it was five o'clock in the sleepy summer afternoon, and the flies buzzed drowsily among the miscellaneous articles that graced the windows of the corner store. the mills had shut down early, because the supply of logs was running low in the boom, and no more could be expected until there should be a rise of water. some half-dozen of the mill hands were sitting about the store on nail-kegs and soap-boxes, while zeb smith, the proprietor, swung his long legs lazily from the edge of the littered counter.
woolly billy came in with a piece of silver in his little fist to buy a packet of tea for mrs. amos. jim, not liking the smoke, stayed outside on the plank sidewalk, and snapped at flies. the child, who was regarded as the mascot of brine's rip mills, was greeted with a fire of solemn chaff, which he received with an impartial urbanity.
"oh, quit coddin' the kiddie, an' don't try to be so smart," growled long jackson, the magadavy river-man, lifting his gaunt length from a pile of axe-handles, and thrusting his fist deep into his trousers' pocket. "here, zeb, give me a box of peppermints for woolly billy. he hain't been in to see us this long while."
he pulled out a handful of coins and dollar bills, and proceeded to select a silver bit from the collection. the sight was too much for woolly billy, bursting with his secret.
"i know where there's lots more money like that," he blurted out proudly, "in a hole in a tree."
during the past twelve months or more there had been thefts of money, usually of petty sums, in brine's rip mills and the neighbourhood, and all tug blackstock's detective skill had failed to gain the faintest clue to the perpetrator. suspicions there had been, but all had vanished into thin air at the touch of investigation. woolly billy's amazing statement, therefore, was like a little bombshell in the shop.
every one of his audience stiffened up with intense interest.
one swarthy, keen-featured, slim-waisted, half-indian-looking fellow, with the shapely hands and feet that mark so many of the indian mixed-bloods, was sitting on a bale of homespun behind long jackson, and smoking solemnly with half-closed lids. his eyes opened wide for a fraction of a second, and darted one searching glance at the child's face. then he dropped his lids slowly once more till the eyes were all but closed. the others all stared eagerly at woolly billy.
pleased with the interest he had excited, woolly billy glanced about him, and shook back his mop of pale curls self-consciously.
"lots more!" he repeated. "big handfuls."
then he remembered his discretion, his resolve to tell no one but tug blackstock about his discovery. seeking to change the subject, he beamed upon long jackson.
"thank you, long," he said politely. "i love peppermints. an' jim loves them, too."
"where did you say that hole in the tree was?" asked long jackson, reaching for the box that held the peppermints, and ostentatiously filling a generous paper-bag.
woolly billy looked apologetic and deprecating.
"please, long, if you don't mind very much, i can't tell anybody but tug blackstock that."
jackson laid the bag of peppermints a little to one side, as if to convey that their transfer was contingent upon woolly billy's behaviour.
the child looked wistfully at the coveted sweets; then his red lips compressed themselves with decision and resentment.
"i won't tell anybody but tug blackstock, of course," said he. "an' i don't want any peppermints, thank you, long."
he picked up his package of tea and turned to leave the shop, angry at himself for having spoken of the secret and angry at jackson for trying to get ahead of tug blackstock. jackson, looking annoyed at the rebuff, extended his leg and closed the door. woolly billy's blue eyes blazed. one of the other men strove to propitiate him.
"oh, come on, woolly billy," he urged coaxingly, "don't git riled at long. you an' him's pals, ye know. we're all pals o' yourn, an' of tug's. an' there ain't no harm at all, at all, in yer showin' us this 'ere traysure what you've lit on to. besides, you know there's likely some o' that there traysure belongs to us 'uns here. come on now, an' take us to yer hole in the tree."
"ye ain't agoin' to git out o' this here store, woolly billy, i tell ye that, till ye promise to take us to it right off," said long jackson sharply.
woolly billy was not alarmed in the least by this threat. but he was so furious that for a moment he could not speak. he could do nothing but stand glaring up at long jackson with such fiery defiance that the good-natured mill-hand almost relented. but it chanced that he was one of the sufferers, and he was in a hurry to get his money back. at this point the swarthy woodsman on the bale of homespun opened his narrow eyes once again, took the pipe from his mouth, and spoke up.
"quit plaguin' the kid, long," he drawled. "the cash'll be all there when tug blackstock gits back, an' it'll save a lot of trouble an' misunderstandin', havin' him to see to dividin' it up fair an' square. let woolly billy out."
long jackson shook his head obstinately, and opened his mouth to reply, but at this moment woolly billy found his voice.
"let me out! let me out! let me out!" he screamed shrilly, stamping his feet and clenching his little fists.
instantly a heavy body was hurled upon the outside of the door, striving to break it in.
zeb smith swung his long legs down from the counter hurriedly.
"the kid's right, an' black dan's right. open the door, long, an' do it quick. i don't want that there dawg comin' through the winder. an' he'll be doin' it, too, in half a jiff."
"git along, then, woolly, if ye insist on it. but no more peppermints, mind," growled jackson, throwing open the door and stepping back discreetly. as he did so, jim came in with a rush, just saving himself from knocking woolly billy over. one swift glance assured him that the child was all right, but very angry about something.
"it's all right, jim. come with me," said woolly billy, tugging at the animal's collar. and the pair stalked away haughtily side by side.
