A Campfire Girl's First Council Fire Part 9

But, even as she spoke, a wild cry of terror reached their ears--that and the sound of a man's coa.r.s.e laughter. Bessie started to her feet, her eyes staring in fright. And she led the rush of the whole party to the edge of the bluff.

Driving swiftly down the road away from Hedgeville was a runabout. And in it Bessie saw Zara, held fast by a big man whose back she recognized at once. It was Farmer Weeks!

"Oh, that's Farmer Weeks!" she cried "He'll get them to give Zara to him, and he'll beat her and treat her terribly."

Despairingly she made to run after the disappearing horse. But Wanaka checked her, gently.

"We must be careful--and slow," she said.

CHAPTER VII

A FRIEND IN NEED

"But we must do something, really we must, Miss Eleanor!" cried Bessie.

"I must, I mean. Zara trusted me, and if I don't help her now, just think of what will happen."

"You must keep calm, Bessie, that's the first thing to think of. If you let yourself get excited and worked up you won't help Zara, and you'll only get into trouble yourself. You say she trusted you--now you must trust me a little. Tell me, first, just what this man will do and if he has any right at all to touch her."

"Why, he's the meanest man in town, Wanaka! He really is--everyone says so! None of the men would work for him in harvest time. They said he worked them to death and wouldn't give them enough to eat."

"Yes, but why should he pick Zara up that way and carry her off?"

"Because he wants to make her work for him. He's awfully rich, and Paw Hoover said he'd lent money to so many men in the village and all around that they had to do just what he told them, or he'd sell their land and their horses and cattle. And he said he'd make the people at the poor-farm bind Zara over to him and then she'd have to work for him until she was twenty-one, just for her board."

"That's pretty serious, Bessie. I'm sure he wouldn't be a good guardian, but if he had such influence over the men, maybe they wouldn't stop to think about that."

She was silent for a minute, thinking hard.

"Where was he going with her, Bessie? He seemed to be driving away from Hedgeville."

"Yes, he was. I suppose he was going over to Zebulon. That's the county seat, and he goes over there quite often. Almost every time they hold court, I guess. Paw Hoover said he was a mighty bad neighbor, always getting into lawsuits."

"Well, I think I'd better go to Zebulon. If I talk to him, perhaps I can make him give Zara up. How far is it, Bessie?"

"Only about two miles. But if you go, can't I go with you?"

"I think I'd better go alone, Bessie. If he saw you, he might try to take you back to the Hoovers, you know. No, I'll go alone. If it's only two miles, it won't take me long to walk there, and I can get someone to drive me back. Girls!"

They crowded about her.

"I'm going away for a little while. You are to stay here and wait for me. And keep close together. I'll get back as soon as I can. And while I'm gone you can clear up the mess we made with luncheon--when you've finished it, I mean. Now, you'd better hurry up and eat it. I won't wait."

And the guardian hurried off, determined to rescue Zara from the clutches of the old miser who was so anxious to make her work for him, because he saw a chance to get a good deal for nothing, or almost nothing. If the general opinion about Silas Weeks was anywhere near true, it would cost him mighty little to satisfy himself that he was keeping faith with the county and giving Zara, in return for her services, good board, lodging, and clothing.

Bessie watched Wanaka go off, and she tried to convince herself that everything would be all right. But, strong as was the faith she already had in Miss Mercer, she knew the ways of Silas Weeks too well to be really confident. And she couldn't get rid of the feeling that she, and no one else, was responsible for Zara. It was because of her that Zara had come away, and Bessie felt that she should make sure, herself, that Zara didn't have cause to regret the decision.

And then, suddenly, too, another thought struck her. What if she had, without intention, misled Miss Eleanor? Suppose Farmer Weeks didn't go to Zebulon at all? It was possible, for Bessie remembered now that three-quarters of a mile or so along the road was a crossroad that would lead him, should he turn there, back to Hedgeville.

With the thought Bessie could no longer remain still. She knew the roads, and she determined that she must at least find out where Zara had been taken. She might not be able to help her herself, but she could get the news, the true news, for those who could. And, saying nothing to any of the other girls, lest they should want to come with her, she slipped off silently.

She did not descend to the road. If one farmer from Hedgeville had pa.s.sed already, others might follow in his wake, and Bessie was fiercely determined not to let anything check her or interfere with her until she knew what had become of Zara.

So, although she might have been able to travel faster by the road, Bessie stayed above, and hurried along, making the best progress she could, although the going was rough. She could see, without being seen.

If anyone who threatened her liberty came along, she could hide easily enough behind a tree or a clump of bushes.

At the crossroad she hesitated. She wasn't sure that Farmer Weeks had turned off. He might very well, as she had thought at first, have been on his way to Zebulon.

"What a stupid I am!" she thought in a moment, however. "Of course I ought to take the crossroad! If he's gone to Zebulon Wanaka will find him, and if he hasn't, he must have gone this way. If I turn off here, there'll be someone after him, no matter which way he's gone."

So, still keeping to the side of the road, she followed the pointer on the signboard which said, "Hedgeville, six miles."

About a mile and a half from the crossroads the road Bessie was now following crossed a railroad, and as she neared that spot she moved as carefully as she could, for a suspicion that gave her a ray of hope was rising in her mind. At the railroad crossing there was a little settlement and an inn that was very popular with automobilists. And Bessie thought it was possible that Farmer Weeks might have stopped there. Miser as he was, he was fond of good food, and, since he was his own cook most of the time when he was at home, he didn't get much of it except when he was away, as he was now. Bessie had heard Maw Hoover sneer at him more than once for the way he hinted for an invitation to dinner or supper.

"Old skinflint!" Bessie had heard Maw say. "I notice he has a way of forgettin' anythin' he wants to tell Paw till jest before meal time.

Then he comes over post haste, and nothin'll do but Paw's got to stand out there listenin' to him, when all he wants, really, is to have me ring the bell, so's Paw'll have to ask him to stay."

Even in her sorrow at Zara's plight, Bessie couldn't help laughing at the remembrance of those times. But then the smoke of the inn came in sight, and Bessie forgot everything but the need of caution. If Farmer Weeks were there, he must on no account see her. That would end any chance she had of helping Zara.

She crept through a grove of trees that surrounded the inn, to work up behind it. In the rear, as she knew, were the stables, and the place where the automobiles of the guests were kept. She wanted to get a look at the horses and carriages that were tied in the shed for she would know Farmer Weeks' rig anywhere, she was sure. But she had to be careful, for the inn was a busy spot, and around the horses and the autos, especially, were lots of men, working, smoking, loafing--and any one of them, Bessie felt sure, was certain to question her if they saw her prowling about.

She got behind the shed, and then she had to work along to the end farthest from the direction of the road she had left, since, at the near end, a group of men were sitting down and eating their lunch. But, with the shed full of horses making plenty of noise, to screen her movements, that wasn't so difficult. Bessie managed it all right, and, when she got to the far end, and had a chance to peep at the horses, her heart leaped joyfully, for she saw within a few feet of her Farmer Weeks' horse and buggy, the buggy sadly in need of paint and repairs, and the harness a fair indication of the miserly nature of its owner, since it was patched in a dozen places and tied together with string in a dozen others.

"Well, I know that much, anyhow!" said Bessie to herself. "He didn't take her to Zebulon, and he can't have done anything yet. I don't believe he's got any right to keep her that way, not unless the people at the poor-farm give him the right to take her. Zara hasn't done anything--it isn't as if she'd been arrested, and were running away from that."

Suddenly Bessie started with alarm. She had drawn back among the trees to hide while she tried to think out the best course of action for her to take, and she heard someone moving quite close to her. But then, as the one who had frightened her came into view, she smiled, for it was only a small boy, very dirty and red of face, his white clothes soiled, but looking thoroughly happy, just the same.

"h.e.l.lo!" he said, staring at her.

"h.e.l.lo, yourself! Where did you come from? And wherever did you get all that dirt on yourself?"

"Oh, in the woods," said the small boy. "Say, my name's Jack Roberts, and my pop owns that hotel there. What's your name? Do you like cherries? Can you climb a tree? Did you ever go out in the woods all alone? Can you swim?"

"My, my! One question at a time," laughed Bessie. "I love cherries. Have you got some?"

"Bet I have!" he said. The single answer to all his questions seemed to satisfy him thoroughly, and he pulled out a great handful of cherries from his straw hat, which he had been using for a basket.

"Here you are," he said. "Say, do you know that other girl?"

Bessie's heart leaped again. She felt that she had struck real luck at last.

"What other girl?" she asked, but even as she asked the question, her heart sank again. He couldn't mean Zara. How could he possibly know anything about her?

"She was dressed just like you," he said. "And she had black hair and her skin was dark. So she didn't look like you at all, you see. She was crying, too. Say, aren't those cherries good? Why don't you eat them?"