CHAPTER XX.
A SHOWER OF BULLETS.
Little Hickory had no further trouble among his companions at Break o’ Day. If reluctant at first, Larry went to work beside him in spading up the ground, and that very afternoon they planted their first seed. To these foundlings of the great city this was an event, little to be appreciated by those brought up in the country. All but Mrs. Willet and Mr. Joe Little joined the planters, Joe having the honor of dropping the first seed into the “hills.”
That evening Dr. Menter paid them a short visit, and when he found how the garden had been begun, he promised to arrange so that a man with a pair of horses and a plow should come up the first of the following week to help out the boys in their spading. He had also found a situation for Larry, which the latter accepted after a little hesitation.
The visit of the genial doctor lent additional inspiration to the hearts of the members of the young republic, and when he had gone, the three families met together, at Larry’s suggestion, and there in the presence of them all he took the hand of Rob, saying:
“Little Hickory, you deserve your name, and I was a fool for trying to lick ye. Now if ye’ll let thet be fergot I’ll stand by ye after this.”
“I do,” replied Rob, fervently. “You have got the right stuff in you, Larry, and I know we shall get along first-rate.”
“I’ll do my part, Little Hickory, and you know I never fergit.”
Larry was noted among his friends for his wonderful memory, and though he did not realize it then, it was a gift that was going to help him in times to come.
Joe took his hand cordially, and thanked him for his generosity. And Joe’s thanks were worth all of the others to him.
So the little band forgot their enmities, and that evening, at least, were happy. Already both the invalids declared that they were feeling better, and they looked forward to the time when they should be fully recovered.
The four weeks that followed were uneventful. ’Squire Hardy seemed to have forgotten his enmity, though if Rob ever met him he scowled darkly upon him and turned away. The authorities of the town in which the old red house stood ignored entirely the new inhabitants within their jurisdiction.
Thus the close of this month of peace to the young republic found Rob still working for Deacon Cornhill, who was lingering with a slow fever, from which it would take him many weeks longer to fully recover. Little Hickory continued to go home every night, and during the odd moments that he could get he assisted the small boys in the task of caring for the growing crops.
Joe was really the master spirit at home now, and others must have been struck by the new phase of life taken on at Break o’ Day. The old house had been repaired, cleaned and so altered in appearance that it presented a look of comfort, if not of comeliness. Just below the smooth, green yard, the scene of the settlement of the mastery between Little Hickory and Larry Little, was a garden of fresh-growing plants, which was a source of unlimited pride and pleasure to the dwellers in the old house.
Dr. Menter had proved a true prophet in the case of Mr. Little and Mrs. Willet. The first was already able to sit in the doorway on warm, pleasant days, enjoying both the sunshine and the country air. Mrs. Willet, very much to Joe’s joy, was in the habit of sitting by one of the windows, the color coming back to her countenance and the strength to her tired body, due largely to the pure air and the sunshine.
One cloud now rested on their everyday lives. Dr. Menter had bade them good-by for several months, while he took a much-needed vacation in Europe.
“This seems too good to last,” declared Aunt Vinnie, who seemed always looking for the clouds.
“Let us enjoy the sun while we may, auntie,” said Joe, in her buoyant way. “See how beautifully the sun is setting behind yonder rim of mountains. It makes me in love with the country, and I never, never want to see the hot, dusty city again. I don’t see what makes Rob so late to-night. He thought he would get home early.”
Perhaps it is well we cannot read what is taking place beyond our sight, or light-hearted Joe would have shuddered at that moment over the fortunes of her youthful lover.
Let us see what Rob is doing at this moment.
In going back and forth between Break o’ Day and the home of Deacon Cornhill he had found the west route by way of the “Flying Jump” his best course, it being nearly a mile shorter, though more broken at places.
Rob had not been at work many days for Deacon Cornhill before he found there a second-hand bicycle left by a nephew, and which Mrs. Cornhill, who was overcoming her prejudice for him, kindly loaned to Little Hickory. In the morning he found his wheel of considerable help to him, though in returning to his home he had to walk more than half the way.
On this particular evening when Joe was so light-hearted and not a cloud had been discovered on the horizon of the young republic, Rob was climbing one of the long ascents leading to Break o’ Day, wheeling his bicycle along beside him as he slowly advanced.
About midway in the ascent was that wild section of the route called “Flying Jump,” where the mountain road, after hanging for several rods on the very brink of a high precipice, took a sudden turn and descended with dizzy abruptness into a narrow, dark ravine, to rise on the other side with equal steepness.
A small stream wound through the lonely valley, at places finding a difficult passage, so that at high water it would overflow the gorge to a considerable depth.
Little Hickory always walked this portion of his route, and at this time he had barely reached the western summit, and was casting swift glances over his wild surroundings, when he was suddenly confronted by two masked men, who had stepped silently from the thicket overhanging the road.
It was evident that they had been lying in wait for him, for, simultaneously with their appearance, both drew revolvers, and pointing the deadly weapons at Rob’s head, one of them cried out, in a sharp tone:
“Throw up your hands, youngster, or yer life ain’t worth a dead rabbit’s hide!”
Though taken completely by surprise, Little Hickory realized that he was at the mercy of these bold villains, and accordingly he did as he was bid, at the same time allowing his bicycle to rest against his body.
“Good!” exclaimed the spokesman of the twain, “ye act like a sensible chap. It pays to know when ye’re knocked under. See what he carries in his pocket, Jed.”
The waylayer addressed lowered his weapon and stepped forward to carry out the order of his companion, as he did so for a moment coming between his accomplice and the victim.
It was Little Hickory’s golden opportunity.
Quick as a flash he dealt the ruffians each a tremendous blow with his fists, sending them staggering back into the bushes, with exclamations of terror.
He had barely accomplished this feat and was about to follow up his advantage by seizing their weapons and thus turning the tables upon them, when a pistol shot came from the growth and a bullet whistled so close to his head that it cut away a lock of hair!
An oath followed the report of the weapon, when a hoarse voice cried out:
“Quick, lads! nab the fool chap afore he gets away!”
A crash in the bushes succeeded, another shot, and Little Hickory knew he was in the midst of enemies thirsting for his blood.