So far Lib Knox had resisted all attempts to be friendly with Tyke. He
had tried candy, a little white kitten, and a fox terrier poodle, but
Lib only turned a cold shoulder.
Even the day when he arrived in a motor cycle with a side-car and
offered her a ride he almost failed, although he could see that it went
hard with her to refuse. It was when at last he told her that she was
afraid, and dared her to come with him for a five-mile spin, that she
finally yielded. Lib never could take a dare.
Seated in the chariot, she surveyed her comrades with superior
arrogance and enjoyed to the full her triumphal departure from the
district where she lived. But once out on the highway, Tyke let out
all the power and shot through space as if he had suddenly taken leave
of his senses. Lib gripped the sides of her car and sat erect, her
eyes bulging, her white lips set in a frightened smile. She was badly
scared, but she was game.
For several miles he tore away at this mad pace, seeming to graze
telegraph poles, almost telescope automobiles, and just escaped killing
men and dogs. Then he slowed down and turned into a side road where
there was comparatively little traffic, a cross-road leading to another
highway.
Lib, breathless, still gripped the car, obviously speechless.
“Now, look here, kid,” said her captor, bending toward her
insinuatingly, “you thought that was fast, didn’t you? But that ain’t
a continental to what I kin do with this here brig. Why, I kin go so
fast it’ll take the hair right off’n yer head and leave yer bald like a
old man. It’ll take yer breath outen ya, so’t’ya can’t speak right fer
a week, an’ it’ll maybe sweep ya right out in the field and leave ya
fer the crows ta pick. An’ that’s what I’m agonta do’ith ya kid, ef ya
don’t tell me where that doggone uncle of yourn is hanging up. See? I’m
givin’ ya time till I get ta that there highway out there t’consider.
Ef ya don’t come across with what I want y’ll be slung like a arrow
through the air, an’ ya won’t know yerself. Y’ll wonder where’s yer
daddy an’ yer ma, and yell like a little baby, but it won’t do no good,
fer nobody can’t hear ya when yer goin’ like a wild cat. Now, what say?
Are ye givin’ me the necessary information, ur shall I let ’er go?”
Lib was gripping the sides of her car with small, wiry fingers that
were white and tense. Her little freckled face was white beneath its
tan, and the bronze-gold of her bobbed curls ruffled above eyes that
were wide with fear. She swallowed to get her voice, and suddenly her
sharp little lips trembled into an impish grin and she trembled out
tauntingly:
“G-g-go ahead! I-l-l-like it!”
“The devil you do!” roared Tyke angrily. “I’ll give ye enough then,
you little runt you,” and they shot into the highway into the midst
of the worst traffic they had yet seen. Tyke was so angry he could
scarcely see where he went, and he let out the power till they seemed
to be but a streak in the air as they flew along to what seemed like
destruction. It seemed to little Lib of the fiery heart that she was
aging as she went, that if she ever stopped she would be old and
tottering, that her hands were numb and her face stung with the wind,
and she was cold to her soul through the thin little clothing she wore.
But she gave no sign, as the car went on and on, and miles of trees
and meadows and houses and towns shot by in the flash of an eye. Lib
wondered if it would go on forever. And then, just as she thought she
could not hold on another minute, as she wished she might drop from the
back and be crushed into insensibility by the fall, and never come to
life again any more, because her heart hurt so in her breast, and her
eyes were going to cry (which to Lib was the worst thing that could
ever happen to her, that she should be weak enough to cry)--just then,
when things could not have gone on any longer and she exist, they came
to a road leading into the woods and the motor cycle slowed down and
bumped into the rough road and up a hill into dense woods, suddenly
coming to a standstill.
Tyke turned upon her with an evil look.
“You little devil, you!” he said, glaring at her with the glare of one
who had been baffled.
Lib was too frightened to speak, and her teeth were chattering with
the cold, but she lifted her game little face toward his evil one
and suddenly stuck out her tongue and made an impish face at him,
expressing all the hate and loathing of her little courageous soul. The
man looked down at her astonished, blinking, scarcely believing that
such daring could come from a baby.
“I c’d kill you, you young ’un--” he muttered.
“I don’t see what good that would do,” said Lib unexpectedly, her
quick mind intrigued by the situation. “You couldn’t find out where my
uncle lived by killing me, could you? It isn’t written inside my head
anywhere,” and she laughed a ghoulish little laugh made all the more
weird by the tremble of her voice.
“Well, I’ll be----”
But Lib was gathering strength with her breath as it returned.
“I never said I wouldn’t tell you where my uncle was, did I?”
The man was speechless. Could it be that this mere infant was kidding
him? Not scared at all, but just putting one over on him? He stared at
her in bewilderment. Lib, eying him, knew that she had gained a point.
She summoned voice again.
“But I ain’t going to tell you till I get back home again. If you had
asked me polite like a gentleman when you first took me, I might uv;
but now I shan’t tell ya a thing till I’m back home. Come on, get a
move on. I’ve gotta get back and study my spelling fer tomorrow. Can’t
you get through this road or do ya have to turn around?”
The nonchalance of her! Tyke couldn’t help but admire it while yet his
anger smouldered. It was for all the world like her cool, collected
uncle, white and calm under fire. He was amazed, but somehow, he was
conquered.
“You swear you give it to me straight ’f I take you home?”
“I don’t swear,” said Lib coolly. “It’s naughty. My mother doesn’t like
me to.”
Tyke grew black and swore under his breath.
“I ain’t takin’ no nonsense!” he lowered. “You gimme that address ur
I’ll kill ya yet, I swear I will.”
Lib was getting her second wind. She eyed him furtively. She was not
nearly so frightened now. She was trying to think what to do.
“Well, it’s up in Canada somewhere,” she said, “a name that begins with
a Q. If you’d start the car home I could mebbe think. Quebec. That’s
it. I never can remember that name. But I can’t think of the street
until we get back home. There’s a street there by the same name. You
run back and I’ll show you where to find it. It’s 737 that street. Now,
will you take me back?”
The motor began to rumble again.
“You tellin’ me straight, you little devil?”
“Sure!” said Lib, settling back and trying to still her teeth from
chattering and her weak little knees from trembling, “Let’s go fast
again like we did. I’m getting hungry, and my mother won’t like you if
you keep me away so long.”
Tyke glared at her, but he put on his goggles and started toward home.
When they reached the edge of the town Lib sat up straight and directed
his movements.
“You go up that street and down the first turn to the right,” she
said. “No, it was the next street I meant, I guess.” She studied the
street-markers thoughtfully, the while she made him go past the houses
of her most intimate friends, and enemies, casually greeting them as
she passed by in this her triumphal procession through her own domain.
And so when she had traversed them all, the streets of those she wished
to impress, she exclaimed, “Oh, yes, there ’tis! State Street. That’s
it. 737 State Street. Now, you c’n let me out here if you please. My
mother don’t like me to be out with strangers and she mightn’t be nice
to you.” And Tyke wisely let her out and went on his way wondering,
saying over to himself:
“She’s a little devil, but she’s a tough one. She’s a tough little
nut, that’s what she is. I wonder now if she’s makin’ a monkey out o’
me! Guess I’ll get some gas and take a try at Canada. Better to tend
to such business myself. ’Taint safe to trust ta ennybody these days.
Wonder now ef I could get a warrant. Guess not, seein’ it’s Canada.
He’s a sharper all right. He lit out to a safe place all right with his
dame. Guess I’ll have to go up. No other way. Have to put one over on
him somehow and get him back where we can do something under the law of
the United States.” He swelled himself proudly at that as if he himself
were a worthy citizen. Then he went to one of his haunts to prepare for
the journey.
* * * * *
In her little nightgown beside her bed little Lib Knox knelt down
for perhaps the first time in her life to pray. She had not wanted
her supper though there were griddle-cakes, and Lib dearly loved
griddle-cakes. But she had something on her mind, and her primitive
soul took the old, old way to the only Power she knew for help.
“Oh, God,” she prayed, “that’s a bad man after my uncle, please, and I
don’t know where he is. Won’t you just please take care of him? I don’t
know what he wants, but Uncle Darcy ought to be told he’s coming, and I
don’t know how to do it. Won’t you please try. I s’pose you can see in
the dark and know where he is, and if you’ll just please hide him when
that man comes I’ll be glad, and I’ll try to do something for you.”
She half rose in the darkness, shivering in her little thin gown that
was too short for her growing length. Then she slid down on one knee
again and spoke in a whisper:
“And say, God, you knew that was a lie I told, didn’t you? That about
Quebec? I just got it outta my geography lesson we had today, you know.
I thought I oughtta tell you, seeing you’re going to help. You won’t
mind a lie for once, will you? You see I had to or he mightta killed
me. You wouldn’t a wanted me killed, would you, God? Or else why did
you make me? Besides, what would mother ’uv done? So please won’t you
kill that naughty man if you can. If not, keep him away from me anyway.
Good night.”
Having paused a moment with a crown of moonlight on her little rebel
curls, she crept into bed and was soon asleep.
The next morning Lib awoke very early, and, procuring a paper and
pencil from her geography, which she had placed under her bed the night
before, she wrote in crooked little handwriting:
“Dere Unkle Darcie:
“Ther is a bad man cums hear to find out whar yo ar. He tuk me a rid
on a motrsikle. I didunt lik it but I didunt let hym no. He thretend
to kyl me if I didunt give hym yor adres, so I maid upp one and he
brot me hom. I wisht that yoo wud cum home so I cud tak ker of yoo. It
is offul hard takan ker when I dont no wher yoo ar.
“I wisht yoo wer hear. It is lonesum. From Lib. P.S. I was skard, but
he didunt no it.”
Lib had found an envelope in the table downstairs, and she sealed her
letter and took it to her father to address, but her father shook his
head.
“I don’t know, Lib. Uncle Darcy didn’t leave his address. He’s
travelling, I reckon. But we’ll send it where he goes sometimes.”
And so the letter started on its warning way to Darcy.