Billy To-morrow Stands the Test

by Sarah Pratt Carr

The sounds from below came regularly, but more rapidly, as if some force were hurrying the workers. He could see the bent backs, and occasionally the glint of metal in the lantern light; could see the helpers move the stacked lights on, and hear the ring of the rails as they were dropped on the ties.

The moon, red, lop-sided, and ragged, appeared over the Cascades. That meant it was past twelve o’clock. Billy was creeping carefully by the house to patrol the farther line of fence, when the hammering below suddenly ceased; some of the lanterns went out, and noises of another sort drifted up to him,—angry voices, the whack of sticks and clubs, and then a shot.

It had come,—the protest of blows! He could see the confused commingling of forms, hear louder voices, and again the dull crash as of wooden weapons; and in a moment a detonation—a blast.

The road-bed—they must be blowing it up! Yet while Billy strained his eyes to catch the location of the blast, and the meaning of the turmoil that seemed a tragedy, he noticed a sudden stilling of the commotion, and the shifting of the forms. One by one the lanterns were lighted again, and soon the hammers rang, now more rapidly than before.

Billy understood. Mr. Smith had been prepared. He had seen that the law should be ready to aid him as soon as assistance was needed. The work would go right on, and Billy felt sure Mr. Smith would find a speedy way to repair whatever damage might have been done. This outrage so promptly met would surely stop any others that might have been contemplated.

Relieved, he ran into the garage and picked up the sandwich and bottle of milk that were to be his lunch, and went out again where eye and ear might still be on duty.

He did not eat. As he stepped out, a flame shot up at the side of the house. He rushed into the garage to call up the fire department; but the moment he took down the receiver he knew the wires had been cut,—the telephone was “dead.”

A cold horror swept him. Whatever was done he must do himself. He ran to find the garden hose and soon had a stream of water playing. The force was good, and he could see that he made headway against the flame. Ought he to cry out? Wake the sleepers? If he did, they would see—hear—No one could tell what might happen down there in the valley before the coming of the sun. He was gaining—the fire would soon be out. He would let them sleep.

But this might not be the end. Those wires—where would the cut be? Near the grounds surely, for anywhere else they were in plain sight of all passers following the road.

He was looking for the last hidden sparks and considering it safe to leave when a shot from the direction of the viaduct proclaimed that malevolence that night was missing no property belonging to Mr. Smith. A second shot rang out, and a third; and presently two men emerged from the forest running, the forward one stumbling and recovering only to fall again and rise no more. The second came toward the garage drive, and Billy knew him to be the tramp.