Читать книгу Tom Slade: Forest Ranger - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 6

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The thought which was uppermost in Tom’s mind was not that of ghosts. It was that the safety of the forest was being jeopardized in deference to ignorant superstition.

“Can’t they get some one from another village?” he asked.

“They’d hev ter git th’ other village fust, I’m thinkin’,” said the local wag. “Chevy, he come here from over the mountain yonder in Todd’s Crossroads. He was the fust one ter live up on the peak.”

“Vollmer, he stayed up there some nights,” said the storekeeper.

“He was welcome,” said the other, “a heap sight more welcome ’n he wuz down here.”

“Dead rebels is worser’n live ones, I says,” his companion observed.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Tom laughed. “You can’t do much harm after you’re dead.”

“Looks if poor Chevy had some harm done him by somebody ’t was dead,” the storekeeper remarked.

“Well,” said Tom conclusively, “if I can get that job I’m going to take it. So maybe you’ll have me for a neighbor. My name is Slade and I live in Bridgeboro, New Jersey, and I’m not afraid of spooks, but I am afraid of fires. Who should I apply to, I wonder; the head warden, State warden, or whatever you call him?”

The three men simply gaped at him. What the climax of their amazement might have been it would be hard to say; for the tableau of incredulity was cut short by an anticlimax. The storekeeper turned lazily around and addressed a young man who had just come unobtrusively among them and was leaning back against one of the supports of the platform roof. How long he had been standing there listening Tom did not know. His age might have been thirty and he was attired in city fashion; that is, he wore a suit of clothes. His face was pale and intelligent, and it was evident from his appearance that he was not a tried and true native of Watson’s Bend.

He seemed so far above the level of the conversation that Tom was a little perplexed at his not laughing as he himself was doing. He would have supposed that such an apparently enlightened young man would give him at least a sly wink to denote his amusement. Yet the young man gave no sign of being his ally in this absurd talk.

“Wotcher after, Horry?” the storekeeper asked.

“Cigarettes,” said the young man; “no hurry.”

The storekeeper lazily arose and went within, which had the effect of ending the talk. The young man, having received his purchase, strolled along toward the Bend with Tom.

“I didn’t know there were any houses down this way,” Tom said, by way of making talk. “I left my machine around the corner. You live here, I suppose.”

“Yes, I board here,” the young man answered. “Watson’s Bend isn’t quite so small as it looks. There are a few houses scattered around in the woods. You can’t see them all. My name is Dennison, I’m school teacher here.”

“Oh,” said Tom.

“Yes, I came here just after the war when jobs were hard to get and I’ve been stalled here ever since.” He seemed to apologize for his rustic position. “It isn’t so bad though,” he added; “nice and quiet. You’re on your way down through to Jersey, I suppose? We’ve seen more traffic in the last six days than we’ve seen in the last six years, I guess.”

“Yes, the road’s closed from High Falls down,” Tom said. “What do you think about those ghost stories? Some spook fans, hey, these rubes?”

They had passed around the treacherous Bend and were standing by Tom’s car. Far up on the distant mountain could be seen a gray speck, the little surmounting shelter of the lookout tower. The supporting structure was concealed among the trees and the tiny house looked like a large nest in the new foliage. At such a distance not one among a hundred strangers would have distinguished it for what it was. Dennison commented upon this.

“Oh, I suppose I happened to notice it because I’m interested in forest conservation,” Tom said. “But I never saw one so far up before. Boy, it must be pretty lonely up there! Well, I’m going to see if I can get the job; I’ll try anything once. Did you ever hear such nonsense as those men talked? Spooks!”

“There are lots of things that we don’t know anything about,” Dennison said. “It’s easy to say you don’t believe a thing just because you don’t understand it. You never saw anything supernatural, so you say there isn’t any such thing. I don’t say there is, either, but just the same I wouldn’t go up there. And I wouldn’t advise you to either. It’s an uncanny place.”

Tom stared at his chance acquaintance in blank amazement. “Well—I’ll—be—jiggered!” he laughed. “You don’t mean to tell me that you believe those stories?”

“Where there’s a lot of smoke there’s apt to be a little fire,” Dennison commented. “I wouldn’t just exactly advise any one to go up there.” Tom laughed. “Well, there’ll be some smoke and some fire too if somebody doesn’t go up there,” he said. “Why, this little berg is just surrounded by woods. There’ll be some pretty little bonfire in this country first thing you know.”

By way of showing his resolve and his impatience with the silly rumors, he jumped into his car as if this were a first decisive step toward carrying out his plan. “Well, I’ll see you later,” he said.

“I guess you’ll never be back,” laughed the school teacher. Then after a pause he added, “You don’t really mean that, do you?”

It seemed to Tom that Dennison was just a trifle anxious, too anxious for one who had no interest in the matter.

“I’ll say I do,” said Tom, leaning on the steering wheel.

“Did they tell you what happened up there?” Dennison asked.

“No, what happened up there?” Tom laughed derisively.