The Forgotten Door (6 page)

After breakfast, Brooks and Sally went down to catch the school bus, and Thomas got out a knapsack for Mary to fill with lunch. When it was ready he thrust an odd-shaped hammer into his belt and started for the truck.

Little Jon looked curiously at the hammer. “That tool — it seems familiar. Do you — chip rocks with it?”

“It's a rock hound's hammer, Jon. Thought I'd take it along and examine a few ledges while we're out. Might find a thing or two for the shop. How did you know what it's for?”

“I had the feeling I knew how to use it. Have you another I may take?”

“Why shore, podner, we'll jest go prospectin' together.”

Thomas found a second hammer, and they were returning to the truck when a car with a star on the side turned into the driveway. The car stopped behind them, and a lean gray-haired man got out.

At the sight of him, Little Jon was aware of sudden worry and alarm in Mary Bean, who stood watching from the steps. The man approached, studying them carefully with his hard, observant eyes. His nose was slightly hooked, and he made Little Jon think of a hawk he had seen the day before — a hawk searching for prey.

“Mr. Bean?” said the man, in a grating voice. “I'm Deputy Anderson Bush, from the sheriff's office.” He opened his coat and showed a badge.

“Glad to know you, sir,” Thomas said easily, extending his hand. “I've seen you around, but … This is Mrs. Bean, and my young partner here is Jon O'Connor. What can we do for you?”

“Like to ask a few routine questions, if you don't mind.”

“Sure. Fire away.”

Deputy Bush said, “Where were you people Saturday?”

“In town most of the day. Er, is anything wrong?”

“We'll get to that. I understand you have two children. Were they with you?”

“Yes.”

“All the time?”

“Well, most of the time, except when they were in the movies. I knew where they were all the time, if that's what you want to know.”

The deputy wrote something in a notebook, then looked down at Little Jon. “What about this boy?”

“He didn't arrive until Saturday evening.”

“Where was he before that?”

“Traveling — on his way here.”

“His parents bring him?”

“No.” Thomas lowered his voice, and added, “Both Captain O'Connor and his wife were killed recently, and Jon's been pretty badly upset. Must we …”

The deputy finished writing in his notebook before he spoke. “Mr. Bean, I only want to know where the boy was all day Saturday and Sunday. That goes for your boy too. I believe Brooks is his name.”

“Yes. You see, this is Jon's first trip to the mountains. Took him all day to get here. He arrived about supper-time. Sunday, he stayed home with Mrs. Bean, and I took my kids to church.”

“And Sunday afternoon?”

“We were all here. No one left the place. What's this about?”

Deputy Bush made some more entries in his book. Again he glanced sharply at Little Jon. “Mr. Bean, have you heard anything about a wild boy in this part of the mountains?”

“Er — yes, I have,” Thomas replied slowly. “Gilby Pitts told me about it, but I'm afraid I don't take much stock in it. Do you?”

“Mr. Bean, I don't know what Mr. Pitts saw, but it seems to be very unusual. My job is to check up on it. Have you noticed any strange boy around?”

“I certainly haven't seen any boy that looks wild to me,” Thomas answered, smiling. “Is he accused of any crime?”

Deputy Bush carefully closed his notebook and returned it to his coat pocket. “No one,” he said, “is being accused of anything yet. Do you know the location of Dr. Holliday's summer place?”

“Of course. Dr. Holliday is an old customer of mine. Gilby Pitts takes care of the place while he's away. What about it?”

“Someone broke into it — either Saturday or Sunday. Mr. Pitts didn't learn about it until yesterday morning when he went over to finish some work he'd started last week. Some things were stolen.”

“And you think a boy did it?”

“No question of it. There are footprints and other signs. It was a boy about the size of this one, for he squeezed through a narrow window that a larger person couldn't have entered. He may have had a helper. Now, Mr. Bean, don't take any of this personally; I have to check on every boy in the area. Thank you for your help. Good day, sir.”

“Good day, Mr. Bush.”

Thomas stood snapping his fingers after the deputy left. “Of all the things to happen!” he burst out angrily.

“Thomas,” Mary began worriedly, “do you think it likely that Anderson Bush could find out the truth about — about this wild boy thing?”

“He certainly could! He's no fool. I've never talked to him before, but I know his reputation. He's a born ferret and a stickler for the law — that's why he'd sure give us trouble. Bush doesn't like kids, and he never makes any exceptions. He sure had me going with those questions. If only he doesn't get too curious about Jon and start asking more …”

“There's really no reason for him to,” Mary said. “It shouldn't be hard to find out who broke into the Holliday place.”

“Oh, he'll find out — but that's not what worries me. It's pretty obvious who did it. Only, he doesn't know certain people like we do — he hasn't been here long enough. It'll take time to narrow things down and find out who's lying. And they'll lie. Oh, confound that fool Gilby for bringing up that tale.”

“But he had to, Thomas. After all, when there's been a robbery …”

“Oh, I suppose so. Well, the thing's happened, and there's nothing we can do about it.” Thomas sighed and turned back to the truck. “Let's get on with our hunting, Jon.”

He Is Recognized

T
HE TRUCK
wound down toward the lower valley, and stopped briefly at the spot where Little Jon had crouched in hiding on Saturday.

“As nearly as I can guess,” Thomas told him, “you must have walked ten or twelve miles through the mountains to come out here. That's all National Forest. You were heading east most of the time. Which way did you head earlier when you were following the deer to that field of Gilby's?”

“I don't know, sir. We wound around a lot. And we went over one low ridge before we got down into the valley.”

“H'mm. Have you any idea how long it took you to reach the field?”

“It's hard to judge, sir. You see, I hadn't learned to count the time the way you do. And I felt so bad — it was all I could do to keep up with the doe. It may have been an hour, or even more. How far can you walk in an hour?”

Thomas chuckled. “In
this
country there's no telling. But let's say you walked a mile and a half, and mostly in an easterly direction. Gilby's place is in a pocket where the valley curves — and it isn't the same valley as this one. So what we'll do is drive past his land, and hike up the mountain to the first cove. If we can't find a spot you recognize, we'll come back tomorrow and start in below Gilby's.”

The truck moved on, going up and down and winding in many directions. Finally it crossed a bridge and turned into another valley. They drove past a farm, and several summer cottages that faced a noisy creek bordering the road. The next farm was nearly hidden by the dense growth of poplars along the fence.

“That's Gilby's place,” said Thomas, jerking his head as they went by. “Dr. Holliday's property is about a quarter of a mile farther on. We'll stop between the two.”

At the first wide spot in the road, the truck was run as far over to the edge of the creek as possible, and they got out. “There's no bridge near,” Thomas told him. “We'll have to wade.”

“I'll jump,” said Little Jon, and without thinking he made his feet light and cleared the stream in a bound. Turning, he saw the expression on Thomas Bean's face. After Thomas had splashed awkwardly over, Little Jon said apologetically, “I — I forgot. You're afraid someone might see me do that.”

“I'd hate for Anderson Bush to catch you at it.”

Thomas stamped water from his boots, and squinted at the forested slopes rising on three sides of them. “By the roads, we're nearly fifteen miles from home. Bet you can't tell me in what direction home is — and no fair peeking in my head for the answer!”

“I already know the answer,” Little Jon told him, pointing instantly to the south. “It's a short distance over the ridge yonder. You see, I've been watching the way the roads and the valleys curve.”

“I'll be jiggered! There's not a man in a hundred would guess that, unless he'd been raised around here. It's only two miles through a gap back of the Holliday place — if you know the trail.”

“Oh!”

Thomas Bean frowned at him. “What's worrying you, Jon?”

“I was wondering why Mr. Macklin's boys would steal — and why Mr. Macklin would let them.”

“Great guns, how'd you ever get such an idea?”

“Well, you've been
thinking
they did, and Mr. Macklin
knows
they did, because yesterday when he stopped at the shop
he
was thinking about it.” Little Jon paused, and looked up earnestly. “Please, Mr. Bean, you mustn't believe that I'm always looking into other people's heads. It isn't —” He groped for a word. “It isn't polite, or even right. The only reason I've been doing it is so I could learn. I
had
to do it. And sometimes you have thoughts that are so strong they— they seem to jump out at me. It goes with the way you feel. It was that way with Mr. Macklin. Yesterday he was thinking about his boys carrying things over the gap, from a house on this side. It didn't mean anything to me then, but now I understand why the thought was so strong.”

“Good grief!” Thomas muttered, staring at him. He began snapping his fingers. “What a thing to know — and we can't say a word about it.”

He gave a worried shake of his head, and adjusted the knapsack over his shoulder. “Let's forget about the Macklins, and see if we can find that spot we're after. It's getting more important all the time.” He thrust through a tangle of laurels, and began limping up a narrow ravine that opened through the trees.

Little Jon followed him easily. He could have climbed twice as fast, had Thomas been able to manage it. It was too bad, he thought, that people here couldn't make their feet light and save themselves so much trouble in getting around. It was such a simple thing. A way of thinking. But it was like so many other things that should be simple — like agreeing on something that was right, instead of trying to make it right some other way. That was why Thomas Bean limped. It had happened in a place called Korea, Brooks had said. Many men had died in Korea — and still no one agreed.

They topped the first ridge, and Thomas Bean stopped to rest. “See anything around here that looks familiar to you?”

“I don't believe I came this way,” he said, studying the shadowed cove below them. “If I'd felt better Saturday, I'm sure I could have remembered everything exactly. But my head hurt, and I was so confused …”

“Don't apologize. This isn't going to be easy. I've known people to be lost for days in these mountains — and all the time they were within a half hour of a road. Let's start working east.”

They followed the cove, crossed another ridge, and tramped for a winding mile or more through dense forest. By noon Little Jon had seen nothing he recognized. Finally they sat down on a mossy outcropping of rock, and Thomas opened his knapsack. Little Jon had finished a sandwich and an apple when he suddenly whispered, “The doe — she's near!”

All morning he had known that many wild creatures had watched them from a distance, and several times he had seen deer go bounding away. He had not tried to call to them. But aware of a friend, he spoke silently, urging her to come nearer. She refused.

“What doe?” Thomas whispered. “I don't see —”

“She's way up yonder to the right — the one I followed Saturday. She knows me, but she won't come out. She's afraid of you. Mr. Pitts shot at her and hurt her — it wasn't a bad hurt because I spoiled his aim — but it makes her very afraid.”

Thomas growled under his breath, “Had an idea something like that happened. I'd like to wring Gilby's neck.”

“I couldn't tell you at the time — I didn't know the words. Anyway, we're getting close, Mr. Bean. The doe proves it.”

“But I don't see how. These deer range for miles over the mountains.”

“Yes, but she has a fawn that can't travel far, and she's still on the trail she used Saturday, only higher up. There are some — some vines she eats when she can't get anything else.”

“Wild honeysuckle. Do you know the direction of Gilby's land from here?”

“Of course. It's straight over yonder.” Little Jon pointed. “But we'll have to go way around, then curve to the left.”

“Let's get going! I don't know how you keep these directions straight, but with a head like yours, I suppose …”

They found the doe's trail easily, and now Little Jon led the way. For Thomas Bean the next half hour was difficult. Many times Little Jon had to help him over tumbled faces of rock, slippery with green moss and running water. When they reached better ground, Thomas glanced back and grumbled, “I'm a fair mountain man in spite of my foot — but when we head for home it won't be
that
way.”

“We won't have to, sir. The road's much closer from here. We just turn left — north. Oh — I know this place! Yonder's where I first saw the doe.”

He darted ahead, suddenly excited, then stopped to look slowly about him, searching.

“Was it here?” asked Thomas, limping over to him.

“It must be. It's where — no, there was a spring. I drank from it. After that I crawled …”