Dan Blazer, going up the trail toward Granny Wilson's with the shotgun
in one hand and Pal's leash in the other, was a little angry and more
than a little resentful. Though Jeff had said that Dan was going to take
care of Granny, the boy had convinced himself that he was actually to be
taken care of. He resented it because he and Jeff had a pact--Dan had
promised to do anything Jeff said--but Jeff seemed to have forgotten. If
he wanted to stay at Granny's, he had only to say so and nothing else
was necessary. Dan turned to pull the balky Pal along.
"Come on!" he ordered. "Come on, Pal! Jeff's going to Ackerton and he
doesn't want either you or me with him!"
Pal, who had wanted to go with Jeff but who was beginning to get the
idea that he was not supposed to, stopped straining back on the leash.
He was not wholly abandoned, as he had been when Johnny went away, and
that was a comfort.
Dan brightened a little. Jeff had not only let him have the shotgun and
the six shells but had insisted that he take them. The very fact that
Jeff had trusted him with both made him feel more like a man and less
like a little boy. He gripped the shotgun tightly. Some day he would
look down the rib that separated its two barrels and see the man who
had shot his father. Dan's eyes flashed, then softened. That day must
not be now; he had promised Jeff that he wouldn't shoot anybody and Jeff
was very smart. Dan skipped along.
Save for the one dark cloud, the future glowed with bright promise. Jeff
had promised to make a peddler of him and that would be the ideal life.
Dan thought of it during his waking moments and dreamed of it in his
sleep. All he had to do in order to make his dreams come true was obey
Jeff, and that was a small price to pay for the reward it offered. Jeff
was all-wise, all-good, all-powerful, and maybe he _had_ really sent Dan
to take care of Granny.
When Granny's green hill came in sight, Dan's spirits were almost
completely lifted. The fact that he wished so desperately to take a
man's part helped convince him that he was taking one, and he forgot his
resentment to greet Granny with a smile.
"Good morning, Granny."
"Dan! My land! Where's Jeff?"
"Gone to Ackerton and he'll be gone for some time. He--" Dan hesitated.
"He sent me and Pal up to look after you while he's away."
Granny reacted precisely as Jeff had thought she would. "Now that was a
kindly thought! I really miss a man around the house. Come in and let me
set you a dish of cookies."
Granny's wholehearted acceptance of himself and his mission removed most
of the lingering suspicion Dan retained that Granny was really supposed
to take care of him. He swelled with newfound importance and felt a
profound gratitude toward Jeff for sending him on a man's job. The
cookies Granny set before him were tangible proof that taking care of
her would not be without its rewards. With the appetite of a dragon and
the digestion of a goat, and despite his substantial breakfast, Dan
finished all the cookies and wished there were more. But it would hardly
be polite to ask.
"I can stay until Jeff gets back, Granny," he said. "You won't have to
worry while I'm here."
"I won't," she asserted. "I just won't fret even one particle. It's such
a comfort to have you. What's Jeff doing in Ackerton?"
"Trading. We've been working pretty hard and now he has to trade
everything we got." Dan thought wistfully of Jeff, who in the boy's mind
was nine feet tall and possessed all the capacities of a wizard. "He'll
do all right, too. Those city people, they're not near as smart as
Jeff."
"They couldn't be," Granny agreed solemnly. "That Jeff, he's man all
through."
"We're partners," Dan said. "Partners in everything. Any of those
Whitneys been bothering you, Granny?"
"Not of late." Granny looked a bit puzzled. "Why do you ask about the
Whitneys?"
"Because," Dan said fiercely, "one of them shot my pop and soon's Jeff
and me find out which one, we're going to shoot him!"
"My land! How you talk!"
Dan felt suddenly that he was a little boy again, and justly censured by
an adult for lack of wisdom. He all but blushed. "We're not going to do
it right away."
"That's nice," Granny said.
"Now I have to take care of you. What needs taking care of first?"
"You might go see that no pesky thing's troublin' my sheep."
Pal at his heels, Dan raced down to where the fat sheep were at their
endless task of cropping grass. They looked at him with mildly surprised
eyes and continued to crop. Dan circled the sheep three times, petted
the gentle creatures, and was more than a little disappointed because
there seemed to be no immediate need of his protective services. But he
did not lose hope, there was still a lot of Granny's hill left.
Molly, Granny's placid old cow, and Ephraim, Granny's mule, were as well
off as the sheep. Dan sighed, then became a little excited when four
blackbirds winged out of the trees to scratch in Granny's garden. He
stalked them carefully. But before he could come near enough, Pal
charged the blackbirds and sent them in jittery flight back to the
trees.
Dan circled the foot of the hill, looking hard for something from which
Granny should be protected. But all he found was a cottontail rabbit
that confounded the fleet Pal by ducking into a burrow three inches in
front of his nose. Dan wandered back to Granny's house just in time for
lunch.
That, consisting of bread much softer and better than any Abel Tarkman
sold, butter, delicately-spiced strawberry preserves, goblets of milk,
and a crisp apple turnover smothered in cream, was better than any Dan
had eaten, even at the Jackson School for Boys.
Suddenly homesick, he thought of the school and all it had meant to him,
then put the thought behind him. He had left the school because he was
driven by a mission that would not let him rest and would never permit
him to have peace until it was fulfilled. Until it was, he must think
of nothing else; he shouldn't even think seriously of going peddling
with Jeff but he couldn't help that. Then his faith restored itself.
Jeff was all-wise and all-powerful. Jeff had promised him that justice
would be done. Dan was a bit ashamed of his doubts.... Unable to swallow
another bite, he pushed his plate back and lingered over it. Granny, who
hadn't had a hungry boy to satisfy in far too long, was shaping an apple
pie at the table and Dan's eyes lingered on her. The big wood stove cast
a pleasant glow into the room, and tantalizing odors promised much to
come. Dan licked his lips, the faint beginning of fresh hunger rising on
the very heels of the meal he had just eaten.
Dan wrinkled his brows. He had been sent to look after Granny, and look
after her he would. But she didn't seem to need any looking-after right
now and the forest surrounding the hill was an inviting place. He asked,
"Is everything all right, Granny?"
"Land! It's right as rain since you got here. Haven't felt this safe in
a dog's age."
"Would you still feel safe if Pal and me went down in the woods this
afternoon?"
"Can you beat that? I was just about to ask you if you would! What you
goin' to do there, Dan?"
"Look around and make sure nothing's lurking too near."
"Good! Good! If you can spare the time, you might bring a few trout for
us to sup on."
"Oh, boy!"
Dan whooped from his chair. With Pal bustling at his heels, he ran out
to the garden. He loved to fish, his father had taught him how to catch
trout, and Granny's accustomed tackle, a hook and line tied to a willow
pole, hung over the door. In the spring's damp overflow Dan grubbed
until he had filled his pocket with fat worms. Then he snatched the pole
from over the doorway and raced down to the little stream that from the
hilltop wound like a silver ribbon through the forest.
He strung a worm on his hook, crawled cautiously up to a pool and
dropped the worm gently, watching with bated breath the ripples that
spread. A trout surged from the depths, struck viciously, and Dan drew
his wriggling catch in. Deftly he slipped it onto a willow stringer.
Stringer in one hand, pole in the other, he sneaked up to another pool
and caught another trout. Mindful of the pies Granny was making, he
decided that he needed no more than two trout for himself because his
appetite must be saved for more important things. Granny might eat
three. Dan had four trout on his stringer when Pal growled.
Hackles raised, ears alert, nose questing, he peered up-stream. Dan
stopped, not knowing what was coming but sure that Pal wouldn't growl
for no reason. Dragging the dog with him, the boy slipped into the brush
and a moment later Barr Whitney appeared.
He was fishing, too, but instead of a willow stringer he carried a
buckskin creel into which he slipped trout as he caught them. Dan held
his breath and at the same time did his best to control his rising rage.
He wished mightily that he had brought the shotgun, but so far there had
been no indication that he would need it. Watching Barr come nearer, he
made himself very small.
If he did not move, maybe Barr wouldn't see him. But when the man came
opposite Dan, he swerved and splashed across the creek. Trousers
dripping, seeming like some wet monster that emerged from the water, he
had only a glance for the growling Pal. But he thrust a hand inside his
shirt and the boy knew that he had a weapon of some sort concealed
there. Dan quieted the growling Pal by gently stroking him.
"What be ye doin' here, boy?"