doctor carter was not in when billy arrived at his office breathless and hatless. he had not foreseen this. all the way to town his thoughts had raced with his wheel. he had planned how he could tell his story the quickest; had thought of no other ear for his confidence than doctor carter’s, the kind, all-understanding physician who had fought valiantly if losingly to save billy’s father; who had ever since been the most thoughtful of friends as well as the best of physicians. he seemed to billy the only man to trust with his secret. this was something that could not be told to the best mother in the world, even not considering the fright it would give her; it was quite out of a woman’s world.

the boy went into the street again, mounted[208] and rode rapidly round the corner. his own home was across the way; his mother might see him at the office and call him. but once out of sight he stopped to consider what came next. who was the right man to tell after the doctor? the sheriff!

a shiver chased up and down billy’s spine. he knew the sheriff by sight only; and he was so inseparable from the handcuffs the boy had seen protruding from a pocket, that billy felt it would “almost fasten suspicion on a fellow just to be seen speaking to the officer.”

but a familiar sound came to his ear, and he turned to see the doctor’s splendid bays pounding down the street, pulling the buggy almost by the taut reins. billy followed quickly and was soon closeted with the man, who listened, first with a smile, afterward with grave attention.

“my boy, you have done a wonderful thing!” he said when billy had finished. “you must come with me and tell your story again. if it comes out as i think, you’ll earn at least a thousand dollars.”

half paralyzed with astonishment billy went with the doctor to the sheriff’s office; but he was out and the deputy didn’t know when he would return; thought it might be within an hour or so. there was nothing to do but wait. billy’s perplexed, baffled face touched the doctor. his temples were already gray, but he had not forgotten how a boy feels.

“you don’t want to see your mother now, do you, boy? no more do you feel like jabbering with bess at our table. come over to the hotel, and we’ll lunch together.”

“but mrs. carter’ll expect—” billy began, yet stopped, for the physician was laughing.

“a doctor’s wife gets over ‘expecting’ very young, billy. they won’t think i’m dead if i don’t come home to lunch. but your mother?” his inflection finished the question.

“she’ll be all right. may nell and me—i—we took our lunch and went over to potter’s pasture. shoot! she’s waiting now! i hope the poor little kiddie—little girl—eats, don’t wait for me,—she an’ bouncer.”

“oh, she’ll eat when she gets hungry, never fear.”

but billy thought with pride that may nell was one person he knew better than the doctor.

they turned into the town’s finest hotel, just opened.

“i didn’t—i haven’t washed. i’m—” all at once as billy walked through the tiled entrance, and felt himself in the midst of splendors he had viewed only from without, he was overcome with the suspicion that he looked rather queer beside the immaculate doctor. he knew his hair “stood up all ways for sunday”; and his face must be dirty. “but they won’t know how dirty,” he reflected; “this is[211] the time them plaguey freckles’ll get in an’ hide the dust.” freckles were billy’s sorest point.

“come with me, billy; i must wash up. i’ve had a dusty drive up spring mountain; you know the roads aren’t watered up there.”

billy looked the doctor over and wondered. he was not subtle enough to suspect the doctor’s purpose. “golly! i’d hate to have to wash as much as a doctor,” he exclaimed, as they stepped into the exquisitely appointed lavatory. “you look now like you’d just had a turkish bath. but i’m glad of the chance for myself.” he surely did look better when the two came out and crossed to the big dining-room; though there was a tell-tale streak around his neck, and his crown lock stood stiff and divided.

at first he could not eat with relish, his mind was so distracted with admiration of the magnificent room, and impatient to get his worrying secret off his heart and conscience. but his wise host ordered so artfully, and filled the intervals of waiting with such delightful stories and anecdotes, explanations of the decorations, funny facts or conjectures concerning the hotel and guests, that before he knew it, billy had, he told his mother afterward, referring to his stomach, “loaded her up to the guards, ’nough to make you ’shamed of me, mother.”

when they entered the sheriff’s office again it was two o’clock. he was there, and gave billy a private audience far more graciously than he would have done had not doctor carter’s presence been voucher for the importance of the matter. when the boy repeated his story, less confidently, less dramatically than before, yet not needing the doctor’s comment to prove its value, the sheriff drew a long breath and emphasized it with a blow of his fist on the table.

“that’s the gang we’ve been hunting through[213] five counties. boy, you’ve done what the state’s been trying a long time to do. the reward’s a good lump; if we bag the game you shall have your share.”

billy looked on wide-eyed, as the doctor said with a puzzling smile, “and, sheriff, if i don’t think you divide fair with my friend here, you’ve got me to deal with next election. see?”

“all right, doc,” the other replied a bit gruffly; “suppose we catch ’em before we fight about the divvy.”

it took a very short time to gather the posse, instruct it, and set out for the mountain. the sheriff gave billy an old hat and bade him to a seat behind the swift horses; and billy obeyed, feeling a strange elation as they set out. it was just like a story. could it be he, plain billy bennett, that was assisting the state to find long-sought-for criminals? the horses flew, yet billy thought they would never arrive at the turn in the road where they would leave them. he felt as if in some unknown way the man at the hut would surely know of their coming, would hide, destroy, perhaps carry off all that would convict him, and the other, the big man,— oh, would they never be there?

but a different and sudden fear leaped in both hearts as they rounded the shoulder of the mountain. the air had rapidly grown more oppressive; now they knew the cause, the forest was on fire!

june had been unusually warm and dry, and careless early campers had already started their annual conflagrations. now high over the crest of the mountain the flames came sweeping down; came with the wind from the valley on the other side where they had raged till fuel was exhausted.

“great scott, boy! we’ll have to hurry. we must get up there before the fire gets down. do you know the shortest way?”

“yes,” billy answered breathlessly as he leaped from the buggy; “but we’ll have to go in the way i did if you want to catch ’em sure. we can come out by the trail.”

they tied the horses, and once hidden from the road, shed every superfluous garment. billy was quite ashamed of the chill he could not help when he saw the handcuffs, pistols, and cartridges disposed neatly and conveniently about the sheriff’s waist. they looked so vicious, “disrespectable.”

the heat and smoke increased alarmingly as they went on, the man puffing at the boy’s pace. in and out, occasionally doubling and returning but never losing altitude, billy crashed on. his slender body slipped through underbrush by way of small apertures that would not admit the man’s greater bulk; he had to break his way. the boy, also accustomed to running, climbing, had the advantage of better breath; though the other could not, billy still held his mouth shut against the suffocating smoke, kept his smarting eyes partly closed.

the roar of the flames came dreadfully near. trees cracked, crashed and fell, sending up columns of sparks and cinders that dropped about the panting climbers. billy began to wonder if he would hold out to the end of his task. his boy’s agility had easily outdone the man’s; but he had made the trip once before that day, had ridden from town at a killing speed; and now his endurance was almost at an end, while the sheriff was getting his “second wind.”

they came to the crest of the gorge. “we’ll have to slow up and zig-zag down carefully or they’ll hear us an’ get away,” billy suggested.

“they won’t be watching for visitors,” the man answered; “they’ll be hiding the plant and skinning out of here,—if they haven’t already,” he added apprehensively. he stood[217] back to the wind and scanned the opposite bank. “there they are, two of our fellows; the chaps haven’t escaped in that direction.”

as ordered two of the posse were closing in from the west toward the rendezvous. a few more steps and the four met. those who had been ordered to beat the mountain about the spring were waiting below; the fire had perfectly policed that territory.

as the four descended the air in the gorge became clearer. they approached the hut stealthily; and when in full view of the closed door, the sheriff told billy his part of the work was done, and ordered him home out of the fire.

“oh, mr. sheriff, you won’t send me off now, will you, when the business is just beginning?”

in spite of the grave situation, the officer smiled at billy’s entreating words, remembered suddenly the danger from both fire and possible lurking desperadoes. “all right. get behind that tree, and stay out of the reach of stray shot.”

the three men lined up in front of the closed door, and one of the deputies quickly threw it open. for an instant the officers stood motionless with weapons drawn. billy watched with fascinated eyes; the moment the door opened forgot orders, ran and crouched behind the sheriff, peering under his uplifted arm. there in the lurid firelight that streamed through the closed window, stood the two men he had seen before, hands up, rigid, staring into pistol barrels. floor boards were torn up; strange vessels, scales, various paraphernalia billy could not understand, lay about them; while in a deep hole they had dug, a small, iron-bound chest was partially covered with earth. the men’s faces were smutched, streaming with perspiration, and pale with terror.

“just in time, i reckon,” the sheriff said[219] facetiously; “pull up that chest and come along to our party.”

fight gleamed in the big man’s eye, and for the breath of an instant he hesitated.

“come, come! we can’t be cremated while we wait. mush!”

the sheriff was a small man with fair, curly hair like a girl’s; but there was that in his eye that reinforced his pistol, made the big fellow quail, the other mutter a low warning. the two lifted the chest by its strong handles and stepped out.

in the short moments that had passed since their coming the sheriff saw that the fire had gained perilously. instead of sparks great flaming brands dropped all around them; the crests of the ravine were sheets of fire that swept downward, wrapping every tree and shrub in their path, making of the pines huge towers of flame.

“there’s a better way,” billy called, when the deputy leading started to climb back as he had come. “follow the creek; there’s a trail.”

“that’s good news. run ahead, boy, and show us the way. fly, fly!”

billy needed no hurrying. he dashed off along a well defined path, free from hindering branches. it hugged the brawling stream, crossed it more than once by way of stepping stones, and led on past the already shriveling azaleas. it must have been long used to be so clear.

billy ducked his head into the cooling water, filled his mouth, and ran on. he could hear the painful breathing of the prisoners bearing the chest. it looked heavy, and he knew it was hard to carry, walking single file down the steep trail. how awfully they must feel, billy thought. it was like the children in the fiery furnace. did the men see that this was a tragic beginning of the just penalty for their sins? cheats! robbers! no, not robbers, boldly[221] risking life for booty, but cunning thieves, stealing from their fellow men, from widows, orphans, perhaps from his own mother; she had taken a counterfeit piece only a little while before.

the heat was awful; yet it was growing less, for the fire was nearly spent, but billy was so exhausted he did not perceive it. he began to stumble, to see double. everything seemed to be on fire,—trees, rocks, even the water gleaming from overhead flames. his blood felt hot in his veins; and long afterward he saw red in his sleep. at length his foot caught in a root, and he fell heavily.

they came upon him a second later, insensible, his head bleeding from a scalp wound. hurriedly the sheriff lifted him close to the brook, dashed water over his face, washed out the cut a little, and bound it with his handkerchief, not untenderly if in haste; for billy had won something more than his approval.

“oh, don’t wait for me,” billy exclaimed, opening his eyes suddenly; “you won’t catch ’em! the fire’ll get there first! hurry! leave me alone, i tell you!”

the sheriff smiled at the note of command in the boy’s incoherence. “not on your life, sonny,” and his voice softened; “we’ve got to have you in our business. help him along,” he said to one of the deputies, as they came a moment later to where the path broadened; while he walked behind covering the panting prisoners.

presently they came to others of the posse, and after that to a long line of farmers and other citizens, fighting desperately but successfully against the dying flames.

the clearer air revived billy, and he was soon walking without help, coming shortly to the road where the wagons waited; coming in sight of ellen’s isle.

may nell! where was she? he had forgotten her! it must be three—four— oh, how late was it? was she safe? or had she fainted from fright; and was she lying there now, helpless? he looked across the plashing river to the green, blossoming isle, grateful for water and grass and green shrub, and the sheltering lodge that would keep her safe from the fire. yet the terror of being there alone, of seeing that awful sheet of flame sweep down the mountain to her very feet,—perhaps a fainting spell,—that surely must have followed,—with no one there to revive her, it might be—fatal!

“oh, betsey, give it to me!” he whispered in agony of soul. “don’t let up’s long’s i live! maybe i’ve killed her!”

but even as he looked he saw two people coming; his mother and jean, crossing the foot-bridge that led to the pasture side of the river. the throbbing in his head, the stifled lungs, interest in the capture of the prisoners,—all faded before this terrible dread.

“let me go, please!” he pleaded. “there’s a little girl, our refugee, over there, fainted, i think, perhaps—dead.”

the sheriff wondered at the boy’s vehemence, yet was too busy loading the wagon to pay much attention to him. “think you’re fit, sonny? you look all in. better ride to town—we’ll send some one for the little girl.”

“oh, no, no! i’m fit—i must find her myself—right now!”

the man gave him an affectionate slap. “go, then. you’re a right game kid, sure.”

billy was off, fear lending fleetness to feet that a moment before had been leaden. he overtook his mother and jean in the path to the lodge. “have you come for her?” he panted. “do you think she’s alone still?”

“what has happened to you, billy?” his mother questioned sharply as she turned at his voice and saw his damaged head. “you’re hurt, billy!”

“not a bit!” his words were strangely impatient. “i’ve got to find her!” he started past them.

“wait, billy! you are hurt, badly. let me see.” she put out a detaining hand.

but he was not to be hindered. “it’s only a scratch, mother; you can fuss it up all you want to later; but you mustn’t stop me now!” he pulled away from her and bounded up the path.

“it’s my fault, too, mrs. bennett; don’t put the blame all on billy,” jean half sobbed; and hurried after him.

but mrs. bennett wasn’t blaming any one; she didn’t really know what the excitement was all about.

before he emerged from the leafy path billy heard well-known whining, and wondered why the dog didn’t come to meet him. the next instant he saw him straining against his bonds.

bouncer tied? that red handkerchief! the boy went cold and pale. before he looked he knew that may nell was not there. he turned his white face to the others as they came up.

“she’s been stolen, mother! but i’ll find her—i know where to look. don’t be afraid, mother, i will find her!” he repeated with grave emphasis, as he whipped out his knife and cut the dog loose.

“billy! who could steal our little girl? i cannot think it. she’s gone with some of the children to watch the fire.” mrs. bennett’s words were braver than her face, for in her heart she felt billy was right, though she wondered why.

“they’ve stolen her, all right. i don’t know why, but i know who,—it’s the ha’nt people!” billy panted, coming out of the lodge.

“o billy!” jean gasped, fear for the little, delicate girl in that eery place lending sympathy to her voice.

“are you sure, my boy? i’ll go with you—”

“no, no, mother! this is business for only bouncer and me.” he caught up the cut handkerchief and called the dog before his mother could hinder. “find her, bouncer! find may nell! sic ’em!” he shouted, and set off heedless of his mother’s continued protestations, after the bounding dog.

“you can send some one after us, a man—not you, not either of you,” he called back over his shoulder, and was soon out of sight.

jean was for following in spite of billy’s commands; but mrs. bennett, full of apprehension, insisted that the girl should go with her; and the two set out in search of help.