Jerry had awakened about eight o’clock, scribbled his brief note, and crept from the hut in the woods without disturbing any of his sleeping companions. His mind was made up. Burk had said that Wallistown was not far away, and there he could certainly purchase the food they needed so badly. Since they were forced to hide here until nightfall, his brief desertion would not hold up their march. And he knew they would be hungry. He was hungry already. The keen, fresh morning air whipped up his appetite as he hiked steadily down the trail. Birds were flashing through the dewy thickets about him, caroling their morning-songs; not a cloud hung in the sky.

He came to an old moss-covered stone fence, crossed over, and found himself in a lane, lined with tall elder bushes, with dark rich clusters of small berries hanging among the leaves. A rich find! He filled his mouth with the bitter-tasting fruit, which stained his hands a deep purple as he ate.
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Feeling refreshed by this woodsy breakfast, he decided to follow the lane. It led him half a mile, coming out at a white frame farmhouse where a woman was washing clothes in the yard. She looked up as he passed and watched him strangely, but said nothing, and he walked on to the road beyond. This was a dirt-covered highway which evidently led in the direction he wished to take. He swung along steadily through rich farm-lands and pastures where cattle grazed. A hay-wagon driven by a man in a large straw hat passed him; he did not look up, but had a feeling that the driver was watching him steadily. The road twisted and curved until Jerry had to get his bearings from the mountains before he was sure he was on the right track. Two miles farther, he came to a signpost that informed him that Wallis Springs lay to his left, while Wallistown was still seven miles away. This hike was farther than he had supposed; he might not be able to return to his comrades for some hours yet. Nevertheless, he knew that Wallis Springs was nothing more than a little group of summer cottages where he might not be able to purchase any food; he must push on to Wallistown, at the foot of the lake. He swung off down the curving road.
164

The sun was now high overhead; he was hot, dusty, and a trifle tired. He took off his mackinaw and slung it over his arm, wishing he had left it behind. Now and then he could see to his left the fringe of trees that bordered the big lake, and could make out the roofs of little cabins occupied by people who were summering on its shores. The road twisted in and out, following the wavy outline of the lake’s bank; no matter how fast he tried to walk, Wallistown seemed to be as far away as ever. He begged a glass of water from a friendly, red-faced woman who answered his knock at a little cottage beside the road, and went on. Several automobiles passed him, driving toward town, but none of their occupants offered to stop and give him a lift, and he did not dare ask for a ride. People who picked you up, he had found, were often very curious about where you were going and why; they asked too many questions, and he was in no frame of mind to undergo any cross-examinations this morning. It was almost eleven o’clock when he halted to rest beside a bridge that spanned a little stream which wandered toward the lake.
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A whirring drone sounded above him; a cross-shaped shadow skimmed across a field by the road. An airplane hummed overhead, flying low, almost hitting the tree tops. Jerry wondered idly why the pilot took a chance of crashing by flying so close to the ground. The plane circled and swung off toward the mountains, and Jerry dismissed it from his mind. If he had known that this airplane was combing the country for traces of Burk and the missing boys, he might not have dismissed it so easily.

He rose and plodded ahead down the dusty road. Wallistown was in sight now. He could see the group of two-story buildings that marked its main street, leading from the wharf where a number of canoes, rowboats, and small motor launches were tied up. It was getting late; he decided to keep as far as possible from the center of town, where he might be observed. There was no use taking any chances, and he must start right back, to have time to carry the food he would purchase back over the long miles that now separated him from his friends in the mountains.
166

At one side of the wharf was a line of low buildings. Jerry left the road and followed a wooden sidewalk along the bank of the lake, and made out, on the front of the largest of these buildings, a sign that proclaimed it to be a grocery and “general store.” This was as close to the town as he wished to go. The sight of so many strange faces—people who probably had never even heard of Camp Lenape—frightened him a little. If he hadn’t come so far, and hadn’t known that his brother and the rest were depending on him to bring them some grub, he might have turned back right there. As it was, he quickened his pace and entered the shadow of the store.

The interior of the place was gloomy, after the sunlight outside, and was filled with a thousand different odors, chief among them being those of stale candy and dried fish. An old man was lounging in a chair which leaned back against the counter; he moved his head lazily to look at this customer.

“What’ll ye have, bud?”

“A couple cans of beans, and some other stuff—I don’t know just what.”

“Wal, look around and pick ’em out. Guess we got what ye want,” the man answered, and leaned back again with his arms behind his head.
167

Jerry poked about among the shelves in the back of the store. They wouldn’t have much chance to cook; better to take things that would carry easily, and that they could eat cold—bread and cheese and chocolate——

The old man Slammed the four legs of his chair to the floor with a bang, as someone entered hurriedly through the door.

“You got my order ready, Mr. Clay?”

“Hullo, Rufe. Say, did ye find that canoe of yourn?”

The newcomer was breathing heavily. Jerry darted a glance at him. He saw a stringy youth with a pimpled face, garbed in a jersey and dingy white flannels, whose voice now took on a tone of injury.

“Yeah, we found it floatin’ down by the outlet. They must have landed in some hurry; Talk about nerve! I was choppin’ some wood up by our place above the Springs. These two come burstin’ out of the woods, runnin’ like blazes, and got away with the canoe before I even had time to yell. I run along shore about half a mile, but they had started across, and I couldn’t do a thing. Pretty soon along comes a man on a horse, gallopin’ along like mad. He asks me if I’ve seen this pair—he’s a deputy sheriff, he says. You could have knocked me over with a feather when he tells me that one of the guys who stole the canoe was this convict that’s been missin’ from the Pen at Elmville!”
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