Michael, in his strait betwixt law and love, was deeply troubled and had followed the men out into the dark orchard.
“Daddy, I think you’d better get up to your room. This excitement has been too much for you,” said Starr decidedly.
But Mr. Endicott demurred. He had been interested in the little drama that had been enacted before him, and he wanted to sit up and see the end of it. He was inclined to blame Michael for bringing such a fellow into Starr’s presence.
But Starr laughingly bundled him off to bed and sat for an hour reading to him, her heart all the time in a flutter to know how things came out, wondering if Sam surely understood, and put out the fire; and if it would be safe for her to give him any broader hint.
At midnight, Michael lay broad awake with troubled spirit, wondering over and over if there was anything he might have done for Buck if he had only done it in time—anything that would have been right to do.
Softly, cautiously a man stole out of the darkness of the orchard until he came and stood close to the old chimney, and then, softly stealing on the midnight summer air there came a peculiar sibilant sound, clear, piercing, yet blending with the night, and leaving no trace behind of its origin. One couldn’t tell from whence it came. But Michael, keeping vigil, heard, and rose upon his elbow, alert, listening. Was that Buck calling him? It came again, softer this time, but distinct. Michael sprang from his bed and began hastily throwing on his garments. That call should never go unanswered!
Stealthily, in the light of the low, late moon, a dark figure stole forth from the old chimney top, climbed down on the ladder that had been silently tilted against it, helped to lay the ladder back innocently in the deep grass again, and joining the figure on the ground crept away toward the river where waited a boat.
Buck lay down, in the bottom of the boat, covered with a piece of sacking, and Sam took up the oars, when a long, sibilant whistle like a night bird floated keenly through the air. Buck started up and turned suspicious eyes on Sam:
“What’s that?”
“It’s Mikky, I reckon,” said Sam softly, reverently. “He couldn’t sleep. He’s huntin’ yer!”