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Updated: May 15, 2025
What's wanted?" he asked, in a nervous, jerky way. "This is me, Mr. Cameron Ruth, you know. I am all right at Snow Camp." "Well! That's fine! Thank goodness you're safe!" ejaculated the merchant, in an entirely different tone. "Why, Ruth, I was just about sending a party out from the store at Emoryville to beat up the woods for you. They say there is a big panther in that district."
She saw him run across the tracks, and quick as a flash she sprang down after him. Fred Hatfield, the runaway, was approaching the old, rambling country store at Emoryville Crossroads. It was so cold an evening that there were no loungers upon the high, railless porch which extended clear across the front of the building.
Not more than half an hour ago the girl from the Red Mill had slipped out of the private car at the Emoryville Crossing, in pursuit of the runaway youth; now they were deep in the wilderness and surrounded by such dangers as Ruth had never dreamed of before. The baying of a hound and the angry barking of another dog was Ruth's only answer. She turned to see Fred Hatfield sliding down off the cart.
A white-sheeted road crossed the rails. There were two or three houses in sight and a big general store, over the door of which was painted: EMORYVILLE P. O. But the train had stopped and the rear brake-man, or flagman, seized his lamp and ran back to wait for the engineer to recall him. It was growing dusk and the lamps had been lighted the length of the train.
She was more than a mile quite two miles, indeed from the lodge. "I guess Mr. Cameron will call me reckless again. He suggested that I was that when I followed Fred Hatfield or whatever his name was from the cars at Emoryville. He'll surely scold me for this," thought Ruth. She kept on down the stream, however, and at last began to shout for her boy friends.
The runaway had disappeared. "Where's that boy?" she cried. "What boy?" returned Long Jerry, curiously. "Didn't see no boy here." "Why, the boy that came here with us. He left the train at Emoryville when I did you must have seen him." "I never did," declared the guide. "He must have slipped away. Maybe he's gone into the house. You'd better come in yourself. The women folks will 'tend to you.
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