man is knocked out, and then he bethought him of the milk.
Milk was an antidote for poisons. If he could get some down him!
Carefully he rinsed out a gla.s.s he found on the bureau and poured some milk in it, crept on the bed and lifted Mark's head in his arms, put the gla.s.s to his lips, and begged and pled, and finally succeeded in prying the lips and getting a few drops down. Such joy as thrilled him when Mark finally swallowed. But it was a long time, and Billy began to think he must go for the doctor, leave his friend here at the mercy of who would come and go after all. He had hoped he might keep his shame, and Mark's capture from everybody, but what was that verse the teacher had taught them once awhile ago? ”Be sure your sin will find you out.” That was true. He couldn't let Mark die. He must go for the doctor. Doc would come, and he would keep his mouth shut, but Doc would _know_, and Billy liked Doc. Well, he would have to get him! Mark would hate it so, too, but Billy would have to!
It was just then that Mark drew a long deep breath of the sweet air, sighed and drew another. Billy pressed the gla.s.s to his lips and Mark opened his eyes, saw the boy, smiled, and said in a weak voice:
”Hullo, Billy, old boy, got knocked out, didn't I?” Then he closed his eyes and seemed to go away again. But Billy, with wildly beating heart poured some more milk and came closer:
”Drink this, Cart. It's good. Drink it. We gotta get them dirty b.u.ms, Cart! Hurry up an' drink it!”
Billy understood his friend. Mark opened his eyes and roused a little.
Presently he drank some more, nearly a whole gla.s.s full and Billy took heart of hope.
”Do ya think ya could get up now, Cart, ef I he'ped ya?” he asked anxiously, ”We gotta get after those guys ur they'll make a getaway.”
”Sure!” said Mark rousing again. ”Go to it, Kid. I'm with you,” and he tried to sit up. But his head reeled and he fell back. Billy's heart sank. He must get him out of this house before the two keepers returned, perhaps with Pat or some other partner in their crime. Patiently he began again, and gradually by degrees he propped Mark up, fed him more milk, and urged him to rise; fairly lifted him with his loving strength, across the room, and finally, inch by inch down the stairs and out the back door.