The Boy with the U.S. Census | Page 9

him but my gun was never fired off."
"Who was it that fired, Uncle Eli!"
"The brother o' the young fellow he had shot befo'."
"Was he dead?" asked the boy.
"Wa'al," said the mountaineer, a little grimly, "I didn' go down to see an' wait aroun' 'till all his friends gathered. But I reckon he was dead when they found him later."
"And the brothers?"
"They never came into the story at all. I'm jes' mentionin' this to yo' to show yo' that thar's reason in my advisin' yo' to keep clar o' this district. If you're reckonin' on doin' census work, yo' go somewhar that you're not known to any one. Thar's trouble enough even for a stranger in the mount'ns, an' a stranger would find it easier than any one else."
"Why is that, Uncle Eli?" asked the boy.
"In the first place, yo' can't show discourtesy to a stranger, an' yo' know that if he doesn' do things jes' the way yo' like to have 'em done, it's because he doesn' know, an' so he's not to blame. I like your spirit about the census, Hamilton," the old mountaineer continued, "an' if yo' can give the gov'nment any service, I reckon yo'd better try, but leave the mount'n districts either to popular favorites or to a stranger."
CHAPTER II
RESCUING A LOST RACE
That same evening, as it chanced, one of the younger Wilsh boys came up to the house on an errand from a neighbor, and Hamilton, remembering that the messenger's father had been a go-between in the feud story he had been hearing, noted the lad with interest. Indeed, his appearance was striking enough in itself, with his drooping form, his extreme paleness, and his look of exhaustion.
"How far is it from the Burtons, Uncle Eli?" asked Hamilton.
"Eight miles," was the reply.
Hamilton stared at the mountain boy. Judging from his looks he was not strong enough to walk a hundred yards, yet he had just come eight miles, and evidently was intending to walk back home that evening. Then Hamilton remembered that this lad was one of the "poor whites" of whom he had read so much, and he strolled toward the messenger who was sitting listlessly on one of the steps.
"Howdy!" said the newcomer in a tired voice.
Hamilton answered his greeting, and, after a few disjointed sentences, said:
"You look tired. It must be a long walk from the Burtons."
"Jes' tol'able," the boy answered. "I'm not so tired. You f'm the city?" he queried a few minutes later, evidently noting the difference between Hamilton's appearance and that of the boys in the neighborhood.
"Yes, New York," answered Hamilton.
But the stranger did not show any further curiosity and Hamilton was puzzled to account for his general listlessness. He thought perhaps it might be that the boy was unusually dull and so he asked:
"Are you still going to school?"
A negative shake of the head was the only reply.
"Why not? Isn't there a school near where you live?"
"Close handy, 'bout five miles," was the reply.
"Then why don't you go there?" questioned Hamilton further.
"Teacheh's gone."
"Funny time for holidays," the city boy remarked.
"Not gone fo' holidays."
"Oh, I see," said Hamilton, "you mean he's gone for good. But aren't you going to have another one?"
"Dunno if he's gone for good," the mountain boy answered.
Hamilton stared in bewilderment.
"Cunjer got him," the other continued.
But this did not explain things any better.
"Cunjer?" repeated Hamilton. "You mean magic?"
The mountain boy nodded.
"Yes, cunjer," he affirmed.
"You're fooling, aren't you?" said Hamilton questioningly, "you can't mean it. I never heard of 'cunjer' as a real thing. There's lots about it in books, of course, but those are fairy tales and things of that sort."
"An' yo' never saw a cunjer?"
"Of course not."
"Reckon they don' know as much in cities as they think they do," the youngster retorted.
"Just what do you mean by 'cunjer'?" asked Hamilton, knowing that it would be useless to argue the conditions of a modern city with a boy who had never seen one.
"Bein' able to put a cunjer on, so's the one yo' cunjer has got to do anythin' yo' want."
"Sort of hypnotism business," commented the older boy.
"Dunno' what yo' call it in the city. Up hyeh in the mount'ns we call it cunjer, an' thar's some slick ones hyeh, too."
"But how did the teacher get mixed up in it?" queried Hamilton. "It doesn't sound like the sort of thing you'd expect to find a schoolmaster doing."
"He wasn't doin' it, it was again' him," the mountain boy explained. "The folks hyeh suspicioned as he was tippin' o' the revenoo men."
"Who did? Moonshiners?"
"Easy on that word, Hamilton," suddenly broke in the old Kentuckian, who had overheard part of the conversation, "thar's plenty up hyeh that don' like it."
"All right, Uncle Eli, I'll remember," the boy answered; then, turning to his companion, he continued "You were saying that