CHAPTER XVIII

An Appeal

It was not particularly difficult as Billy had not the faintest suspicion that he was under surveillance. As he had planned beforehand in his own mind, Ralph followed him a few moments after his departure from camp a little after daylight the next day.

Both rode burros—the small, sure-footed ponies, which are used almost entirely in the western states where difficult climbing is to be accomplished. And, except for the pair of mules which were sometimes hitched to their provision wagon, the Sunrise Camp Fire party had no other steeds.

If any were required for their longer excursions they were rented from the hotel stables.

This morning Billy got ready his own burro and Mrs. Burton had asked Mr. Simpson to have Ralph’s waiting in case he wished it.

The order was an extraordinary one, yet Mr. Simpson, being one of the wisest of men, had asked no questions.

Naturally he had been aware of Billy’s daily disappearances, but as nothing was told him concerning them, he had appeared comfortably blind.

Now the morning was slightly misty, as many of the early fall mornings are apt to be in the neighborhood of the greatest canyon in the world.

But the mist was colored like an opal as the sun sifted its warm light slowly through.

Ralph did not attempt to keep the younger boy in sight. Only now and then he would send his pony a little more swiftly forward for a fleeting glimpse of him. He was, of course, afraid that Billy would hear him, or that he might suddenly turn around and see him.

It was not necessary that he constantly watch the other rider at the beginning of their travels, as he had a fairly good impression of the route the younger boy would take.

Ralph had been a little bored at getting up so early in the morning, as his outdoor bed had been extremely comfortable. He had slept not far away from Billy’s and Dan’s own tent, declining the offer of Dan’s cot which he had generously insisted upon his taking. Therefore, his bed had been a mattress of balsam and a pair of heavy Indian blankets.

As a matter of fact this was the first morning which Ralph Marshall had honored by arising early since his coming to Arizona. Now, quite apart from his interest in Billy Webster’s mysterious behavior and his own desire to be of service, Ralph felt repaid for his effort.

“The great point was to get started at a thing,” he argued with himself. “After that the doing of it wasn’t half bad.” It occurred to Ralph that this might be true of more important issues than the present one.

There was a possibility that Billy had only a desire to spend his days in freedom and adventure. But, if this were true, no one would have had a reasonable right to interfere with him. Now, in spite of the fact that Ralph suggested this idea to himself, he was not convinced by it.

The tiresome journey of the day before Ralph was not required to repeat. There was a more direct route to the track and from there to the small railroad station.

But, once arriving along the more open road which ran beside it, Ralph was forced to keep farther behind.

However, this was unimportant if he could manage to arrange to have Billy in sight when he reached the station. After that, he did not know what direction the boy would take, as he might continue down the track or else strike across the country.

Half a mile from the little railroad station Ralph Marshall’s saddle girth suddenly broke. As the burro he was riding was so small in comparison with his own height, Ralph’s legs almost reached the ground on either side of his mount. There was, therefore, no danger in connection with his mishap, only there was a short delay. However, the time consumed was not a matter of five minutes, required for pulling the leather straps together and rebuckling them in a fresh place.

Ralph was not seriously concerned, although having remounted he did ride on more rapidly than he had since starting out. But, for some reason he did not again come in sight of Billy Webster. Arriving at the railroad station there was still no sign of Billy.

This was puzzling. The pursuer stopped for reflection. His acquaintance of the day before was not in evidence, but there was a chance that the station master, who, at present, was in his small box, or else the keeper of the shop, would have seen Billy go by and noticed what route he had followed.

Both men declared that no boy had been seen by either of them during the entire morning.

Ralph Marshall argued the question. One or the other of them must have seen the boy, since undoubtedly a boy had passed by. But, although argument did not shake their testimony, it did make the men angry so that he was finally obliged to desist.

Then, undoubtedly in his own phraseology, Ralph felt himself up against it. He simply did not know what to do next. He must follow Billy, but one cannot well follow without knowing the plan or the direction of one’s leader.

In this life it is the first failures which are most difficult to endure. Ralph Marshall had made so few efforts of any kind in his existence, that he was profoundly disturbed by this small one.

Moreover, Ralph was at last becoming affected by Mrs. Burton’s obvious nervousness. Perhaps a successful culmination of his quest was not so unimportant as he had previously conceived it. He had wished to accomplish what he had set out to do, because Mrs. Burton was uneasy and because he was anxious to do her a favor. Incidentally he was not averse to doing one for Peggy, should conditions develop in that way. But the question of Billy’s own welfare he had never taken seriously. Therefore, it was curious that he should find himself suddenly growing uncomfortable over the boy.

Well, as one must inevitably go somewhere in this world—either forward or backward—Ralph appreciated that he could not remain indefinitely at an entirely uninteresting and apparently uneventful railroad station.

So, following an impulse—not a purpose, or even an idea—he rode away from the station and into the country.

He continued riding the greater part of the day, feeling as absurd as any foolish follower of Don Quixote’s bent upon an impossible quest.

Nevertheless, Ralph did not give up. He was tired and bored and hungry, and frequently had to get off his pony in order to allow it to rest. He found food for his burro and a little for himself at a small ranch house, but only now and then did he came in contact with a human being.

Most of the country through which he traveled was pine forest. It was ridiculous to imagine that Billy Webster could have any interest or any purpose in this unfamiliar and comparatively uninhabited region. Yet Ralph could not make up his mind to return to Sunrise camp bringing back with him no Billy, no information—nothing but a confession of failure.

An hour before twilight, however, Ralph was forced to start for camp.

He carried a compass with him; indeed he had been using one ever since his arrival in Arizona, and had been wise enough to watch the route he had followed with great care. For the latter part of the afternoon he had been traveling in a homeward direction. But now, of course, he must push straight on without further loitering.

To spend the night in the woods was entirely feasible, but without covering it would not be agreeable and nothing would be accomplished by it.

Sometimes it appears as if one must give up a desire in this world in order to accomplish it.

Certainly Ralph Marshall surrendered all thought of discovering Billy—at least on this particular day. He would try again, however, on the next day and on as many days as were necessary.

The early dusk had fallen. Ralph was walking along, leading his burro and fearing that he had overtaxed its strength, although these small ponies are supposed to be able to survive almost any test of endurance.

Then, quite unexpectedly, he heard noises. They were unmistakably human noises. Tying his burro to a nearby tree, Ralph walked cautiously toward them.

He had not, however, in any way associated the noises with the success of his own quest. For, temporarily at least, he had forgotten Billy, or rather he believed that the boy must by this time have returned to Sunrise camp.

The fact which made him most curious was, that at the present moment he was not far away from the spot where he and Peggy Webster had accidentally discovered the unknown group of men some little time before. These were the men who were apparently the strikers on the railroad.

If these were the same men whom he now overheard, Ralph was not anxious to thrust himself into their society against their wishes.

Nevertheless he was amazed when he finally saw them. Yet the men were the ones he had expected them to be.

The amazement was due to Billy Webster.

Billy was with them! But not only was he with them. In spite of his long legs he had been lifted high in the air and was seated on the shoulders of two of the biggest and strongest of the men. And Billy was making a speech!

From his hiding place Ralph could catch a glimpse of the boy’s white face in the half dusk. He could also overhear what Billy was saying.

“I tell you men it won’t do,” he argued persuasively. “You know they are on the look out for you. Haven’t I been all up and down the track for days getting reports for you? You say your strike has failed and other men are at work at your old jobs, but I can’t see how it will help you or your cause to try wrecking the track, or doing any kind of mischief. Please don’t.” His voice had a high sweetness.

He had leaned over from the men’s shoulders and spoke like a child asking a favor. Yet the older men were listening to him with serious faces.

Ralph could not believe what he actually saw and heard.

“You’ve got to win some day, if you’ll only have patience; we have all agreed on that fact,” Billy continued, still in his sweet boy’s voice. “Of course it may take a long time, but it is the biggest fight on earth, to win justice for the poor; so you know everybody has got to have a lot of patience. If you are going to do wrong things because you think the rich have done wrong to you, I can’t see how you are any better than they are. And I wouldn’t trust you any more than I do them, once you get the same power.”

It was occurring to Ralph Marshall, as he stood absorbedly listening to the youthful speaker, that Billy Webster was discussing in a simple, school-boy fashion certain of the biggest social problems of the day.

But what most impressed him was not what Billy said—almost any clever, visionary boy might have read the views he expressed and repeated them parrot fashion. The extraordinary thing was the way the men listened.

Actually, by some strange gift of nature, Billy was a leader among them—an influence they respected, even if they would not follow it.

“You made a mistake with that ugly piece of work you did the other night,” he went on pleadingly, “but no one was hurt and you have not been found out. Promise me you’ll never do a job like that again?”

Then Billy slid down to the ground again.

Afterwards Ralph Marshall could see that he went about from one of the men to the other, talking, and that in most cases the men shook their heads. But he could not hear either what Billy said, or his companion answered, when they were speaking directly to each other. It was due to the fact that Billy had been addressing the group and that he had been lifted up in the air, that had made his words audible to Ralph.

Whatever conclusion was finally reached Ralph eventually realized that the younger boy was intending to leave for home. For he solemnly went about and shook hands with each of the men, as if he were a personal friend. And, although some of them received the attention awkwardly, none of them refused it.

A little later Billy passed Ralph without observing him. He mounted his pony and began riding slowly toward Sunrise camp.

In about five minutes Ralph followed, but he allowed about twenty to elapse before he rode up alongside the younger boy.

When he did and Billy discovered his identity, he nodded in his impersonal but friendly fashion.

“Have you been on the lookout for me?” he inquired. “I had half an idea Tante would try to discover what I was doing, when I refused to tell her.

“She isn’t accustomed not to having her own way. Well, I am glad you did not run across me today. After this, perhaps, it won’t make much difference if I do give up my daily disappearances and remain at camp. I don’t think I can have any more influence as I have said all I have to say.”