HE IS ACCUSED

"Remember," Thomas was saying, as he set the brakes and turned off the motor, "If Bush insists on asking you questions, let me think the answers before you tell him anything. He can't make us answer - only a court can do that. But I don't want him dragging us into Court."

"Hi, Dad!" Brooks called. "School's out! Yow- ee!"

"Mommy said you'd gone Rock Hunting," Sally said eagerly, running ahead of Brooks. Did you find any pretty stones?"

"A few. Where's your mother?"

"Here, Thomas," said Mary Bean, appearing from around the side of the house. "What kept you so late?"

"Trouble," Thomas said hastily. "We ran Into Gilby and that Deputy on the way back, and Gilby recognized Jon. Bush is on his way over to ask more questions. Keep Sally and Brooks in the kitchen. Jon, you might stay out of sight in the living room- but close enough to hear. I'll talk to Bush on the porch. Hurry! Here he comes."

It was a warm evening, and the windows had been opened. Little Jon, huddled in a chair in the darkened room, heard the deputy's feet on the porch and Thomas Bean's polite voice offering him a seat.

"Would you care for some coffee, sir?" Thomas asked. "I think Mrs. Bean has a fresh pot ready."

"No thanks," came the deputy's grating reply. "I just want to talk to that boy. Will you get him out here please?"

"I don't see any reason to, Mr. Bush. I'll answer your questions."

"Mr. Beans, by your own admission, you didn't see that boy until Saturday Evening. How can you tell me what he was doing the rest of the day?"

"I know where he was," Thomas said. "I know he's no thief, and I don't care to have him questioned about a matter that doesn't concern him."

"You told me his parents are dead, Mr. Bean. Are you his legal guardian?"

"I have charge of him for the time being."

"Then I gather you're not his legal Guardian. Will you kindly tell me who he is?"

Thomas stood up, and Little Jon could feel the rising anger in Him.

Mr. Bush, the only thing that concerns you is to clear up that theft. You're not going to clear it up by wasting your time here. There are other boys in this area you should be investigating."

"Mr Bean," said Anderson Bush in his deadly patient voice, "you're being very evasive. When people are afraid to answer questions, that means they have something to hide. What are you trying to hide, Mr. Bean?"

"I'm trying to protect an innocent boy who's had a very bad experience."

Little Jon could almost see Anderson shaking his head. "You're making, Mr. Bean. I've investigated all other possible suspects and checked them out. This boy- this Jon O'Connor- is the only one left who could have done it. He was seen, under very strange circumstances, near the Holliday place early Saturday. He's Small enough to have squeezed through that window, and there are prints in the dust that could have been made by his boots."

The Deputy paused and went on slowly. "I realize how you feel, Mr Bean. It's never pleasant to have anyone connected with you accused of a thing like this. But if it's his first offense and all the stolen property can be recovered, we don't have to be too hard on him. If you'll call that boy out here and let me talk to him, you'll save yourself some trouble."

"No!" Thomas said firmly. "I'll not have him questioned! He had nothing to do with this!"

But Little Jon was already coming through the door. Thomas he realized, could protect him no longer without making things worse than they were. He thrust his small hands into his pockets to hide their unsteadiness and shook his head at Thomas Bean's silent urging to leave. How strange, he thought, looking intently at Anderson Bush, that people here would want to make life such an ugly sort of game. Somewhere, wherever he had come from, there couldn't be this ugliness or any of these secret hates and desires that darkened everything . . .

"Now, Jon," Anderson Bush was saying with pretended friendliness. "I'm glad you decided to come out and clear this thing up. We dont like to see young fellows like you in danger of being sent to reform school. So, if you'll tell me where you put those things you took the other day from Dr. Holliday's summer house . . ."

"Mr. Bush," Jon said, "mind if I ask you a question?"

"You'd better start answering questions instead of asking them," the deputy said testily

"I only wanted to ask you where Mr. Macklin said his boys were Sunday Afternoon."

"You can't blame this on the Macklin boys. The whole family was in town all Saturday, at Church the next morning, and at Blue Lake with friends all Sunday afternoon. I checked it."

Little Jon turned to Thomas. "Mr. Bean, do you remember when Mr. Macklin rode by Monday, looking for his boys? Can you tell Mr. Bush what he said?"

"Let me think," said Thomas. "Hmm. He said Tip and Lenny had skipped school and were out hunting that wild boy. Gilby Pitts had told him about it at Church. He said -" Suddenly Thomas sat up and snapped his fingers.

"I'd entirely forgotten it, but Angus said his boys were away all Sunday afternoon doing the same thing. That means Angus was lying if he said Tip and Lenny were with them at Blue Lake."

In the darkness it was hard to see the deputy's face.

But his voice was cold as he spoke. "You have a very convenient memory, Mr. Bean. It proves nothing, and it doesn't explain what this boy- this Jon O'Connor as you call him- was doing when Gilby Pitts caught him Saturday. Just who is this boy, Mr. Bean? You've admitted you're not his legal guardian. Who brought him here- and why is he staying with you?"

"Blast your nonsense!" Thomas exploded. "He's the orphaned son of Captain James O'Connor of the Marines, who was killed in North Africa three months ago. The boy has lost his memory, and he was brought here by regular Marine channels because he needs a quiet place to recuperate. I happen to be O'Connor's friend and his former commanding officer. Enough of that. The only thing that concerns you is the robbery. If you don't believe what I've told you about Macklin, you'd better go over there and have it out with him!"

"We'll all go over," Anderson Bush snapped back. "Get in the car, you two."

It was less than a half mile up the valley. The deputy drove grimly through the night. Little Jon could feel the coiled danger in him, and he wished Thomas hadn't lost his temper and told the lie. He loved Thomas for trying to protect him but the lie was a mistake. There were old hates in Anderson Bush, ugly things of the past that made the man the way he was now. Little Jon wished the thoughts were not there to be seen, but they leaped out strongly as if the deputy had been in trouble in the army, and he hated all officers because of it. Later there had been trouble over a son . . .

The car stopped with an angry jerk before a weathered farmhouse. Anderson Bush slid out, and they followed up to the dim porch where a hound backed away timidly probably from The deputy's grim aura.

The door opened, spilling light upon them, and Angus Macklin stood there blinking. As Angus recognized the deputy, Little Jon was aware of a flicker of uneasiness in him.