“I must git that anyways,” said the boy to himself, “for it belongs to the man in the city.”
Slowly, cautiously he lifted it from the big heavy feet, and there was not a stir. Then he stood, his heart almost bursting with longing for his watch. It was in the big man’s pocket he was sure, and he stooped close a minute, reaching out a hand,––but he didn’t dare. If he waked them, skin and watch would both be gone, and he must by all means get the skin to give to the man in the city. He went sorrowfully away with only the skin. He didn’t dare stop near them, so he tramped half the night in spite of frequent twinges in his left ankle which had had a little twist as the men threw him down, and at last the boy dropped upon the ground, utterly exhausted, to sleep until noon next day.
When he wakened, stiff and sore from the blows of the men, and tried to get upon his feet he found that left ankle so swollen and painful he could not put the foot to the ground. He realized for the first time also with great consternation that he had nothing 39 to eat. Bruised, sore, empty, helpless he sat alone in the woods. But even then he did not know the desolation of the night before. He felt once more that comforting sense of companionship with the great Creator, and he faced the situation sturdily.
He crept about on his knees hunting berries which he knew were good to eat. It was a laborious way to get breakfast, or more properly dinner, but he succeeded in finding enough to still somewhat the gnawing in his empty stomach, and suddenly as he lifted his head a road lay before him. With hope that was almost a tranquil certainty he crept to the roadside and sat down. An hour or more passed with only the call and song of birds to break the stillness,––when, list! There was surely a rumble of wheels! And then the cry came distinctly, “Git up thar!”
Tears of joy rained down the boy’s face as a covered wagon drawn by four mules came into view, though he sturdily brushed them aside as the wagon drove up and halted.
“Hello, thar,” called a lusty youthful voice, and the driver, a young fellow of perhaps nineteen who was mounted on one of the mules, turned round and saw at a glance the swollen, helpless foot.
“Done up, air ye, Bub? Whar do ye belong anyways?”
Steve knew at once that these people were friends, and told them his little story.
“I want to git to the city, so’s to give the skin to the man thar an’ then I’m goin’ to larn to make watches an’ things,” he concluded.