A LETTER AND A SNAKE.
Our hero was already on his bicycle, and Roy had no cause to complain
about the time made in returning to the vicinity of the old well. As
a matter of fact, Joe fairly flew down the highway and he had all he
could do to keep up with him.
The spot reached, they dismounted and commenced a search which lasted
nearly an hour, covering every foot of ground for fifty feet around.
They even lit a bit of paper and threw it into the well, that they
might see if the envelope had dropped into the water. It was all of no
avail; the communication could not be found.
Joe walked back to the road with a very white face. What would his
father say to this?
“It’s too bad,” said Roy Crossley. “Let us ride back slowly to where we
rested. It may be lying somewhere on the way.”
“I ought to have put it into an inside pocket, Roy. Father cautioned
me to do that, but I forgot.”
On this point Roy could give no comfort, and in silence they turned
forward again, our hero on one side of the road and his chum on the
other.
They had almost reached the spot where they had been resting when Roy
uttered a shout.
“There is the letter, over by that rock!”
He pointed to one side. Both looked in that direction, and an instant
later gave a yell of fright.
“A snake! And on the letter!”
It was true. A brown reptile nearly three feet long had come out
of his hole to sun himself, and his head rested directly upon the
communication.
Both boys rode past and then dismounted. As they did this the snake
gave an angry hiss which made them retreat in double-quick time. Joe
picked up a stone and Roy a stick.
For a moment the reptile held its ground, and the lads thought they
would have a lively and decidedly unwelcome fight. But as the stick and
stone were raised the snake turned and like a flash disappeared behind
a rock.
Joe’s heart beat loudly as he picked up the letter, and he brushed it
off with great care and even then handled it gingerly. Both boys were
so preoccupied that they did not notice the presence of a little girl
who had walked up.
“Why didn’t you kill the snake?” she remarked. “I wouldn’t have let him
get away from me.”
“It’s easy to talk,” returned Roy coldly. “A snake is not a nice thing
to handle.”
“Huh! My little brother killed one yesterday twice as long as that,”
she replied disdainfully.
“Can’t you tell us how far we are from Mr. Franshaw’s house?” asked
Joe, to change the subject.
The girl told them, glancing curiously at the letter in the meantime.
“Is that for him?” she questioned.
“Yes.”
“Well, if you want to catch him this morning you’ll have to hurry. I
just came from his place and I heard him tell his man that he was going
to start for Northfield in a little while, and by what he said I guess
he’s going to stay there a couple of days.”
“Then we will have to hurry,” replied Joe. “I am much obliged to you
for the information,” he added.
“I’ve never been out Northfield way,” observed Roy, as they pedaled
along as rapidly as possible. “Do you know anything about the roads?”
“I was up there once in a wagon,” replied our hero. “I hope we catch
Mr. Franshaw before he starts.”
They went through the town of Independence at a rapid rate--so rapid
Roy was afraid they might be arrested for fast riding--and struck out
on the side road leading to Mr. Franshaw’s residence. The two miles
were quickly covered, and, dismounting, Joe hurried up to a side door
and knocked loudly. There was no response.
A man who had seen them from a near-by field approached. He proved to
be one of Mr. Franshaw’s hired men.
“Yes, Mr. Franshaw left for Northfield about half an hour ago,” he
said, in reply to Joe’s question.
“On foot?”
“Oh, no, he had a team with some furniture he sold to a man in
Northfield. You see since his wife died he ain’t got no use for the
stuff, and he’s thinking of selling out altogether and moving down to
Greenpoint.”
“Perhaps we can catch him if he has a heavy load,” remarked Roy. “Let’s
try it.”
“We can catch him at Northfield anyway; that is, if the roads are good
enough for bicycling,” returned our hero. “Which way did he go?”
“Right straight down this road till you come to the creek,” said the
hired man. “Then take the road to the left until you get around the
hill, and then take the road to the right. You might catch him if you
are good riders.”
“And the roads?”
“Well, they ain’t the best, but I reckon they’re good enough. You may
have to do a bit of walking here and there.”
“Come ahead!” cried Joe, and in a second more he was off, with Roy in
his wake. A turn of the road and Mr. Franshaw’s residence was left
behind, and they were started on a journey destined to be full of
excitement and surprises.
On and on they sped as fast as the country road would admit, gradually
climbing the hill to the other side. At the creek they took the turn
the man had mentioned and pedaled along a smooth way lined on either
side with dense woods.
“Hullo, look!” cried Roy, who had spurted ahead. “A gypsy camp!”
“Sure enough, Roy! They have four wagons, and look, at least a dozen
horses.”
“Rather a tough-looking crowd, ain’t they?”
Joe agreed that they were. There were six men visible, lying around a
flat rock, smoking and playing cards. Besides the men there were two
women, who were washing clothes and cooking, and half a dozen ragged
and dirty children. The children shouted at them, but they paid no
attention as they swept past.
“How folks can live in that style gets me,” commented Roy. “Ugh! those
men looked like the brigands of Italy you see pictured in books.”
“I guess they are not above stealing chickens, and even horses,”
replied Joe. “But hurry up, for if I am not mistaken it is going to
rain before night. Don’t you notice how close it is and how glary the
sunshine is getting?”
The second turn was reached and before them was a straight stretch of a
mile and a half. Looking far ahead they saw a wagon lumbering along at
a lively gait.
“That must be Mr. Franshaw’s,” ejaculated Joe. “Hurry up and see!”
He spurted and so did Roy, and the wagon was reached before it had
proceeded a quarter of a mile. True enough it belonged to the man they
were seeking, who sat on the seat calmly smoking his brier root pipe.
“Hullo, Joe Johnson, what are you doing away up here?” he cried, as the
youth came alongside. “A pretty long and rough ride from your home.”
“I’ve got a letter for you,” answered our hero. “Here it is. I was at
your home and your man directed me how I could follow you.”
The team was stopped and the communication examined.
“I’m mighty glad you came after me,” said Mr. Franshaw. “I wouldn’t
want to have missed this for a good deal. I was going to stay at
Northfield until to-morrow, but I’ll come back as soon as this
furniture is delivered. You can tell your father I’ll be on hand and
will take up with that offer if Mr. Burns indorses the notes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if you boys want to get home with dry backs I advise you to hurry
up. It’s going to storm in a little while,” added the man.
He whipped up his team and left them where they had dismounted. Joe was
about to follow Roy in mounting when he suddenly changed his mind.
“I’m as hungry as a bear,” he said. “Let us tackle our lunch first.
That will rest us and we can make home in a jiffy, for it’s more down
hill than up.”
Roy, too, was hungry, and readily agreed to his companion’s plan. They
found a convenient resting place, near a spring where they could obtain
water, and soon both were munching the sandwiches and cake with which
their folks had provided them.
It felt so agreeable to rest and to eat that they spent a much longer
time in the spot than at first anticipated, and it was not until a low
rumble of distant thunder startled them that they both leaped to their
feet.
“The storm is coming up!” cried Roy. “See how black the sky is getting!
Come on, there’s not a minute to waste!”
He crammed the last of his cake into his mouth and leaped into the
saddle. Joe did the same, and away they went in the direction of the
creek and the gypsy camp beyond.
Scarcely a quarter of a mile had been covered when it began to rain.
At first the drops came down scatteringly, but soon a perfect deluge
seemed to descend upon them.