end thereof a calamitous fate took him up and made him its toy.
Tragedy is the everlasting piling up of little things. So Jimmy Sears
could not know that an evil destiny had come to guide his steps when
he started townward, for it came so gently. To meet Piggy Pennington
and Bud Perkins and Abe Carpenter coming out of the Pennington yard
was not such a dreadful thing. Jimmy had met them a score of times
before at that particular gate, with no serious consequences. It was
not in the least ominous that the four boys started for the Creek of
the Willows, for Jimmy had gone to the Creek times without number in
that very company. It did not augur evil for Jimmy Sears that the lot
fell to him to go forth and forage a chicken, for the great corn feast
of the Black Feet, a savage tribe of four warriors, among whom Jimmy
was known as the "Bald Eagle." Perhaps there were signs and warnings
in all these things; and then, on the other hand, perhaps Jimmy Sears
was so intent upon escaping from the shadow that lowered over his
family that he did not read the signs, and so rushed into his
misfortunes blindly. These, however, are idle speculations; they are
the materials from which sages spin their dry and ethereal webs. But
this narrative is concerned only with the facts in the case. Therefore
it is necessary to know only that when Jimmy Sears stooped to pick up
his nail-pointed arrow, lying beside a stunned pullet, he heard the
sharp nasal "sping" of a rock whirring near his head. Chicken and bow
and arrow in hand, he began to run, not looking back.

"Here, here, Jimmy Sears, hold on there!" cried a voice. Jimmy knew
the voice. It and the chicken belonged to the same person. So Jimmy
quickened his speed. He heard the clattering thump of pursuing feet.
It was two hundred yards to the end of the cob-strewn cow lot. The boy
fixed his course toward the lowest length of fence. Then he kept his
eyes upon the ground. He clenched his teeth and skimmed over the
earth. The feathers in his hat--stuck there to satisfy the verities of
his assumed Indian character--caught the breeze; so, rather than lose
his hat, he grabbed it in the hand that held the chicken. He cleared
the fence and plunged into the timber. Looking over his shoulder, he
saw a man's form on the top of the fence; the thud of boots on the sod
and the crash of branches behind him sent terror through the boy's
frame, and he turned towards the creek that flowed sluggishly near by.
He