Stone Fox Read Free Page A

someone’s afraid of them.”
    “Just get in this house this minute!” Clifford Snyder yelled, and his face turned red.
    Little Willy left Searchlight outside. But Clifford Snyder wouldn’t put his gun away until they were all the way into Grandfather’s bedroom. And then he insisted that little Willy shut the door.
    Grandfather’s eyes were wide open and fixed on the ceiling. He looked much older and much more tired than he had this morning.
    “You’re no better than other folks,” Clifford Snyder began as he lit up a long, thin cigar and blew smoke toward the ceiling. “And anyway, it’s the law. Plain and simple.”
    Little Willy didn’t say anything. He was busy combing Grandfather’s hair, like he did everyday when he got home. When he finished he held up the mirror so Grandfather could see.
    “I’m warning you,” Clifford Snyder continued. “If you don’t pay…we have our ways. And it’s all legal. All fair and legal. You’re no better than other folks.”
    “Do we owe you some money, Mr. Snyder?” little Willy asked.
    “Taxes, son. Taxes on this farm. Your grandfather there hasn’t been paying them.”
    Little Willy was confused.
    Taxes? Grandfather had always paid every bill. And always on time. And little Willy did the same. So what was this about taxes? Grandfather had never mentioned them before. There must be some mistake.
    “Is it true?” little Willy asked Grandfather.
    But Grandfather didn’t answer. Apparently he had gotten worse during the day. He didn’t move his hand, or even his fingers.
    “Ask him about the letters,” piped up Clifford Snyder.
    “What letters?”
    “Every year we send a letter—a tax bill—showing how much you owe.”
    “I’ve never seen one,” insisted little Willy.
    “Probably threw ’em out.”
    “Are you sure…” began little Willy. And then he remembered the strongbox.
    He removed the boards, then lifted the heavy box up onto the floor. He opened it and removed the papers. The papers he remembered seeing when he had looked for the money to rent the horse.
    “Are these the letters?” he asked.
    Clifford Snyder snatched the letters from little Willy’s hand and examined them. “Yep, sure are,” he said. “These go back over ten years.” He held up one of the letters. “This here is the last one we sent.”

    Little Willy looked at the paper. There were so many figures and columns and numbers that he couldn’t make any sense out of what he was looking at. “How much do we owe you, Mr. Snyder?”
    “Says right here. Clear as a bell.” The short man jabbed his short finger at the bottom of the page.
    Little Willy’s eyes popped open. “Five hundred dollars! We owe you five hundred dollars?”
    Clifford Snyder nodded, rocking forward onto his toes, making himself taller. “And if you don’t pay,” he said, “I figure this here farm is just about worth—”
    “You can’t take our farm away!” little Willy screamed, and Searchlight began barking outside.
    “Oh, yes, we can,” Clifford Snyder said, smiling, exposing his yellow, tobacco-stained teeth.

5
THE WAY
    T HE NEXT DAY little Willy met the situation head on. Or, at least, he wanted to. But he wasn’t sure just what to do.
    Where was he going to get five hundred dollars?
    Grandfather had always said, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Little Willy had the will. Now all he had to do was find the way.
    “Of all the stupid things,” cried Doc Smith. “Not paying his taxes. Let this be a lesson to you, Willy.”
    “But the potatoes barely bring in enough money to live on,” explained little Willy. “We went broke last year.”
    “Doesn’t matter. Taxes gotta be paid, whether we like it or not. And believe me, I don’t know of anybody who likes it.”
    “Then why do we have them in the first place?”
    “Because it’s the way the State gets its money.”
    “Why don’t they grow potatoes like Grandfather does?”
    Doc Smith laughed. “They have more