Jeff managed to sound more than a little astonished. "Didn't he tell
you?"
"All he did was walk through Smithville yesterday with a little sack
over his shoulder and a shotgun big's a cannon in his arm. All he said
was that he would meet somebody at the cabin. I waited this long to see
if he really would."
Jeff gave thanks for this bit of coincidence. "I met him at the cabin
and he's all right. He's getting everything a youngster should have,
though of course if your official duties call for so doing, you may take
him. Naturally, I'll have to go with him and bring him right back, so
there may be a bit of trouble. You were going to take him to an
orphanage, weren't you?"
"Where else?"
"Ah, yes," Jeff agreed. "Where else? Splendid place, an orphanage. Ideal
for those with no one to whom they might turn."
"I got a letter from some school in Ackerton. Said the kid left there
right after his dad's funeral and hasn't been seen since. Said they
thought he'd come here and I should be on the watch for him."
"An error," Jeff murmured. "Why don't you write to the school?"
"Maybe I'd better."
"Do that," Jeff urged. "How long does it take a letter to get to
Ackerton and a reply back here?"
"About a week."
Jeff made up his mind to visit Ackerton before the week was out--and
maybe Bill Ellis needn't send his letter.
"I'm going to Ackerton," Jeff said. "I'll bring written confirmation
from the school if you want it."
"Well, if you're going there--"
"Let's leave it that way," Jeff said quickly. "If you care to check in
the meanwhile, you can ask Dan. Who killed his father, anyway?"
"If I knew, he'd be in jail."
"Haven't you any ideas?"
"Sure I have. It's one of maybe twenty-five or thirty people."
"Have you questioned them?"
"How well are you acquainted around here?"
"I just got in."
"That explains it then."
"Explains what?"
"Your not knowing why I haven't questioned twenty-five or thirty people.
Let me tell--"
Bill Ellis spoke at length of those who lived in Smithville and those
who abode in the mountains surrounding it. The town dwellers, with few
exceptions, were industrious people who were glad to work for the lumber
company and to accept a weekly pay check. They seldom caused trouble.
Those residing in the hills were a different breed. They worked when
they felt like it, which was not often, and few of them could bear the
yoke of a steady job for more than three weeks at a time. They did for
themselves and took their living from the wilderness. Of late years,
with hunters and fishermen finding their way into the hills, guiding
them had become a good source of income. But the only reason the hill
people were willing to guide was because they usually spent all their
time hunting or fishing anyway. They made their own laws, lived by their
own code, and united only when outside forces threatened any part of
their way of life.
When they fought, they fought hard and often for little reason. For many
years a feud, with the Whitneys on one side and the Paynters on the
other, had raged. It had started, of all things, over a muskrat stolen
from Jed Paynter's trap. His own judge, jury, and executioner, Jed had
shot Enos Whitney. Two days later Jed was found with a bullet in his
head and, though everybody knew one of the Whitneys had shot him, nobody
had ever proven it. Finally, with four Paynters and two Whitneys dead,
the remainder of the Paynters left the hills. No officer had ever proven
anything. One who'd gone into the hills had simply disappeared.
Bill Ellis knew only that someone had shot Johnny Blazer. But who?
Johnny had done well trapping, hunting medicinal roots, and guiding and
boarding hunters and fishermen. There was not a man in the hills who
wouldn't have liked what Johnny had and not a man who wouldn't have
quarreled with him about it. But to go into the hills with wholesale
accusations would do nothing except rouse fury. Accusing, or even
suspecting, whoever had not shot Johnny would be insult of the deadliest
sort and inevitably bring on shooting.
Far from being interested in local quarrels, the outside world seldom
even heard of them and little help could be expected from anyone. If
Bill Ellis knew who had shot Johnny, he would go get him. But he had to
know and had to have indisputable proof before he moved. He'd already
done everything he could and was no nearer a solution than he had been
two months ago.
Jeff listened intently, and realized that he was hearing the truth. If
it was more extreme than what he already knew about mountain dwellers,
Smithville was more isolated than any other place he had ever visited.
Jeff thought of the youngster in the cabin. Dan Blazer had attended a
city school, but his were hill blood and hill traditions. He had asked
no one to help him avenge his father, but vengeance was a point of
honor.
Jeff gritted his teeth. Dan was a child. It would be the essence of
simplicity, using force if necessary, to place him in an orphanage or
make him go back to school. But it would solve nothing. A boy now, Dan
would be a man. When he was, he'd be back here in the hills. There would
be no forgetting.
"Where was Johnny found?" Jeff asked.
"Between here and his cabin. If you noticed a big sycamore right beside
the road, he was lying against the trunk."
"Who found him?"
"Couple of fellows from Ackerton. They were fishing back in the
mountains and they brought Johnny here. Mike Severance, he does first
aid work for the lumber company, patched him up and they took him to
Delview. He died in the hospital there. Bullet went right through him."
"Where is he buried?"
"In Delview." Bill Ellis narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"A peddler," Jeff answered honestly. "I thought I could do some business
here."
"You will, too. Now tell me straight why that kid came back."
"I told you. He's with me."
"We'll leave it that way," the constable promised, "at least until you
bring word from Ackerton. But if you have any ideas except peddling,
you'd better get some shells that are loaded with something besides
paper wads."
"I'll think about it."