From the Valley of the Missing Part 15

For two weeks Flea and Flukey lived on the fat of the land. The country afforded them haystacks, and the brooks, clear water. The children were never happier than when Squeaky's nose was hidden in a tin can of b.u.t.termilk, and the precious five dollars bought countless numbers of currant buns, sugar cakes, and penny bones for s.n.a.t.c.het. Now Flukey lifted his head proudly and walked with the air of a boy on the road to fortune, and Flea kept at his side with the prince hugged close in her arms. Through the long stretch of houseless roads s.n.a.t.c.het was allowed to rove at will, and Flukey relieved his sister of her burden. By the third day out toward the promised land the two little animals had become firm friends, and the queer quartet walked on and on, as straight as the crow flies, through the valleys and over the hills, wading the creeks and ferrying the rivers, until they awoke one morning without money or breakfast. The warm hay at night, much sunshine, and the absence of rain had reduced the swollen joint in Flukey's knee to normal size; but that day, as they trudged along, Flea noticed that he limped more than at any time during their journey from Tompkins County. Even now, with hunger staring wolf-eyed at them, there was no desire to return to Ithaca, no thought of renewing their life in the squatter's settlement; for, unknown to themselves, they were being swept on by a common destiny.

"Ye're gettin' lame again," said Flea after awhile, the mother-feeling in her making her watch Flukey with concern. "Last night a-laying' in the field didn't do ye any good. Let me lug Prince Squeaky."

Without remonstrance, the boy surrendered the wriggling burden, and they started out once more.

"I wish we could find a nice, warm haystack," Flea commented; "it'd warm up yer bones. Will we get to one, Fluke, after awhile?"

"Nope, 'cause we're comin' to a big city."

As he spoke, he motioned to where Tarrytown lay on the banks of the Hudson River, several miles distant. Then they were silent a time; for each young life was busy with the tragedy of living. Just what they would do for a place to sleep Flea could not tell, since under the compact made in the rock-cavern they would steal no more.

In the gathering twilight the two came upon the cemetery of Sleepy Hollow, and here, tired, hungry, and despondent, they sat down to rest.

"It's gettin' night," said Flukey drearily. "I wonder where we'll sleep?"

"Can't we squirm in this dead man's yard 'thout n.o.body seein' us?" asked Flea, casting her eyes over the graves. "Ye can't walk no more tonight.

I ain't hungry, anyhow."

"Ye lie, Flea!" moaned Flukey. "Yer belly's as empty as Squeaky's or s.n.a.t.c.het's. I've got to get ye somethin' to eat."

Nevertheless, without resistance, he allowed her to help him through the large gate, and they struck off into the older part of the cemetery. All through the night they lay dozing in the presence of the dead, Squeaky tied by the leg to a tree, and s.n.a.t.c.het snuggled warmly between the two children. The dawning of day brought Flukey new anguish; for both knees were swollen, and he groaned as he turned over.

Flea was up instantly. "Be ye sick?"

"Only the twist in my legs. I wish it wasn't so cold. If the sun would only get warm!"

"We'll get to the good land today, Fluke," soothed Flea, "and ye can eat all ye want, and sleep with a pile of covers on--as big--as big as that there vault yonder."

"But we ain't in the good land yet, Flea," groaned Flukey, "and we're all hungry. I wish I could 'arn a nickel. If ye didn't love the pig so much, Flea, we could sell him. He's a growin' thinner and thinner every minute, and s.n.a.t.c.het be that starvin' he could eat another mut bigger'n himself."

The girl made no answer to this, but tucked Squeaky's pink nose under the blue-shirted arm and sat mute.

Flukey, encouraged, went on. "n.o.body'd buy s.n.a.t.c.het--he's only a poor, d.a.m.n, shiverin' cuss."

"If we selled Prince Squeaky, some'un'd eat him," mourned Flea. "He ain't goin' to be e't, I says!"

So forceful were her tones that Flukey offered no more suggestions; but stared miserably at the sun as it rose up from the east, dispersing the cold, gray morning fog. Presently Flea stood up and said decisively:

"We've got to eat. Ye stay here while I hunt for somethin'."

She darted away before Flukey could remonstrate. For a long time the boy lay on the damp ground, his face drawn awry with pain, watching the wagons going back and forth on the road below. The pangs of hunger and the night of rheumatism had told upon his young strength. His mind went back to the hut on Cayuga Lake, and he thought of how when their absence had been discovered Granny Cronk had cried a little, and how Pappy Lon had cursed and grown more silent than ever. The tender heart of the sick boy yearned toward the old squatter woman, who had been the only mother he and Flea had ever known. In his loneliness he stroked Squeaky on the snout and muttered tender words to the lean dog lying under his lame leg. After a short time he saw Flea, with a small bundle in her hand, picking her way among the graves. Flukey lay perfectly quiet until his sister offered him a bun.

"I could only buy four, 'cause I only had a nickel."

"Give Squeaky and s.n.a.t.c.het one, will ye, Flea?" ventured Flukey.

"Yep. I said, when I buyed 'em, there'd be one apiece."

"Somethin' has made ye pale, Flea," said Flukey after each of the four had devoured breakfast. "Ye didn't--"

"I see Lem Crabbe's scow down by the river."

Flukey uttered an exclamation and sat up with a groan. "He's comin'

after ye, Kid," he breathed desperately.

"Nope, he ain't," a.s.sured Flea; "he's takin' lumber down to New York.

And he didn't see me. And we'll stay in this here graveyard till he's gone. He's waitin' for the steam tug to come. I guess he poled from Albany down when he couldn't use his mules."

"Were Pappy Lon with him?" asked Flukey, drawing up his knees.

"I dunno; I didn't wait to see. I had to 'arn this nickel."

"Ye didn't steal it, Flea?"

"Nope; I had it give to me for holdin' a horse. Ye believe me, Fluke?"

"Yep, I believe ye. And ye say as how we can't go on now to the good land? We has to stay here?"

"For awhile," replied Flea. "When Lem Crabbe goes to New York, then we go, too."

While hundreds of birds made ready for a long night in the elm trees, the twins turned silent. Flukey lay with his eyes closed in pain. The girl broke the quietude now and then by muttering softly the names on the gravestones over which her eyes roved:

"EVERETT BRIMBECOMB ONE YEAR OLD BELOVED SON OF AGNES AND HAROLD BRIMBECOMB.

RESTING IN JESUS"

Flea read this over several times, and turned to Flukey.

"Who's Jesus, Fluke?" she asked.

The boy raised his head and opened his eyes languidly. "What? What'd ye say, Flea?"

"Who's Jesus?" she asked again, pointing to the inscription on the stone.

"I dunno. I guess he's some old feller layin' down in there with that kid."

Thus the day had pa.s.sed and the night fell. Flukey dropped into a deep sleep, and Flea, huddling to the cold earth, settled closer to her brother in the sheltering darkness. Suddenly the girl aroused as if from a bad dream. She sat up, feeling for the pig and s.n.a.t.c.het, and placed her hand on Flukey's quiet body and lay down. Once more came the sound.

It was the faint, distant hoot of an owl, stealing out through the tall trees. Nearer and nearer it came, until Flea sat bolt upright. Instantly into her mind shot the picture of a shriveled woman from the squatter country. A cold perspiration broke over her.

She turned her head slowly and looked off into the dark end of the cemetery, over which hung a mist. Through this veil the pale moon watched the earth with steady gaze. From among the monuments and time-scarred headstones, looming darkly in the forbidding silence, an apparition arose, and to Flea's vivid imagination it seemed as if voiceless gray ghosts were peopling G.o.d's Acre on all sides. She recoiled in horror as the strange, wild cry drew nearer.

A hysterical sensation burning in her throat tightened it so she could not speak to Flukey, nor could she drag her eyes from the thing moving toward her. s.n.a.t.c.het growled; but Flea pressed his jaws together with a snap, and the sound died in his throat. Squeaky moved slightly among the dead leaves, then became quiet again. The phantom-like figure pa.s.sed almost near enough to touch the rigid girl. Its lips opened, and a hoa.r.s.e, owl-like cry aroused the sleepy birds above.

"It's Screechy!" murmured Flea, dropping back in fear. "She's come seekin' Flukey and me! The bats be flyin' in her head!"

Screech Owl, ignorant of the children's proximity, went straight on, gliding over the graves until she stopped before the stone mansion at the edge of the graveyard. A light shone from the room, and the woman stole directly under it. A tall, handsome young man, his gaze centered thoughtfully upon the dark aspect, stood in the window. Flea saw Screechy hold out her arms toward him with an appealing gesture. He lifted his hand suddenly and drew down the shade, and his broad shoulders were silhouetted against it in sharp, black lines. After that the breathless girl saw the woman turn and stumble past her without a sound.