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Page 48
Buck was the spokesman and leader. He came up near to Bart and looked
him over critically.
"What you doing here?" he demanded, with a suspicious frown.
"Nothing," said Bart, with a grin.
"Where do you come from?"
"Me--nowhere!" chuckled Bart, winking deliberately and then, walking
over to the horse, he fondled his long ears, with the remark: "If I had
a dandy rig like you've got here, I bet I'd go somewheres, though!"
"Where would you go?" inquired Buck Tolliver curiously.
"I'd go to California--that's the place to do something, and make a
name, and amount to something."
Bart's off-handed ingenuousness had completely disarmed the men. He
pretended to be busy petting the horse, but saw Buck Tolliver slip back
to his brother, and a few quick questions and answers passed between
them. Then Buck came up to him again.
"See here, kid, are you acquainted around here at all?"
"Did you ever see me around here before?" chaffed Bart audaciously.
"Don't get fresh! This is business."
"Why, yes--I reckon I could find my way from Springfield to Bascober."
Bart had mentioned two points miles remote from the Millville district.
"He'll do," spoke Hank Tolliver for the first time. "Ask him, Buck."
"Do you want to drive that rig a few miles for us for a dollar?" asked
Buck Tolliver.
"Me?" cried Bart. "I guess so!"
"Can you obey orders?"
"Try me, boss."
"He'll do, I tell you. What do you want to waste time this way for!"
snapped Hank Tolliver irritably.
"Hitch him up," ordered Buck to Bart. "Come on, Hank."
Bart chuckled to himself. He did not know what all this might lead to,
but it was a famous start.
While he was putting on the horse's harness and hitching him up, the
brothers spread a piece of canvas over the wagon box. This they tucked
in, and completely covered trunk and canvas with long grass pulled from
the edge of a water pit near by.
Bart had the rig in full starting shape by the time they had concluded
their labors.
"What's the ticket, Captain?" he inquired of Buck, looking him squarely
in the face.
"You seem to know enough not to answer questions about yourself,"
observed Buck--"try and be as clever if anybody quizzes you about this
wagon."
"Why should they?"
"Oh, they may. If they do, you're from--let me see--Blackberry Hill,
remember?"
"All right--with a load of garden truck, eh?" propounded Bart
ingeniously.
"You hit it correct. What we want you to do is this: Drive down to the
main road, and turn west. Keep on straight ahead, and don't turn
anywhere. About nine miles west you'll hit Hamilton. Drive right through
the town, but as soon as you get out of it take the first branch south
from the turnpike, and keep on till you reach an old mill on the river.
Wait for us there."
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