Mystery of the Sassafras Chair Read Free Page B

looked at it, or he would have noticed how different it was, even in the dim light. He had merely accepted it because it was there. This new chair was lower, broader, and made of a much paler wood than the others. The wood had a deep golden gleam. In fact, it almost seemed to glow.
    â€œ Tabé! ” Odessa exclaimed behind him. “What in the world—”
    â€œWhy—why, that’s the chair Wiley was making for me!” Timor burst out.
    â€œHe was making you a chair?”
    â€œYes. Last fall. Out of sassafras. See how yellow it is, and how it glows?”
    â€œIt’s beautiful! But why sassafras? I mean, I’ve never heard …”
    â€œWell, it’s sort of a special wood. You see, people up here won’t cut it for firewood, even when it’s dead—they think it’s bad luck. Wiley had found a small tree that had been knocked over when the road was being fixed, and he hated to see it go to waste. You know how he was. Always making something out of pieces of wood he’d saved.”
    â€œI know,” Odessa said. “He was a wonderful craftsman. He could make anything. But why a chair for you—and out of sassafras?”
    â€œIt—it was just an idea he had. We were talking about woods one day, and how some kinds have properties that others don’t have. Sort of magic properties, I mean. Apple is one, if it’s old enough, and holly is another. Then there’s hawthorn, and some kinds of willow. Witch hazel is very special, and so is sassafras. Wiley said a chair made of sassafras ought to be really—”
    Timor stopped. He had been so interested in the chair that he had failed to hear his uncle come back into the house. Now he turned as Colonel Hamilton appeared in the doorway and said wearily, “If supper’s ready, how about eating? What’s keeping you two?”
    Odessa pointed to the chair. Before she could explain about it, Timor saw something he had not noticed before. It was a small loop of rawhide on the back of the chair. He lifted it off and held it up. To the loop was fastened a brass key.
    â€œLook!” he exclaimed. “It’s Wiley’s key to the front door!”
    Odessa took it, frowning. “It is! Daddy, this explains how someone got in the cabin last night. He used this key, and left it with the chair Wiley made.”
    â€œEh? What’s this about a chair?”
    Timor explained. The colonel stared at the chair and shook his head. “I’ll be doubly hanged,” he muttered. “Who on earth could have done that?”
    They discussed the mystery while they ate supper.
    â€œIt had to be one of Wiley’s friends,” said the colonel. “Tim, didn’t you ever meet anybody up at Wiley’s place?”
    â€œNo, sir. Not exactly.”
    â€œWhat do you mean by not exactly?” his uncle demanded. “Either you met someone or you didn’t.”
    â€œI—I never actually met anyone, Uncle Ira. I do know he had visitors at times, though he never told me who they were, or talked about them. I saw one leaving once, but Wiley said he was one of those seng hunters that lived over the gap.”
    â€œEh? What’s a seng hunter?”
    â€œGinseng hunter. They call it seng up here in the mountains. You know, it’s that little plant whose roots are worth so much. Dessa and I have seen it for sale in the drug shops back home. The Chinese pay awful prices for it.”
    â€œOh,” said the colonel, “I didn’t know people still bothered to look for the stuff. Isn’t it pretty scarce?”
    â€œIt sure is. Sort of like gold, but twice as hard to find.”
    And those who hunted it, Timor knew, were secretive people who never told where they’d found it, or how much. Old Wiley, he suddenly remembered, always had bunches of ginseng roots hanging in his shack to dry. Quite a lot of it, in fact. At thirty dollars a pound, Wiley