WILD BOY?

Brooks peered out of the window. "I think its Mr. Gilby Pitts, Dad."

Thomas Bean frowned. "Wonder what Gilby-"

He stopped and exclaimed, "Hey, young fellow, what's come over you?"

Jon was on his feet, trembling, trying to limp away. It was not fear that made him tremble, but a sudden return of the morning's shock, when he had met an evil that was beyond his understanding.

Mary Bean, entering from the kitchen, put her arm around him and asked softly, "Have you had trouble with Mr. Pitts, dear?" At Jon's tight face and nod, she frowned at her husband. "Thomas, he's afraid of Gilby. I don't know what's happened, but I don't like-"

"Take him into our bedroom and close the door," Thomas Bean said quickly. "Knowing Gilby, I'd just as soon not-"

Save for the forgotten boots near the sofa, the room was clear when the knock sounded.

After an exchange of greetings, Gilby Pitts entered.

"You folks just git home, Tom?" he asked. (A/N: Mr. Pitts' families are cross-country, so their English is... well, I'll just say complicated)

"Oh, got back a short while ago,"

"See anything kinda unusual on the way back?"

"Saw a nice sunset. Why?"

"H'mp! I don't pay no mind to sunsets." Gilby shuffled toward the fireplace, rubbing his unshaven jaw against his high shoulder. His narrow eyes darted about the room.

"There's queer things goin' on around here, Tom. I don't like it. You still got that Bloodhound you raised?"

"No. traded it to Ben Whipple over at Windy Gap for a calf. Trying to train another dog, but he's a tough one. About got me licked."

"Sure wish you had hound. I got a mind to go over to Whipple's an' borrow him."

"What on earth for?" Thomas Bean looked at Gilby curiously

"Might as well tell you, Tom. There's a wild boy loose in this country. Seen 'im with my own eyes. Emma can tell you. I caught the lil' varmint, but Emma an' me couldn't get nothin' out of him. While we were tryin' to make 'im talk, he tore loose an' took off like a streak. Never seen nothin' like it! Cleared a fence like-like-".

"A wild boy!" Thomas exclaimed. Then he asked softly, "What was he doing when you caught him, Gilby?"

"Trespassin'. An' I got signs up. I-"

"Oh come now. No worries about trespassing signs except in hunting season. You know that. We cross each other's land all the time. Saves miles of travel by the roads. I do it all the time when I'm out rock-hunting."

"This is a heap different. I been missin' things. I-"

"Did it ever occur to you, Thomas interrupted, "that this boy you're talking about could be lost and in help? Why, he could be badly hurt-"

"He weren't hurt! You shoulda seen 'im jump!"

"Then you must have frightened him badly. Why did you frighten him?"

"The varmint come sneakin' down to that west field o' mine with the deer. He-"

"With the deer!"

"That's what I said. With the deer. Just like he was one of 'em!"

Thomas pursed his lips, and then said dryly, "You wouldn't have been taking a shot at one, would you, Gilby?"

Gilby Pitts spat angrily into the fireplace. "Fool deer was ruinin' my field. Man's got a right to scare 'em away."

"But the boy-"

"He took off an' got tangled in the barbed-wire fence, or I'd never a caught 'im. Acted like he didn't know the barbed wire was there. But he knew it the second time, when he busted loose. Sailed right over the fence like he had wings. I tell you he's wild. Wild as they come." Gilby stopped. In a lower tone he added, "An' that's not all. He ain't natural. I don't like unnatural things around. If there's more like 'im, we ought to know about it."

There was a moment's silence. In the adjoining bedroom, where every word of the conversation could be heard, Mary had opened the liniment bottle and was rubbing Jon's bruises. There was a wonder in her eyes as she whispered, "Is that true about the deer? You were-friendly with them?"

He nodded, and struggled to fit new words to thoughts. But the words were too few.

"You're an odd one," she whispered. "I wish you could remember your name. Try real hard."

"J-Jon," he said. The name came unbidden to his lips. There was more to it, but the rest would not come.

They fell silent, for Thomas was talking.

"Gilby, if I were you, I'd go sort of easy about this. Suppose a stray kid from over at the government camp got lost. If he fell and hurt himself, he could wander around in a daze, not even knowing who he was. If you actually found him and scared him away instead of trying to help him, you'd be in for a lot of criticism."

"Well, mebbe…"

"What's more, this isn't hunting season, and you'd be in for more trouble if people thought you were trying to sneak some venison."

"Now listen to me, Tom-"

"I'm only telling you the truth, Gilby. Anyway, it's quite possible that some Cherokee boys from the reservation came over on a hike. You know how they are in the spring."

"Aw, I dunno. Emma didn't think he was no Cherokee." Gilby shuffled around, and suddenly muttered, "I declare. Them's queer-lookin' boots yonder."

In the bedroom Mary Bean stood up quickly, alarm in her blue eyes. She went to the door and started to slip into the hall, but at that instant Sally darted past her from the kitchen.

"Hello, Mr. Gilby," Sally chirped brightly, scooping the boots from under Gilby Pitts's nose. "My goodness, mommy will scalp me if I don't get the mud off these." She skipped back to the kitchen, calling, "Mommy, when are we going to have supper? I'm hungry!"

"Coming in a minute, dear," her mother answered.

Gilby Pitts scowled, rubbed his chin on his high shoulder, and finally shambled toward the door. "Reckon I'll be goin', Tom. Let me know if you hear anything."

"Sure will. Be seeing you."