It seemed especially necessary that he be at home with the children at night, for his father was often gone till late and then came home partly under the influence of drink. Austin knew that the children needed his protection.

"Austin," said his father in a surly tone one morning, "why are you lying around home all the time? Why do you not get out and make some money? I have enough to support without doing for you."

"I can not get any work near enough to be at home nights with the children.

Besides I am working at those posts," was his answer.

"There is no need of your thinking you must be at home at night. The girls do the work anyway, and you could just as well get out and make something.

Go hire yourself to one of the ranchmen along the river. Have some ambition and try to do something for yourself."

How these unkind words stung Austin! He was angry, vowing to himself that if that was all the thanks he was to receive for keeping the ends of the family together he would get out and make money.

That afternoon he visited two or three of the ranchmen, offering himself as a workhand; but when they observed how young he looked, each one asked concerning his age. When they heard that he was but fourteen, they said their work was too heavy for a boy.

"Did you get yourself a job?" asked his father that evening.

"No sir, no one would hire me because I am so young."

"Why did you tell them your age! they would have believed you if you had said you were seventeen."

"But I am not seventeen, and I do not like to tell what is untrue."

"You like an excuse to lie around home. I am getting tired of it, and mean you shall get out and hustle. Do you hear me?"

There had been a few rainy days just before this outbreak of his father's, and Austin had been in the house. But the next morning was sunny, and Austin was again at his chopping, and no more was said till another rainy spell. Then his father attacked him even more roughly, demanding that he get out and find work at once. Austin bore these insults as best he could because of his unwillingness to desert the family.

One Sat.u.r.day night the father did not come home. After the children were in bed Austin sat up with a queer chill of anxiety in his heart. Something was amiss he was certain, for this was pay-night. He had no doubt but that his father was drinking and gambling with the other fellows in the little town or, worse yet, had gone with some of them down the track a dozen miles to the county-seat. If this were true, he would come home without a cent and be even more angry with Austin for not earning wages.

At last Austin lay down and fell asleep, and he did not waken till day-light. Seeing that his father's bed was not occupied, he knew his worst fears were realized and that his father was in trouble somewhere. The engines needed attention, and if they were neglected his father might lose his job, then where should they be? Touching Harry, who lay at his side, he said, "Harry, wake up and get ready to go with me to see about the engines; Papa did not come home last night, and we shall have to tend them. Amy, Nell, get up and fix us boys some breakfast and a lunch, for we shall have to see about the engines. Papa is not home yet." Hurrying into his clothes, he went out to feed and harness Old Ben, the white horse, which would pull them to the engines.

Two hours later the boys were off in a little open buggy behind poky Old Ben; a cold, drizzling rain was coming down, which wet and chilled them through and through, yet the boys journeyed with light hearts, for so buoyant are the spirits of youth that they can rise above the most unfavorable circ.u.mstances. They laughed and sang as the old horse ambled along.

At the first well Austin found the engine still, but with little Harry's help it was soon started.

The second engine, though, would not go. The boys worked with it till they were exhausted, but their efforts were without avail. Some little thing was wrong which neither of them knew how to remedy. As they stepped to the door of the shed to rest a little, to their surprize they heard the sound of voices. They were off from the main road a long way, and in a part of the country where they hardly expected to see any one on this rainy day.

Looking in the direction from which the voices came, they saw two men approaching, driving a single horse. At closer range one of the men proved to be their father, and he was in a maudlin condition, reeling back and forth as the buggy b.u.mped along. They could hear the men's voices in ribald laughter and singing. When they were near the building, Mr. Hill climbed clumsily out of the rig, and Austin tried to tell him what the difficulty was.

"Oh, that's nothing," he mumbled, "shoon have it fixed." Reeling as he walked, he went into the shed that sheltered the engine. The boys followed him, and while his mind was clear enough to adjust the engine, his legs were not steady enough to hold him up, and his boys had to hold him to keep him from falling into the machinery while he repaired the engine. It seemed to Austin at this time that he utterly despised his father. He wondered if he could ever feel toward this reeling, staggering, evil-minded man as a son should feel toward a father. Again came the thought of the children and what it would mean to leave them to him. He would not leave them so long as his father would permit him to remain under the home roof.

Before the hard, cold winter came, they moved into the house near his father's work. It was a lonely place with only a small yard cleared in the brush, and was as desolate a location as one could imagine. Yet the house rang with the laughter of the children, whose changing fortune had not chilled their merry hearts.

Thanksgiving pa.s.sed as any other day, only that the children spoke of their mother oftener than usual. Even they wondered at all the changes which had come to them since the last Thanksgiving.

There was much damp weather, and Austin was unable to work much in the woods. So every day was made dark with the taunts and threats of his father. Sometimes it seemed to him that he could not stand it another day.

He longed to get away, to be forever from the presence of his father, but he could not leave the children. What would become of them if he did? Very well he knew that in less than six months they would be scattered here and yonder, some of them to be abused and mistreated.

His father's insulting manner was bearing fruit in the children, and they were no longer submissive. It seemed to Austin that he had failed entirely.

CHAPTER 7

THE RUNAWAY

It had now rained steadily for a week, and the mud and drip everywhere made all outdoors unpleasant. But in the Hill home the indoors was even more disagreeable. The new home was near the engines. Mr. Hill was in the house much of the time, and he was never pleasant among his children. Austin could not work in the woods because of the rain, and his presence irritated his father all the time. They were never in the house together but what something unpleasant was said between them, and Austin's spirit was becoming worn with the constant rasping. He thought he could not endure it much longer, and since his presence made the home so filled with contention he doubted whether he was doing right to stay.

"Austin, how much longer are you going to lie around this house? You have not done a day's work in weeks. I can't stand your idleness much longer.

Why can you not be like your brothers?" growled Mr. Hill one morning a day or two after Thanksgiving.

Austin said nothing, for he had exhausted all his arguments; but at that instant a determination formed itself in his mind to put a stop to the whole affair. When his father had gone to the engine-room he went to the attic and brought down his best suit of clothes and, coming into the kitchen, prepared to brush and press them. When he put the irons on the stove, Amy noticed what he was about to do.

"You can't press those clothes this morning, for I am going to use the irons," she said in a fretful voice.

"I shall have to use them, Amy, but it will not take long."

"You can't have them, so there! You always want to do just your way, no matter what we want to do."

"Did you hear what Father said this morning?" asked Austin.

"He didn't say any more than he is always saying," she said a little less fretfully.

"He will not have to say anything of the kind again, for I am going to find work and not coming back till I have it," said Austin.

"Austin, you can't go away. What shall we children do!" exclaimed Amy, all her vexation leaving at the thought.

"I do not know; but it can not be much worse than having Father so angry all the time. I will get work on the river if I can, and will see you all as often as possible," answered Austin soothingly.

Amy said no more about the irons, but turned to her dish-washing with tearful eyes, her heart almost standing still at the thought of home without Austin. The other children who had heard the conversation stood about with consternation written on their little faces. Harry, who was a child to act when he thought he might help, hurried out to the engine-room and told his father what had occurred. Henry Hill was vexed because Austin's wages no longer came in; but he had no thought of sending the boy away. He knew too well that Austin's presence was needed in the home. But the seed of animosity that had been sown in his heart against Austin during the past summer was now bearing fruit, and he took a sort of pleasure in annoying the boy. He saw that Austin was sensitive about being dependent and he enjoyed seeing him wince. At Harry's alarm he only grunted a word of disapproval and went on with his work. He believed Austin was only trying to bluff him. He did not think the boy could be driven away from the children.

An hour later Harry was back again at his father's side, his face bathed in tears and his breast heaving with sobs. "Papa, Austin _is_ going. He has his suitcase all packed and is ready to start."

Henry Hill jumped to his feet, his face red with anger. Could it be possible that Austin had such an idea in his head? If so, he would soon frighten it out of him. This looked too much like defiance in the boy!

"I will show him how to run away, the rascal. Harry, go to the barn and bring the buggy whip," and saying this the father rushed across the little opening between the two buildings and stamped into the kitchen. Austin was on his knees fastening his suitcase, which was all packed and ready for his start. He had not meant to bid his father good-by, nor to tell him any of his plans. He was too angry and his heart too defiant to want even to look at him again. When his father came in, Austin rose from his knees and faced him.

"What is up here, young man? I will let you know right here that there is going to be no running away from this ranch! You get that grip where it belongs, in a hurry," thundered the irate father.

"I am going away to find work. I shall take care of myself from this time on," said the boy resolutely facing the angry man.

"Take care of yourself," sneered his father, "you could not exist a month on your own resources. You take those clothes out of that grip and stop this nonsense!"

"I am going away, and you need not try to hinder me," said Austin in firm, even tones.

A fearful oath escaped the father's lips and he grabbed the whip which the sobbing Harry had brought; for as much as Harry loved Austin he dare not disobey his father's command. Turning again to Austin, the man thundered, "I'll thrash you within an inch of your life. Don't you dare to tell me you are going away when I forbid it. For once you will obey me."

Just then the engine gave a warning sound, which meant that without immediate attention it would stop running, so the enraged man turned about without another word and went out, leaving the frightened children looking after him. But the pause was only for a moment. Austin seized his opportunity and, picking up the suitcase and bidding the children a hasty farewell, he bolted out of the door and across the lot to freedom. He had been running as hard as he could go when still he heard the wails of the children and heard them calling to him. He took a course across the unbroken lands where there was not so much as a foot-path. In his timber-cutting he had become familiar with the lay of the land and took this rough way on purpose that his father might have difficulty in following him. He ran for almost a mile before he slackened his pace, and at every step he seemed to feel his father right behind him. He knew that now his father would be so angry as to have no sense at all, but would beat him nearly to death.

When at the edge of the river-bottom he stopped to take a breath he found that he was wet to the skin and that he had stepped into low places where the water had come up over his shoe-tops. And he remembered too that he had not a penny in his pockets, nor a bite to eat. A more forlorn boy could not be found than Austin as he stood there and looked across to the farmhouses along the river. But he smiled a little to himself as he thought, "I am one fellow who actually _ran_ away from home. It was no walk away."