“In our loft bedroom. Dixie and Carol’d just as soon sleep down-stairs, and you could sleep up there and have a rope-ladder that you could draw up, and no aunts could ever find you. Then, between stages, you’d be safe enough and could go where you’d like. Oh, I say, Mr. Edrington, will you come?”
The young man held out his big hand and grasped the smaller freckled one. “Maybe later I’ll take you up on that,” he said, “but at present I’m using this location as a problem in mining engineering—just for practice-work, old man.” Then he smiled speculatively. “But I’ll promise this: If the lovely Marlita has not wed this Lord Dunsbury by the time the first snow comes, I’ll drop down to Woodford’s, and take up my abode in your loft room, and thanks, old pal, for wanting me.”
Then, as it was mid-afternoon, the boy thought he’d better be starting back, and the engineer pointed out a much easier way of descent, which he had discovered. “I’ll come next Saturday again, Mr. Edrington. Is there anything I can pack up for you?”
“Yes, son. Bring me a Reno paper if you can get hold of one, and a book to read, history preferred; and, by the way, kid, remember your hope-to-die promise. You might tell your teacher that a hairy old hermit named Rattlesnake Sam lives on the mountain, and that he it was who built the fire that she saw.”
The boy grinned his appreciation. “All right,” he said, “I’m game.” Then he started away, looking back with a longing to stay, but his loyal little heart knew that Dixie would have need of his services, and so he hurried down the trail and reached Woodford’s in half the time it had taken to make the ascent.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“RATTLESNAKE SAM”
“Teacher, Miss Bayley.” The boy who spoke was standing on the doorstep of the small cabin near the inn.
“Why, Ken, good-morning. You are up very early, aren’t you,” the young woman who had opened the door exclaimed in surprise. Then, with sudden anxiety, “Is anything wrong at your home? Are Dixie, Carol, and the baby all right?”
The boy’s freckled face was beaming, and about his manner there was something suggestive of suppressed excitement. “Oh, yes’m, thank you, teacher. ’Tisn’t about the girls I have come.” Then, almost with embarrassment, he twisted one bare foot over the other and looked down. He had sworn an oath to Frederick Edrington that he wouldn’t tell any one who the camper on the peak had been, and it was hard, very hard for the son of Pine Tree Martin to tell anything but the square and honest truth.
Miss Bayley, watching the boy, was indeed puzzled. “Dear,” she said kindly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “come in, won’t you? I’m sure you haven’t had breakfast yet. Please stay and share mine with me.”