“We’ll be seeing you,” the hills echoed back. Ballard was gone, swallowed up by darkness and his beloved mountains.
Jensie did not speak again until they were before her own gate. Then she said quietly: “I’m going hunting with Ballard in the morning, Johnny.”
“Does he know it?” Johnny asked in some surprise.
“No, but he will. It won’t be the first time we’ve gone hunting together, nor, I hope, the last.
“Thanks, Johnny.” She was out of the car now. Her hand was on the gate. “Thanks awfully for bringing us down.” Next moment she too had vanished into the darkness.
For a moment Johnny sat in his car thinking. Yes, these were strangely silent people. Jensie had not asked him to go with them on that hunting trip. She had given no reason for not doing so. There was a reason. She expected him to know the reason. He did—and was glad.
As he drove on to Cousin Bill’s place, he was able to dismiss Ballard from his mind. He thought of the old mill and its mystery, of Donald Day and his grandfather, who was still in the hospital. He thought of the young aviator down in the valley who said he had found a wonderful new fuel for his airplane motor. Ballard had told him that this aviator had become Donald Day’s best customer. “He’s bought an old horse and wagon,” Ballard had said. “Every day he comes up and carts away three or four of those queer jugs.”
“Wonder what’s in those jugs,” Johnny had replied. “Really, don’t you know?”
“Cross my heart,” Ballard had answered.
“Well, I’m going to find out,” Johnny had said with determination. But would he? Well, here he was at Cousin Bill’s. Now for a few winks of sleep.