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IN’ Foun CHAPTERS. CHAFIER I
NDY BASCOM was holding a snub-
A nosed jackknife on the big grind-
stone in a corner of the wagon
shed, while Nate Griswold turned the
cr nk The double doors were standing
wide open, and the third boy of the
group, seated on an upturned nail keg,
shaded his eyes with one hand from the
brilliant morning sunshine. Otherwise,
the sun was agreeable, for the Septem-
ber morning was cool. Andy lifted the
knife from the stone, tiirting the drops
of water from his bespattered fingers as
a high-pitched, querulous voice reached
his ears 7 '
It's old Anthony Green. I
wonder what his trouble is this time?"
Reginald Bascom, the lad on the nail
keg, turned his head carelessly, looking
out of the doors over his left shoulder.
e was a visiting cousin of Andy's, and
the local affairs of a strange neighbor-
hood naturally had little interest for him.
What he saw was a rickety buckboard,
drawn by a bony white horse. Not ex-
actly drawn, either, for the vehicle had
hauled up next the new board fence by
the roadside, and the occupant, a small,
wizened-faced man, with a stubbly gray
eard, was talking with Abel Davis, the
Bascoms’ hire in - v '
“Jus’ let me catch 'em inside my pars-'
ture," the voice threatened, and Reginald
saw the old gentleman's head wag venge-
fully. “Do I keep a dog myself? No,
I don't. and I won't be pestered with‘
other folkses'. The gun's been loaded
this fortnight back, and one o' these hue
days somebody'll hear it g' off." The
cackling laughter followed this
sanguinary threat was as disagreeable as
the voice. “S'pose I'm goin' to raise
lambs to feed Asa Langton‘s dogs? Not
while my name's Anthony C-reenvno, sir.
He'll miss something one 0' these fine
days."
Abel Davis' rejoinder was only a mur-
mur of sound at that distance, and Andy
turned informingly toward his compan-
ions.
“Old Anthony is always in hot water,"
he explained, testing the edge of the knife
with his thumb. “The boys put up tricks
on him just to see the fire fly, He and
Mr. Langton are at swords‘ points. Their
land joins, and they've had trouble over
the line fence-or something. Those
dogs Mr. Langton's got wouldn't kill a
sheep any sooner than they'd kill a man,
but he's got that in his head. I shouldn't
wonder a mite if some of the boys had
put him up to '."
Reginald yawned, stretching his long
arms over his head. “Wish it might come
off while we're here, Nate." he laughed.
“It would make an excitement, anyhow."
“You wouldn't want to see it more
than once,” Andy rejoined soberly. “The
ogs got into father's sheep three years
ago. Ugh! It makes me shiver now to
think of it-the poor things all torn up
and bleeding. I tell you they make bad
work."
The conversation ends here, so far as
the purposes of our story are concerned.
Reginald Bascom and Nate Griswold
would have been readily recognized as
town boys had any practiced eye chanced
to watch the three crossing the yard from
the shed to the house a few minutes later.
They were better dressed than Andy, and
had the free-and-easy air which comes
of meeting people every day in the year.
Reginald was inclined to be stout, and
. wore a neatly fitting suit of blue-scrge.
Nate was a taller boy, a school friend of
Reginald's, whom the latter had brought
with him to the farm to share his fort-
night's vacation.
Andy was quite the equal of his vis-
itors in intelligence and native shrewd-
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ness, and nearly as well advanced in his
school studies, but: truth to tell, he was
not so much at his ease with these two
as he would have been with Ben Langton
or lra Peck. He was painfully conscious
at times of his faded trousers of cotton
tweed and his brown hickory shirt, but,
with a sturdy country independence, he
shook his head when his mother sug-
gested the first day that he “better put
on his other clothes." Wit a tinge of
foolish prejudice, he held the opinion that
a country boy should ask no odds of his
town cousins, whether he wore home-
spun or broadcloth. As a matter of
course, this was a strictly private opin-
ion; he was careful to let no trace of
this feeling mar his cordiality to his
guests, and the three had jolly good times
together from the first But for all that,
the secret rivalry existing among them
has a most important bearing upon the
course of our story.
That same afternoon, while our young
friends were restin on a sunny hillside,
after a rather ineffectual search for early
falling nuts, Andy boldly proposed that
they capture one of Anthony Green's
lambs and shut it up in an old sugarhouse
at the extreme east corner of the Bascom
farm. Both town boys demurred a little
at first.
“We might get ourselves into trouble
over it," Nate objected with commend-
able caution.
“We boys in the country never think
much about that," Andy replied airily.
It was a foolish display of vanity, to be
sure, but let that pass. “Never told you
how “'illis Crosicr and I took the linch-
pins out of the wagon he carries milk
in, did I?" ’
“I'll go as far as you will," Reginald
challenged, ignoring Andy's
narrative. “Bring on your lambs, and
show us the way to the sugarhouse."
“Me, too,“ chimed in Nate. “We won't
take a back seat when there's any fun
going, will we, Reg?"
"Not if we know ourselves." Reginald
responded promptly. "How shall we get
hold of them-that's the next thing?"
“They'll follow us, I guess, if we rattle
soniething in this pail," Andy said, and
his companions were quick to note the
hesitation in his tone. He had thrown
out the suggestion at random, and this
hearty scconding of his project was quite
beyond his calculation. “Maybe the whole
flock will come, though. If they do, we
shall have to give it up.”
"Never say fail." Reginald urged, in-
wardly delighted at Andy's too evident
reluctance.
you and Nate keep the rest back
“Give me the pail, now, and
commanded Anthony
Green's pasture, and Andy had pointed
out the fiock, quietly feeding at a little
distance, when he made his startling pro-
posal. The pasture was a “back held,"
quite screened from observation by a rim
of hills on two sides and a stretch of
woodland on one of the others, so the
risk of detection was not great. At the
end of an hour, three perspiring boys
turned away from the old sugarhouse.
having succeeded, with an expenditure of
eR‘ort worthy a better cause, in corraling
three plump lambs within the tumble-
down building. They had taken three
because taking one and leaving the other
two proved utterly out of the question.
Old Anthony was keeping close‘ watch of
the lambs, ndy explained, as they
climbed the hills, and would be sure to
discover the loss early the next day.
Toward nightfall, when they had worried
him a little. they would set the animals
free. Needless to say, Andy's mind was
not wholly at ease. and he took this way
of making.light of a business which was
not altogether to his liking.
The morning following, Andy awoke to
hear Anthony reen's harsh voice rasp-
ing through the fag end of an unpleas-
ant dream, The sun, still low in the east,
was pouring in through the open window
at the head of thr bed, and Andy, half
awake. started nervously as he recalled
the incidents of the afternoon before.
But it required no long listening to learn
that he himself was free of suspicion,
so far, at least, as Anthony Green was
concerned.
“Course it's Langton's dogs," the old
man was repeating. "Course 'tis, course
’tis, Hain't I said it'd be jus' so-said
't over 'n' over? Y’ ask Abel Davis-
he'll tell ye, I've talked t' Abel-ycs,
sir, no longer ’go ’n yest'day."
“But you say you have found no traccs
of the killing," insisted a calmer voice,
which Andy recognized as his father's.
“Dogs don't carry off sheep bodily-
leastways, I've never seen them that did.
I should move cautiously in this matter,
Anthony, until I-was reasonably sure.
You may find them ."
“No, sir, they're gone," Anthony Green
protested. "I know what I know. I've
tol' Abel all 'long how it'd be. If ye hcar
gun g’ oh’ ‘tween now an‘ night, ye'll
know something else's gone." He laughed
shrilly at this implied threat as he had
done the morning preceding. “Yes. sir,
ye'll know something else's gone."
at
Auccsr 27, 1910
“Why not go up to I.angton's, and tell
him inst how it is," Mr. liascont advised
mildly. “I shouldn't go to shooting the
ogs on suspicion. That will make trouble
-mark what I tell you."
“What do I care fer trouble?" An-
thony stormed, beating the dusty cushion
of his buckboard as though it had been
an enemy. “I)‘ ye s'pose I'm goin’ to
raise lambs to feed a pack 0' worthless
curs? No, sir, not while my name's An-
thony Green. When ye see me goin’ up
to p’lavcr with Langton, ye tell me of it,
won't ye?"
Mr. ]3ascotn’s moderation appeared to
anger him, for he drove off almost at
once, grumbling out his vengeance as the
wabbly whet-ls clattered down the road.
A chuckle at Andy's elbow caused him
to turn quickly. Reginald and Nate, has-
tily attired, stood behind him, and now
gave some cautious expression to their
amusement as the rickety buckboard and
its angry occupant disappeared from
sight.
“If that isn't the richest thing!” Nate
chuckled delightcdly. "Say, Andy, you're
a genius. We reed just such a fellow as
you down at Merton Academy to keep
things stirred up, don't we, Reg?"
“Oh, that's nothing," Andy replied dep-
recatingly. 0, lle was secretly flattered,
though he would have been the last to
admit it. ‘His thought was that he had
given convincing evidence that a country '
boy has the “real stulf" in him, even
though he wears faded tweed trousers
and a hickory shirt.
‘‘It would be too bad if he did shoot
the dogs," Reginald said reflectively. “I
guess we'd better let the lambs out after
a while and ease his mind a little. He
won't have so much to say when he finds
they're all there."
"He won't shoot the dogs," Andy de-
clared confidently. "I don't believe they
ever go away from the house, anyhow."
He was on his mettle now, the light of
mischievous daring in his eyes.
fun's just beginning-that's all.
say, follows, to running off three more
of the lambs this afternoon?"
Andy Ilascom ought to have been fully
satishcd with the efIect of his rash pro-
posal. Both boys looked surprised and
not very enthusiastic.
“IIe'll watch the pasture all day, won't
be?" Nate questioned doubtfully. “It
would spoil everything to get caught."
“iVe don't often get caught," Andy re-
minded him. Ile meant country boys in
general, without being very explicit in
saying 50. “About four o'clock he goes
down to the lower place to cut green
fodder for the cattle. That'll be our
chance. ’
Andy's prpgramme was carried out
that afternoon, involving neither adven-
ture nor accident, The bloating of the
imprisoned lambs gave the boys some un-
easiness, but the sugarhouse was cut off
from the pasture by a belt of woodland
and a steep rise of ground beyond. An-
thony Green was "hard of hearing," Andy
assured his fellow-conspirators, and it
was extremely unlikely that anyone else
would notice the unwanted direction of
the sound. IIc cut a quantity of coarse
grass in a “six-ale" near by, using an old
corn knife, which he had brought with
him, and Reginald and Nate carried two
arnifuls of the rough pruvender to the
hungry animals.
“I guess we shall hear from old An-
thony pretty shortly," Andy predicted as
the three lads watched the shifting of
the broad, woolly backs through the open-
ing where a window had once been.
“Won't be boil over, though. when he
finds there are some more of them gone?
They're all right there now; let's go
home."
Strangely enough, Andy's confident pre-
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