A Poor Wise Man HTML version
At something after seven o'clock that night Willy Cameron and Pink Denslow
reached that point on the Mayville Road which had been designated by the
storekeeper, Cusick. They left the car there, hidden in a grove, and struck off
across country to the west. Willy Cameron had been thoughtful for some time,
and as they climbed a low hill, going with extreme caution, he said:
"I'm still skeptical about Cusick, Pink. Do you think he's straight?"
"One of the best men we've got," Pink replied, confidently. "He's put us on to
"He's foreign born, isn't he?"
"That's his value. They don't suspect him for a minute."
"But - what does he get out of it?"
"Good citizen," said Pink, with promptness. "You've got to remember, Cameron,
that a lot of these fellows are better Americans than we are. They're like religious
converts, stronger than the ones born in the fold. They're Americans because
they want to be. Anyhow, you ought to be strong for him, Cameron. He said to
tell you, but no one else."
"I'll tell you how strong I am for him later," Willy Cameron said, grimly. "Just at
this minute I'm waiting to be shown."
They advanced with infinite caution, for the evening was still light. Going slowly, it
was well after eight and fairly dark before they came within sight of the farm
buildings in the valley below. Long unpainted, they were barely discernable in the
shadows of the hills. The land around had been carefully cleared, and both men
were dismayed at the difficulty of access without being seen.
"Doesn't look very good, does it?" Pink observed. "I will say this, for seclusion
and keeping away unwanted visitors, it has it all over any dug-out I ever saw in
"Listen!" Willy Cameron said, tensely.
They stood on the alert, but only the evening sounds of country and forest