"How far?"
"A piece."
Without further comment, Barr Whitney turned and strode into the forest.
Jeff shouldered his pack and looked at Pal. The dog stood erect, still
faintly bristled as he looked after the departing man and Jeff wondered
why. He shrugged. Some people just naturally roused a dog to anger and
it was not important. Jeff started toward Smithville.
Ike had spoken highly of Smithville, and in Ike's eyes its virtue lay in
the fact that people there minded their own business. What Jeff had seen
bore that out. Hillbillies were independent, not at all inclined to
meddle in the affairs of others or to having their own investigated.
Scornful of anyone who wore an officer's badge, they were quick to take
violent action if what they considered their personal rights were
violated. But usually they did not bother those who let them alone.
Jeff strolled in the direction Barr Whitney had indicated. Somewhere
ahead lay Smithville, and Barr Whitney had given him a completely new
idea. This could not be a wealthy land if the man Jeff had met was any
indication of its riches. Shut off from the world and with little money,
the hill people must of necessity do for themselves, and few of them
were satisfied to have everything slipshod. It naturally followed that
they would have brought handicraft to a high perfection. Jeff planned as
he walked.
Seldom had Jeff even tried to peddle in any town larger than Cressman;
in big cities he could do no business at all. But not all of the people
in cities were contented with the monotonous sameness of the stamped and
stereotyped products available to them. They had lost the art of
handicraft themselves, but some still appreciated it and were able to
pay for it. On the other hand, there was an excellent chance that the
inhabitants of these mountains, lacking the money to buy city goods,
would be eager to trade for them. Jeff began to whistle.
"Pal," he said happily, "maybe, just maybe, Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd.,
is about to become an even bigger business!"
Pal was padding ahead, glancing from side to side and making eager
little excursions into the brush and forest. This was his country. Times
without number he had walked through these same woods with Johnny
Blazer. Returning excited him. He went from a boulder to a patch of
brush, and from there to a stump. His tail wagged constantly as once
again he saw all the old landmarks that were so familiar and so dear.
Not understanding, Jeff wondered.
They came to a foot path. Jeff followed Pal down the path, not knowing
where it led but sure that it would take them somewhere. If it did not
bring them to Smithville, it would certainly lead to some house whose
inhabitants could tell him exactly how to get there, and Jeff was in no
hurry. He was naturally footloose and the woods were free. Jeff knew a
mounting disinclination to go to Smithville at once. It would suit him
better to camp in the open again tonight.
The path joined a road. There were wagon tracks, hoof prints, and even
tire tracks left by venturesome drivers of automobiles. Jeff came to a
sure sign of the latter, a blown tire lying beside the road, and shook a
sympathetic head. He did not share the views of those who proclaimed
cars a passing fad. They would be the conveyance of the future if only
because they could travel as far in one hour as a horse could in three.
Their many faults were sure to be corrected.
Pal frolicked like a puppy, ears shaking and tail wagging as he bounced
around with a wide canine grin on his mouth. When he came to another dim
foot path leading out of the woods, he halted to look inquiringly back
at his master. Hesitantly--he had not yet had any assurance that Jeff
wanted to visit it--he looked longingly toward Johnny Blazer's cabin.
Wondering what Pal wanted now, Jeff halted beside him. The cabin was
hidden by trees; from this distance no part of it could be seen. Then a
puff of wood smoke drifted to Jeff's nostrils and the cabin betrayed
itself. With Pal dancing eagerly ahead, he started up the path.
Fifty yards from the road, he came to Johnny Blazer's cabin and halted
uncertainly. The place looked abandoned. Of the two windows he could
see, a pane of glass was missing from each. Still, smoke drifted from
the chimney. Obviously someone was living in the cabin.
Jeff knocked on the door. Nobody answered. He knocked again, and when
there was no response, he walked in.
A homemade chair with one broken leg lay upended on the floor. There
were a few broken dishes, a stove, scattered papers and dust. Wind blew
through empty panes where glass had been. About to go farther in for a
closer inspection, Jeff was halted by a near hysterical command.
"All right, mister! Raise both hands and raise 'em high!"
"Certainly," Jeff agreed pleasantly. "Anything to oblige."