The City of Fire

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Slowly, cautiously he backed away from the door, down the hall and into
the next open door, groping his silent way toward a little half moon in
the shutter. He made a quick calculation, glanced about, did some
sleight of hand with the door till it swung noiselessly shut, and then
slipping back to the window he examined the catches. There was a pane
of glass gone, but it was not in the right place. If he only could
manage to slide the sash down. He turned the catch and applied a
pressure to the upper sash, but like most upper sashes it would not
budge. If he strained harder he might be able to move it but that would
make a noise and spoil his purpose. He looked wildly round the room,
with a feeling that something must help him, and suddenly he discovered
that the upper sash of the other window was pulled all the way down,
and a sweet breath of wild grape blossoms was being wafted to his
heated forehead. With a quick move he placed himself under this window,
which he realized must be almost over Shorty's head. It was but the
work of an instant to grasp Pat's gun and stick its nose well through
the little half moon of an opening in the shutter, pointed straight
over Shorty's head into the woods, and pull the trigger.

The report went rolling, reverberating down the valley from hill to
hill like a whole barrage it seemed to Billy; and perhaps to Shorty
waiting for his pard below, but at any rate before the echoes had
ceased to roll Shorty was no longer on the door step. He had vanished
and was far away, breaking through the underbrush, stumbling, and
cutting himself, getting up to stumble again, he hurled himself away
from that haunted spot. Ghosts were nothing to Shorty. He could match
himself against a spirit any day, but ghosts that could shoot were
another matter, and he made good his going without hesitation or
needless waiting for his partner in crime. He was never quite sure
where that shot came from, whether from high heaven or down beneath the
earth.

As for Link, if he was giving more dope, he did not finish. He dropped
a cup in his hurry and darted like a winged thing to the head of the
stairs, where he took the flight at a slide and disappeared into the
woods without waiting for locks or keys or any such things.

"He seems a little nervous," grinned Billy, who had climbed to the
window seat with one eye applied to the half moon, watching his victims
take their hurried leave. And lest they should dare to watch and return
before he was ready for them he sent another shot into the blue sky,
ricochetting along the hills; and still another, grimly, after an
interval.

Then swiftly turning he stole down the front stairs and took the key
from the lock, shut the door, pushing a big bolt on the inside. With a
hasty examination of the lower floor that satisfied him that he was
safely ensconced in his stronghold and would not be open to immediate
interruption he hurried upstairs again.

His first act was to open a window and throw back the shutters. The
morning sunlight leaped in like a friend, and a bird in a tree carolled
out gladly. Something in Billy's heart burst into a tear. A tear! Bah!
He brushed it away with his grimy hand and went over to the bed,
rolling the inert figure toward him till the face was in plain view. A
sudden fit of trembling took possession of him and he dropped
nervelessly beside the bed with his hands outstretched and uttered a
sob ending in a single syllable,

_"Cart!"_

For there on the bed still as the dead lay Mark Carter, his beloved
idol, and _he had helped to put him there!_

Thirty pieces of silver! And his dearest friend dead, perhaps! A Judas!
All his life he would be a Judas. He knew now why Judas hanged himself.
If Cart was dead he would have to hang himself! Here in this house of
death he must hang himself, like Judas, poor fool. And he would fling
that blood money back. Only, _Cart must not be dead!_ It would be
hell forever for Billy if Cart was dead. He _could not stand it!_

Billy sprang to his feet with tears raining down his cheeks, but his
tired dirty face looked beautiful in its anxiety. He tore open Mark
Carter's coat and vest, wrenched away collar, necktie and shirt, and
laid his face against the breast. It was warm! He struggled closer and
put his ear to the heart. It was beating!

He shook him gently and called,

"Cart! Cart! Oh, _Boy!"_ with sobs choking in his throat. And all
the while the little bird was singing in a tree enough to split his
feathered throat, and the sweet air full of wild grape was rushing into
the long closed room and driving out the musty air.

Billy laid Mark down gently on the dusty pillow and opened another
window. He stumbled over the cup and spoon, and a bottle fell from the
table and broke sending out a pungent odor. But Billy crept close to
his friend once more and began rubbing his hands and forehead and
crooning to him as he had once done to his dog when he suffered from a
broken leg. Nobody would have known Billy just then, as he stood
crooning over Mark.

Water! He looked around. A broken pitcher stood on the table half
filled. He tasted it dubiously. It was water, luke warm, but water! He
soused a towel he found on the washstand into it and slopped it over
Mark's face. He went through all the manoeuvres they use on the
football field when a man is knocked out, and then he bethought him of
the milk. Milk was an antidote for poisons. If he could get some down
him!

Carefully he rinsed out a glass he found on the bureau and poured some
milk in it, crept on the bed and lifted Mark's head in his arms, put
the glass to his lips, and begged and pled, and finally succeeded in
prying the lips and getting a few drops down. Such joy as thrilled him
when Mark finally swallowed. But it was a long time, and Billy began to
think he must go for the doctor, leave his friend here at the mercy of
who would come and go after all. He had hoped he might keep his shame,
and Mark's capture from everybody, but what was that verse the teacher
had taught them once awhile ago? "Be sure your sin will find you out."
That was true. He couldn't let Mark die. He must go for the doctor. Doc
would come, and he would keep his mouth shut, but Doc would
_know_, and Billy liked Doc. Well, he would have to get him! Mark
would hate it so, too, but Billy would have to!

It was just then that Mark drew a long deep breath of the sweet air,
sighed and drew another. Billy pressed the glass to his lips and Mark
opened his eyes, saw the boy, smiled, and said in a weak voice:

"Hullo, Billy, old boy, got knocked out, didn't I?" Then he closed his
eyes and seemed to go away again. But Billy, with wildly beating heart
poured some more milk and came closer:

"Drink this, Cart. It's good. Drink it. We gotta get them dirty bums,
Cart! Hurry up an' drink it!"

Billy understood his friend. Mark opened his eyes and roused a little.
Presently he drank some more, nearly a whole glass full and Billy took
heart of hope.

"Do ya think ya could get up now, Cart, ef I he'ped ya?" he asked
anxiously, "We gotta get after those guys ur they'll make a getaway."

"Sure!" said Mark rousing again. "Go to it, Kid. I'm with you," and he
tried to sit up. But his head reeled and he fell back. Billy's heart
sank. He must get him out of this house before the two keepers
returned, perhaps with Pat or some other partner in their crime.
Patiently he began again, and gradually by degrees he propped Mark up,
fed him more milk, and urged him to rise; fairly lifted him with his
loving strength, across the room, and finally, inch by inch down the
stairs and out the back door.

Billy felt a great thrill when he heard that door shut behind him and
knew his friend was out in the open again under God's sky. Nothing ever
quite discouraged Billy when he was out of doors. But it was a work of
time to get Mark across the clearing and down in the undergrowth out of
sight of the house, where the old bicycle lay. Once there Billy felt
like holding a Thanksgiving service. But Mark was very white and lay
back on the grass looking wholly unlike himself.

"Say, Cart," said Billy after a brief silence of thought, "I gotta get
you on my machine. We gotta get down to Unity an' phone."

"All right, old man, just as you say," murmured Mark too dizzy to care.

So Billy with infinite tenderness, and much straining of his young
muscles got Mark up and managed to put him astride the wheel; but it
was tough going and slow, over rough places, among undergrowth, and
sometimes Billy had to stop for breath as he walked and pushed and held
his friend.

But Mark was coming to his own again, and by the time they reached a
road he was able to keep his balance, and know what he was doing. It
was high noon before they reached Unity and betook themselves to the
drug store. While Mark asked for medicine Billy hied him to a telephone
booth. His heart was beating wildly. He feared him much that Mark's car
was gone.

But the chief's voice answered him after a little waiting, and he
explained:

"Say, I'm the kid that phoned you early this morning. Didya get that
car aw'right?" Billy held his breath, his jaded eyes dropped shut with
anxiety and weariness. But the chief's voice answered promptly, "yes,
we got yer car all right, but didn't get the men. They beat it when
they heard us coming. What sort of men were they, do you know?"

"Aw, that's aw'right, Chief, I'll tell ya when I gi'down there. Can't
tell ya over the phone. Say, I'm Billy, Billy Gaston. You know me. Over
to Sab'th Valley. Yes. You seen me play on the team. Sure. Well, say
Chief, I'm here in Unity with the guy that owns the car. Mark Carter.
You know him. Sure! Mark! Well, he's all in, an' he wants his car to
get home. He's been up all night and he ain't fit to walk. He wants me
to come over and bring his car back to Unity fer him. I got my bike
here, See? Now, I ain't got a license of course, but I c'd bring his
along. That be aw'right Chief, just over to Unity? Aw'right, Chief?
Thank ya, Chief. Yas, I'm comin' right away. S'long!"

Billy saw Mark comfortably resting on a couch in the back room of the
drug store, where an old pal of his was clerk, and then stopping only
for an invigorating gulp or two of a chocolate ice cream soda, he
climbed on his old wheel and pedalled on his happy way to Economy. The
winds touched him pleasantly as he passed, the sunshine had a queer
reddish look to his feverish eyes, and the birds seemed to be singing
in the top of his head, but he was happy. He might go to sleep on the
way and roll off his wheel, but he should worry! Mark was safe. He had
almost sold him for thirty pieces of silver, but God had somehow been
good to him and Mark was alive. Now he would serve him all the rest of
his life,--Mark or God,--it seemed all one to him now somehow, so long
had he idealized his friend, so mixed were his ideas of theology.

But Billy did not go to sleep nor fall off his wheel, and in due time
he arrived in Economy and satisfied the Chief's curiosity with vague
answers, a vivid description of Link and Shorty, and the suggestion
that they might be found somewhere near the Haunted House on Stark's
mountain. He had heard them talking about going there, he said. He got
away without a mention of the real happening at Pleasant View or a hint
that he had had anything to do with the stealing of the car. Billy
somehow was gifted that way. He could shut his mouth always just in
time, and grin and give a turn to the subject that entirely changed the
current of thought, so he kept his own counsel. Not for his own
protection would he have kept back any necessary information, but for
Mark's sake. Yes--for Mark's sake--! Mark would not want it to be
known.

It was in the early evening, and the sky was still touched by the after
glow of sunset, beneath the evening star, as Mark and Billy in the
reclaimed car, finally started from Unity for home.

In both their hearts was the thought of the bells that would be ringing
now in Sabbath Valley for the evening service, and of the one who would
be playing them, and each was trying to frame some excuse that would
explain his absence to her without really explaining _anything_.

And about this time the minister came forth from the parsonage, much
vexed in spirit by the appearance of the outlandish lady in her
outlandish car. She seemed to be insisting on remaining at the
parsonage as if it were a common hostelry, and he and his wife had much
perplexity to know just what to do. And now as he issued quietly forth
from a side door he could hear her lute-like voice laughing from his
front porch, and looking back furtively he saw to his horror that the
lady, as well as the gentleman, was smoking a cigarette!

He paused and tried to think just what would be the best way to meet
this situation, and while he hesitated his senior elder, a man of
narrow vision, hard judgments, yet staunch sincerity, approached him.
The minister had grown to expect something unpleasant whenever this man
sought him out, and to-night he shrank from the ordeal; but anything
was better than to have him see the visitor upon his front steps, so
Severn turned and hurried toward him cordially:

"Good evening, Harricutt. It's been a good day, hasn't it?" he said
grasping the wiry old hand:

"Not so pleasant as you'd think, Mr. Severn," responded the hard old
voice harshly, "I've come on very unpleasant business. Very unpleasant
indeed; but the standard of the church must be kept up, and we must act
at once in this matter! It is most serious, most serious! I've just
called a meeting of the session to be held after church, and I've sent
out for this _Mark Carter_ to be present. He must answer for
himself the things that are being said about him, or his name must be
stricken from our church roll. Do you know what they are saying about
him, Brother Severn? Do you know what he's done?"

But the arrow had entered the soul of the minister and his voice was
too unsteady to respond, so the senior elder proceeded:

"He has been keeping company with a young woman of dissolute character,
and he has been to a place of public amusement with her and been seen
drinking with her. He affects dance halls, and is known to live a
worldly life. It is time he was cast out from our midst and become
anathema. And now, it is quite possible he may be tried for murder!
Have you heard what happened last night, Mr. Severn? Did you know that
Mark Carter, a member of _our church_, tried to _kill a man_
down at the Blue Duck Tavern, and for jealousy about a girl of loose
character? And now, Brother Severn, what are we going to do about it?"

Said the minister, answering quietly, calmly:

"Brother Harricutt, we are not going to do anything about it just now.
We are going into the church to worship God. We will wait at least
until Mark Carter comes back and see what he has to say for himself."

And about that minute, Mark, now thoroughly restored and driving
steadily along the road, turned to Billy and said quietly with a
twinkle in his eye:

"Kid, what made you put up that Detour?"

X

The service that evening had been one of peculiar tenderness. The
minister prayed so earnestly for the graces of forgiveness, loving
kindness and tender mercy, that several in the congregation began to
wonder who had been hard on his neighbor now. It was almost uncanny
sometimes how that minister spotted out the faults and petty
differences in his flock. Many examined their own hearts fearfully
during the prayer, but at its close the face of the senior Elder was
stern and severe as ever as he lifted his hymn book and began to turn
the leaves to the place.

Then the organ mellowed forth joyously:

"Give to the winds thy fears,
Trust and be undismayed,
God hears thy prayers and counts thy tears
God shall lift up thy head."

Elder Harricutt would much rather it had been "God the All Terrible."
His lips were pursed for battle. He knew the minister was going to be
soft hearted again, and it would fall to his lot to uphold the spotless
righteousness of the church. That had been his attitude ever since he
became a Christian. He had always been trying to find a flaw in Mr.
Severn's theology, but much to his astonishment and perhaps
disappointment, he had never yet been able to find a point on which
they disagreed theologically, when it came right down to old fashioned
religion, but he was always expecting that the next sermon would be the
one wherein the minister had broken loose from the old dyed-in-the-wool
creeds and joined himself to the new and advanced thinkers, than whom,
in his opinion, there were no lower on the face of God's earth. And yet
in spite of it all he loved the minister, and was his strong admirer
and loyal adherent, self-appointed mentor though he felt himself to be.

Over on the other side of the church Elder Duncannon, tall, gaunt,
hairy, with kind gray eyes and a large mouth, reminding slightly of
Abraham Lincoln, sang earnestly, through steel bowed spectacles
adjusted far out on the end of his nose. Behind him Lemuel Tipton, also
an elder, sandy, with cherry lips, apple cheeks and a fringe of
grizzled red hair under his chin, sang with his head thrown back,
looking like a big robin. The minister knew he could depend on those
two. He scanned his audience. The elders were all present. Gibson. He
had a narrow forehead, near-sighted eyes, and an inclination to take
the opposite side from the minister. His lips were thin, and he pursed
them often, and believed in efficiency and discipline. He would
undoubtedly go with Harricutt. Jones, the short fat one who owned the
plush mills and hated boys. He had taken sides against Mark about the
memorial window. No hope from him! Fowler, small, thin, gray, with a
retreating chin, had once lived next to Mrs. Carter and had a difference
about some hens that strayed away to lay. Harricutt likely had him all
primed. Jones, Gibson, Harricutt--three against three. Joyce's vote
would decide it. Joyce was a new man, owner of the canneries. He was a
great stickler for proprieties, yet he seemed to feel that a minister's
word was law--Well--! _God_ was still above--!

The benediction held a tenderness that fairly compelled the waiting
congregation to attend with their hearts.

* * * * *

"Let's go over there and hear that girl play," suggested Laurie
suddenly, "Church is out and we'll make her play the bells. They're
simply _great_. She's some _player!"_

Opal leaned back in her chair and regarded him through the fringes of
her eyelashes, laughing a silvery peal that shivered into the reverence
of the benediction like a shower of icicles going down the back.
Marilyn heard and blended the Amen into the full organ to break the
shock as the startled congregation moved restlessly, with half unclosed
eyes. Elder Harricutt heard, shut his eyes tighter, and pressed severe
lips together with resistance. This doubtless was that woman they
called Cherry. That irreverent Mark Carter must be close at hand. And
on the rose-vined porch Laurence Shafton felt the sting of the laugh
and drew himself together:

"Oh, Laurie, Laurie!" she mocked, "You might as well be dead at
Saybrook Inn or imprisoned for killing a family as fall in love with
that girl. She isn't at all your kind. How would you look singing
psalms? But come on, I'm game! I can see how she'll hate me. Can you
walk?"

They sauntered slowly over to the church in the fragrant darkness, he
leaning on a cane he had found by the door. The kindly, curious people
coming out eyed them interestedly, looking toward the two cars in front
of the parsonage, and wondered. It was a neighborhood where everybody
took a kindly interest in everybody else, and the minister belonged to
them all. Nothing went on at his house that they did not just love and
dote on.

"Seems to me that girl has an awful low-necked dress for Sunday night,"
said Mrs. Little to Mrs. Jones as they walked slowly down the street,
"Did you catch the flash of those diamonds on her neck and fingers?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Jones contemptuously, "paint on her face too, thick as
pie crust. I saw her come. She drove her own car and her dresses were
up to her knees, and such stockings! With stripes like lace in them!
And little slippers with heels like knitting needles! I declare, I
don't know what this generation is coming to! I'm glad my Nancy never
wanted to go away to boarding school. They say it's terrible, the
boldness of young girls nowadays."

"Well, if you'd ask me, _I'd_ say she wasn't so very
_young!"_ declared Mrs. Little. "The light from the church door
was full in her face when I was coming down the steps, and she looked
as if she'd cut her eye teeth sometime past."

"She had short hair," said Mrs. Jones, "for she pulled off her hat and
ran her fingers through it just like a boy. I was cutting bread at the
pantry window when she drove up and I couldn't help seeing her."

"Oh, when my sister was up in New York this spring she said she saw
several old gray-haired women with bobbed hair. She said it was
something terrible to see how the world had run to foolishness."

"Well, I don'no as it's wicked to bob your hair," said Mrs. Jones. "I
suppose it does save some time taking care of it if you have curly
hair, and it looks good on you, but mercy! It attracts so much
attention. Well, I'm glad we don't live in New York! I declare, every
time I come to church and hear Mr. Severn preach I just want to thank
God that my lines are cast in Sabbath Valley. But speaking of going to
boarding school, it didn't hurt Marilyn Severn to go. She's just as
sweet and unspoiled as when she went away."

"Oh, _her!_ You _couldn't_ spoil her. She's all
_spirit_. She's got both her father's and mother's souls mixed up
in her and you couldn't get a better combination. I declare I often
wonder the devil lets two such good people live. I suppose he doesn't
mind as long's he can confine 'em to a little place among the hills.
But my soul! If those two visitors didn't need a sermon to-night I
never saw folks that did. Do you know, when that man came last night in
a broken down car he swore so he woke us all up, all around the
neighborhood. If it had been anybody else in town but Mr. Severn he'd
been driven out or tarred and feathered. Well, good-night. I guess you
aren't afraid to walk the rest of the way alone."

Back in the church Marilyn had lingered at the organ, partly because
she dreaded going back to the house while the two strangers were there,
partly because it was only at the organ that she could seem to let her
soul give voice to the cry of its longing. All day she had prayed while
going quietly about her Sabbath duties. All day she steadily held
herself to the tasks that were usually her joy and delight, though
sometimes it seemed that she could not go on with them. Billy and Mark!
Where were they? What had their absence to do with one another? Somehow
it comforted her a little to think of them _both_ away, and then
again it disquieted her. Perhaps, oh, perhaps Mark had really changed
as people said he had. Perhaps he had taken Billy to a baseball game
somewhere. In New York or many other places that would not seem an
unusual thing, she knew, not so much out of the way. Even church
members were lenient about these things in the great world. It would
not be strange if Mark had grown lax. But here in Sabbath Valley public
opinion on the keeping of the Sabbath day was so strong that it meant a
great deal. It amounted to public disgrace to disregard the ordinary
rules of Sabbath; for in Sabbath Valley working and playing were alike
laid aside for the entire twenty-four hours, the housewives prepared
their dinner the day before, an unusually good one always, with some
delectable dessert that would keep on ice, and everything as in the
olden time was prepared in the home for a real keeping of a day of rest
and enjoyment of the Lord. Even the children had special pasttimes that
belonged to that day only, and Marilyn Severn still cherished a box of
wonderful stone blocks that had been her most precious possessions as a
child, and had been used for Sabbath amusement. With these blocks she
built temples, laid out cities, went through mimic battles of the Bible
until every story lived as real as if she had been there. There were
three tiny blocks, one a quarter of a cube which she always called
Saul, and two half the size that were David and Jonathan. So vivid and
so happy were those Sunday afternoons with mother and father and the
blocks. Sabbath devoted to the pursuance of heavenly things had meant
real joy to Marilyn. The calm and quiet of it were delight. It had been
the hardest thing about her years in the world that there seemed to be
so little Sabbath there. Only by going to her own room and fencing
herself away from her friends, could she get any semblance of what had
been so dear to her, that feeling of leisure to talk and think about
Christ, her dearest friend. I grant she was an unusual girl. There is
now and then an unusual girl. We do not always hear about them. They
are not always beautiful nor gifted. It chanced that Marilyn was all
three.

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