Pretty soon we couldn’t even hear the tin-peddler’s whistle, and Mark got up onto his feet, painful-like. He stretched, which was taking a chance on busting out some seams, and yawned. Lots of things Mark Tidd does look funny, but if there’s anything more comical a fat boy can do than yawn I’d give something to see it.

“Just an hour,” says he, “to f-find that opportunity.”

“Might not take ten minutes,” I says. “From what I know of opportunities they’re onreliable. They’re just as apt to catch you early in the mornin’ as late at night. No tellin’ when they come prowlin’ around.”

“We’ll go ahead like I p-planned for an hour. Then we’ll go home if nothin’ hasn’t turned up.”

“Good!” says I. “That suits me down to the ground.”

“There ain’t but sixty minutes in an hour,” says he, “and every one that gits away from you is one less you got. Let’s be stirrin’ around.”

“Stir ahead,” I told him, getting onto my feet. “Get your old spoon to workin’.”

Mark was looking at Sammy with a kind of glint in his eye. He didn’t need to tell me he was thinking of some use to put that big fellow to; you could see it sticking out all over him.

“Um,” says he. “You’re too dangerous-lookin’ to waste, Sammy.”

Sammy grinned like it was the finest compliment a boy could think of, and wriggled his toes. Well, sir, that was all Mark needed to give him an idea—just the wiggling of a toe.

“That’s the ticket,” he says in his tickled-to-death voice. “Wasn’t there a fresh-spaded flower-bed just in front of the porch there, Tallow?”

“All raked over and as neat as a pin,” I says. “Bet the seeds hain’t been planted six hours.”

“It’s where they’ll be s-s-sure to see it.”

“Right under anybody’s nose that comes out on the porch.”

“Fine! We’ll give ’em somethin’ to look at, then. Now, Sammy, listen to what I’m a-goin’ to say to you, and listen good. You jest make believe all of you is Injun and that you’re a-crawlin’ up on a camp of enemies. The camp of enemies is the house, and if you git seen they’ll more’n likely burn you at the stake. Well, you go mouchin’ along till you git to that flower-bed, and then you up and step careful right in the middle of it with that b-b-busted foot of yours. Leave a good, plain mark like was in the sand at the cave. Then come back a-kitin’.”

Sammy grinned some more and wriggled his hands and sort of twisted all over like a cat does when it wants you to feed it. We watched him crawl down along the hedge, and then all at once he ducked out of sight, and, no matter how we strained our eyes, we couldn’t catch even a wabble of the bushes.

“If it looks as mysterious to Batten as it did to us I guess they’ll do considerable wonderin’ about it,” I says.

We sat pretty anxious and quiet waiting for Sammy to come back. It didn’t look to us like the folks in the house could do Sammy harm once he got a start, but somebody might come onto him unexpected and swat him with something; and then where’d we be, with nobody to carry the turbine if we did manage to get a hold on it? But we needn’t have worried. The first thing we knew there was Sammy standing right by us, chuckling like all get out.

“Sammy step on flower-bed. Sammy careful—oh, very careful. Make foot show plain. Make Sammy’s funny foot show in dirt. Sammy helps, eh? Big help?”

“You b-bet Sammy’s a help,” Mark told him, and patted him on the back. “We never’d git anywheres without you, would we, Tallow?”

“I should say not,” I says, just as solemn as I could; and maybe you think Sammy wasn’t tickled. Why, he most wiggled out of his skin!

“I’m goin’ to sneak over and see if anything happens,” says I. “I kin hide among the evergreens and watch. It ought to be worth seein’.”

“Don’t go takin’ no r-r-risks.” Mark like to have strangled over the last word. “Keep your ears open, and if I whistle the whistle, come a-runnin’.”

I went around in front and wriggled through the hedge. Nobody was in sight around the house, so I squirmed up, dodging from tree to tree until I was only about twenty feet away from the steps. There I crouched down among the prickles of a fat evergreen and waited. I could see the steps as plain as could be, but you’d have had to hunt for me careful to have found me, even if you knew I was hiding around.

Well, it wasn’t more than ten minutes before Bill came out rubbing his hand like he’d been writing or drawing and the muscles were tired. He sat down on the top step and pulled a cigar out of his vest. I could see the red-and-gold band around it. He bit off the end and struck a match. I was interested to see how he snapped the match away, and made up my mind to try it myself. He shot it just like I’d shoot a marble, and it went straight. It fell right on Willis’s flower-bed. Now, when you snap a thing that way you always watch to see if you hit what you shot at, or, anyhow, to see where you do hit, and Bill saw the match strike right alongside of Sammy’s footprint. I saw him lean forward quick and stretch his neck. He grabbed a hold on the post and pulled himself up, and then walked over to the bed. He leaned over, knelt down, and I could hear him grunt with surprise.

“Well,” says he to himself, “well.”

In a minute he got up and went into the house. Before long he came back with Batten, and both of them looked at the footprint.

“What is it?” says Bill.

Batten looked kind of funny and shook his head.

“Look at them toes,” Bill says, after a while. “Look at ’em, growin’ right out of the side of the foot. No man ever made that,” says he.

“Too big,” Batten agreed, shaking his head some more.

“There’s only one footprint. I looked,” Bill says. “It hasn’t made a mark anywhere else around. I don’t like it, not me. Feet with toes off to the side and bells ringin’ without anybody to ring ’em. I tell you I don’t like it.”

“Shucks!” Batten snorted.

“Well, what made it, then? Looks as if it didn’t have but one leg and come down out of the air just to make a footprint. I wish we was a good ways away from here.”

“So do I, but not on account of the bells or the tracks in the dirt.”

“I never took any stock in ghosts, but that track makes me shiver—and them bells ringin’. And old Willis is so scairt he can’t eat.”

“Come on,” Batten says, sort of savage, “let’s skirmish around the yard and see if we can’t see what’s doing it all.”

“Batten, you can skirmish all you want to, but not for me. I ain’t hankerin’ to meet the thing that made that mark, not me.”

“Shucks!” Batten growled again. “Get a club and come on.”

That sounded fine to me, I can tell you. Get a club and come on! I was afraid enough of them without clubs, so I waited just long enough to let them turn their backs, and off I was. I couldn’t get out of the yard, though, before they were back, and each of them had a cane big enough to knock a horse down with. They didn’t separate—seemed like both of them wanted company—but they did begin poking all over the front yard. Every chance I got I edged away farther, and I managed to keep a bush between the men and me all the time. At last I had to take a chance of being seen or else get caught, for they had me cornered, so I watched for the best time, and up and dived through the hedge like I was jumping off a spring-board. I landed all in a heap outside.

“What’s that?” Batten says, sharp.

“Somethin’ went slam through the hedge—somethin’ heavy.”

You can just be sure I didn’t wait. I picked myself up and skedaddled, keeping close to the bushes, and was safe and sound before they got up courage to look over at the place I dived through.

“They’re consid’rable stirred up,” I says to Mark, when I got back. “You ought to have seen Batten and Bill look at that track.”

“Did it s-s-scare ’em?” He was excited as could be.

“Scare ’em! Huh, I bet they won’t go to bed in the dark for a month. Let’s not give ’em any rest. Jest keep whangin’ away at ’em all the time that’s left to us.”

“Well, then, git over where you were behind the fence, and we’ll give ’em some more ghost-ringin’.”

I went crawling back, and got into my fence corner all right. I’d been so lucky getting one place and another without being seen that I was feeling pretty well satisfied with myself and figuring that I was about as good, maybe, as Leatherstocking and a lot of those old fellows that have been written about so much. Which shows that it’s bad luck to get to liking yourself. I never knew it to do any good, and nine times out of ten it upsets your apple-cart.

I peeked up through the bushes, and there, not more than fifty feet off, sat Henry C. Batten and the big young man he called Bill smoking and taking it easy in the shade of a little apple tree. I sat quiet and listened to them talking.

“The funny thing,” says Batten, “is where that dog has gone to. That’s what’s bothering me.”

“Gone off chasing a rabbit.”

“I s’pose a rabbit rang the bell, too, huh? And let out that screech. I ain’t denying it’s got on my nerves, and Willis is ready to crawl under the bed. ’Tain’t ghosts, I know that—when I get time to think it over—but it’s all-fired queer. I’d give something to know how that bell was rang and who rung it.”

I just couldn’t resist the temptation to let her fly. My sling-shot was all ready with a pebble in it, and I hit the old bell a good clip. Glang it went.

Batten and Bill sat up straight. Maybe they were sure ghosts hadn’t anything to do with it, but they didn’t like it. They got up and walked over by the shed where they could look up at the bell.

“There isn’t any string tied to the clapper,” says Batten. “I thought it might be a black thread—some kid trick. If it is a kid I’d like to catch him a minute.” He looked good and mad and a little frightened, which is a bad combination. I said to myself I’d be in for a good mauling if he did catch me.

I was having too much fun, though, to quit, so I let her have another one. This time I hit it sort of glancing on the side, and it rang, all right, but the pebble went bouncing off and whanged against the side of the shed not a yard from Batten, and fell almost at his feet. He couldn’t help seeing it.

“Well,” says I to myself, “you’ve gone and spilled the beans now.” And I had, too. Batten stooped over and picked up the pebble and then looked around to see where it could have come from. It didn’t take more than a cabbage-head to puzzle that out, for I was in about the only place where a fellow could hide and shoot at the bell—outside of the icehouse. Batten didn’t wait for anything, but came running right at the fence, and Bill was at his heels.

I didn’t wait.

The orchard was behind me, and I turned, letting out a holler, and was off through it, running faster than I ever ran before. Batten and Bill had to climb the fence, which gave me a good start, and the trees kept them from getting a good sight of me. I made for the road, which was foolish, but when a fellow’s frightened he’s likely to do foolish things. You see, I wanted to get where I could run faster, and didn’t stop to think that the men who were after me would be able to run faster, too. I should have kept to the fields and the woods. A heavy man can’t get over the ground when it’s rough and bumpy like a boy can.

Batten wasted quite a bit of breath yelling at me, and so did Bill. I guess between them they made racket enough to stir up a good slice of that side of the country. But they were better at yelling than they were at running, and even in the road, where things were easier for them, I kept all of my lead, and even gained some. But they stuck to it. I suppose both of them were pretty mad. There aren’t many things, I’ve noticed, make a grown-up man so mad as to be scared good without any reason, especially if the scaring has been done by a boy. They chased me clean to the bend of the river, and then all at once I heard old Willis letting out screeches and hollers from the house.

Batten stopped as quick as a wink, and Bill stopped, too. I slackened down some myself and listened. Whatever could have happened to the old man I couldn’t figure out, but he was sure enough excited, bawling Batten’s name and things I couldn’t make out and hollering “Help!”

Well, sir, those two men forgot all about me. They turned around and hit for the house. I kept right on going, because I studied it out that Mark and Sammy had been up to something and, whatever it was, it was too late for me to help; and, mad as Batten was, I didn’t think that neighborhood was a very good one for me to be hanging around. It was five miles to town almost, but I set out to walk it.

As I went along I got to thinking about the dog that had been tied up now for three or four hours, and I was sorry for him. “I might as well let him loose,” I says to myself; “he can’t do any harm now.”

He was tied up just around the next bend. When I turned it there was Zadok Biggs’s red wagon, but Zadok wasn’t on top of it. The horse was taking advantage of his opportunity again. I says to myself that if the peddler stopped very often and gave the horse many more opportunities he’d eat so much he couldn’t walk, and then Zadok would have an opportunity to doctor him.

I came up close and called. Zadok answered from back among the trees, and I found him petting the dog and feeding him sandwiches.

He didn’t seem a bit surprised to see me, but went on feeding the dog, and the dog wriggled around and worked his tail back and forth so hard it rocked his hind legs.

“He likes sandwiches,” says Zadok Biggs. “That is an interesting fact. Always make a note of interesting facts. They may some day be of advantage to you—come in handy is the general way of saying it. You see, if you owned a dog like this and had nothing to feed him but sandwiches, you, with this fact in your possession, would not hesitate to give them to him. You would know he liked them. Very interesting and very useful.”

“I’m going to let him go,” says I.

He nodded. “Where is your companion—Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd? A name to admire!”

“Back there somewheres, in some kind of a mess, I guess.”

“You’ve been running,” he said, and eyed me a minute. “What for?”

“I was being chased.”

“A very good reason, very good, indeed. I know of no better reason for running than that you are being pursued—chased, as you say. Who chased you?”

“Batten and Bill,” I says.

He began to hop up and down on his short legs; his eyes got bright and he slapped his leg. “Did they chase you far? Away from the house?”

“Quarter of a mile, maybe.”

“What made ’em stop?”

“Old Willis was hollerin’ his head off back at the farm.”

“Opportunity!” says Zadok Biggs, and he danced a little jig. “You never know when it’s coming. Never! How does it feel to be an opportunity?” he shot at me sudden-like, “or, at least, part of one?”

“I dunno.”

“Martin, I believe your name was? Well, Martin, you have been part of an opportunity for your friend Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd. The point is—did he avail himself of it? I think! I consider him in the light of acquaintance, and I say to myself, ‘Zadok, a boy whose name is Marcus Aurelius would not neglect an opportunity.’ If you add the fact that Fortunatus also is part of his name the matter becomes certain. I am reassured—relieved, or made easy in my mind are simpler ways of stating it—Marcus has seized the opportunity. You will see.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about, but he seemed to be all puffed up just like he’d done something wonderful. Mark might have seized an opportunity, but the way things sounded to me it was an opportunity to skedaddle with old Willis screeching after him. I figured it out he’d guess I got away all right and wasn’t likely to come back for more, so he and Sammy would take the boat and make for home down the river. The road ran right along the bank, so more than likely they’d be catching up with me before long.

“Martin,” says Biggs, “you ain’t what I’d call quick; no, not quick, so to speak. I’ll tell you what’s happened; what your friend Marcus Aurelius has done. He’s got the engine, that’s what, and he’s gettin’ away with it this very minute, this identical second.”

I saw it all right then, and without so much as saying good-by to Zadok Biggs I went pelting up the road toward the farm. I’d wasted as much as five minutes fussing with the old peddler just when I was being needed, but I ran to make up for it. As I turned the last bend I saw old Willis jumping up and down on the bank, shouting at Batten and Bill, who were leaping down the steps, and a few feet away from the dock was the boat with Mark Tidd and Sammy and the engine in it.

I was most out of breath, but I kept on. When I got pretty close to the cut I jumped over the bank, and, forgetting all about snakes and mud and everything, I wallowed right into the marsh, at the same time bellowing as loud as I could to Mark. The mud wasn’t as deep as we’d figured, probably on account of the dirt dredged out of the cut, and I went faster than Sammy could row the boat. I caught them just at the end of the cut and jumped in ker-bang! And there I was.