Dorothy's Triumph

Then everyone screamed, and there was a scramble to strike a light, as they all crowded around the boys with eager questions. Ephy struck a light and by its fitful glare the girls saw the pale face of the lad Jim and Gerald had found on the mountain.

“Here’s the result of our trip,” said Jim, as he led his burden forward.

“In heaven’s name!” cried Aunt Betty. “Who have you there, Jim Barlow?”

“Ask me something easy, Aunt Betty. We found him alone on the mountain, half scared to death. He won’t talk. He’s been hysterical all the way back. Perhaps after a good night’s rest he will be able to tell us who he is and where he came from.”

“You poor boy!” cried the sympathetic Dorothy.

Then, moved by a sudden impulse, she threw her arms about his neck and drew him to her – an action which the lad seemed in no way to resent.

The story of their adventure told, Gerald and Jim again sought their sleeping quarters, taking their newly-found friend with them.

Before they went to sleep they induced him to tell his name, which was Len Haley. When they pressed him to know how he came to be alone so far from home, he shook his head and his lip trembled. That, he said, he would tell them in the morning.

Fixing a comfortable place for him, the boys waited until he was sound asleep, before again closing their own eyes. Then, tired from the exertions of the day and night, they, too, dropped off to sleep, to the tune of old Ephraim’s snores.

CHAPTER VII

UNWELCOME VISITORS

While gathered about the breakfast table – if table, it could be called – the next morning, the campers heard the boy’s story. Len Haley had by this time thoroughly recovered from his fright, and he related in a timid, halting fashion how he had come to be alone on the mountain in the dead of night.

An orphan, living with his uncle, James Haley, near the little village of Armsdale in the valley, he had worked for years in a truck garden. Neither James Haley or his wife had experienced any affection for the lad, but seemed bent only upon making him carry on his young shoulders the burden of running their little farm.

Len, a willing worker, had accepted his lot as a matter of course. But when the hours grew longer, and he was forced to rise before daylight to milk the cows and feed the horses, and was not allowed to retire until the same services had been performed late at night, with hours of drudgery in the field, during the intervening time, he had rebelled, only to be soundly beaten by his uncle, and told to return to his work under the penalty of being beaten till he was black and blue.

The boy had stood this as long as he could. Then he resolved to run away. He kept this purpose to himself, however, waiting for the proper opportunity to present itself.

The previous night James Haley had gone to the village about eight o’clock. Mrs. Haley was feeling badly, and it was necessary to fill a prescription at the drug store. Why Len was not selected for this mission he could not imagine, for usually his uncle took a keen delight in rousing him out of bed at all hours of the night.

It had seemed to the boy to be an omen in his favor. James Haley apparently believed him to be asleep at the time of his departure for the village. The boy had really gone to bed, but lay there thoroughly dressed. Soon after his uncle left the farm, the boy had crept softly down the stairs in his stocking feet, then out of the house. Putting on his shoes out by the barn he had immediately struck out for the mountains, not realizing what a terrible thing it was for a boy to be alone in the woods in the night time.

When finally this realization was brought home to him, he became frightened. But he gritted his teeth, resolved not to turn back. He knew full well that the beatings he had received in the past would be as nothing compared to what the future would hold in store, if James Haley ever laid hands on him again.

He wandered on up the mountainside as the hour grew late, until, driven almost into hysterics by the dreadful lonesomeness about him, he had cried out for help, hoping, he said, to attract the attention of some people he knew lived in this vicinity.

The first response to his cries had been Jim’s “Hello!” So overjoyed was Len at hearing a human voice again that he had come near fainting.

Now that the dreadful trip was a thing of the past, and the boy had an opportunity to think calmly over the matter, he feared that his cries had been heard in the valley, and it would be only the question of a few hours until his uncle would be searching the mountain.

The sympathies of the entire party, particularly those of Dorothy and Aunt Betty, were with the unfortunate boy, and what action was to be taken to keep him out of his uncle’s hands was to all a pertinent question.

“Don’t let them take me back there,” Len begged, while they were discussing the matter. “I’d rather die – honest to goodness, I would!”

“Oh, we just can’t let you go back,” was Aunt Betty’s rather grim resolve. “It’s against all the principles of human nature to stand by and see a young boy like you abused. You shall stay with us, Len; you shall be under our protection. We’ll find some way to circumvent your uncle and keep you out of his hands.”

Tears came into the boy’s eyes, and he flashed her a look of gratitude.

“We might take Len back to Baltimore with us and find him a position,” said Dorothy.

“There is enough work at Bellvieu alone to keep him busy for many months,” returned Aunt Betty. “Ephraim is getting old, and Metty is occupied with the care of the horses and cattle. Len shall be our yard boy for a while, if he desires.”

Len did desire, and did not hesitate to so express himself. He would work hard for Mrs. Calvert, he said, until he was old enough to strike out for himself.

This part of the matter was soon settled to the satisfaction of all. It was then decided that Len should remain in the seclusion of one of the tents during the day, so that he would be out of sight from anyone approaching Camp Breck from either direction. Aurora had brought a bundle of reading matter, including several illustrated papers, and these were placed at Len’s disposal. The boy had had several years of schooling previous to the death of his parents, and was a fair reader. Like most boys who have been restrained through one cause or another from reading all the books they desired, he was ready and anxious to devour anything that came his way.

Jim and Gerald put their heads together, and resolved to circumvent James Haley should he appear on the scene in search of Len.

“We’ll lead him away from the camp,” said Jim, “without telling him any deliberate untruths – send him off on a false scent. Aunt Betty is right, you know; we can’t let him go back to a life like that.”

“No,” said Gerald; “it would be a pity. If his uncle’s treatment was bad enough to make Len take to the mountains in the night time, it must have been at least a mild sort of an inquisition.”

The boys congratulated themselves later on planning matters out in advance, for the forenoon was barely half gone when two horsemen rode out of the woods to the south of the camp and turned their horses in the direction of the tents.

Jim was the first to see them.

“Don’t be startled, folks,” he said, “and please don’t turn and ‘rubber,’ for there are two men coming toward camp on horseback.”

“Oh!” gasped Molly. “Poor Len!”

“Poor Len, nothing!” Jim returned. “I know it is hard for a girl to refrain from doing something she’s been asked not to, but if you turn your head, Molly Breckenridge, or let on in any way that you’ve seen those horsemen, you need never call me your friend again. We must act like we haven’t seen them, until they hail us. Ephraim, you sneak into the tent, without looking to the right or the left. Then hide Len under the cots or somewhere where they won’t find him. Gerald and I will talk to the men when they arrive.”

The girls and Aunt Betty kept their presence of mind very well, considering the fact that they were laboring under no little excitement.

Ephraim went carelessly into the tent, as Jim had bade him, where he concealed the runaway lad in a very natural manner under a heavy quilt. It mattered not that the weather was excessively warm this time of day; the old negro figured that the exigencies of the case demanded desperate measures, and as for Len, he accepted his punishment without a whimper.

By the time the men had drawn rein before the tents, Ephraim was sitting calmly in a chair, an illustrated paper in his hand, puffing complacently at his pipe.

“Good morning,” greeted the larger of the two men.

“Good morning,” returned Jim, pleasantly. Then he and Gerald went forward to meet them.

One of the riders, a rather pompous-looking individual, with a long, drooping mustache, dismounted and threw the reins over his horse’s head.

“I’m Sheriff Dundon of this county, boys,” he said. “The gentleman with me is Mr. Haley. We’re searching for a boy named Len Haley – Mr. Haley’s nephew, in fact. He left his home down in the valley some time in the night. We thought perhaps you’d seen him.”

Jim and Gerald exchanged feigned glances of surprise, which was part of the plan they had mapped out to save Len.

“It must have been him we heard cry out in the night,” said Jim.

“Yes,” Gerald responded. “Too bad we didn’t know it was only a boy.”

“You heard someone cry out in the night, then?” the sheriff asked, while the man on the horse eyed them keenly, and flashed curious glances about the camp.

“Why, yes,” Jim returned; “Old Ephraim, our darkey, woke us up in the night to hear some mournful noises which he said came from somewhere down the mountainside. We listened and heard someone crying out at intervals for help. But having no fire-arms, and not knowing whether it was a drunken man or a lunatic, we were afraid to venture very far away from camp.”

“What time was this?”