The Arrow of Fire

by Roy J. Snell

  E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan, and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)

  A Mystery Story for Boys

  THE ARROW OF FIRE

  by

  ROY J. SNELL

  The Reilly & Lee Co.Chicago New York

  Copyright 1930byThe Reilly & Lee Co.Printed in the U. S. A.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I The Squad Call 11 II A Running Battle 23 III Talking in the Dark 37 IV Johnny Calls the Squads 48 V Mysterious Violence 56 VI Who? and Why? 65 VII In Court 70 VIII Prisoners at the Bar 77 IX Clues 86 X A Royal Feast 94 XI Sworn to Stand By 101 XII From Out the Shadows 110 XIII A Marked Man 120 XIV Johnny Scores a Knockdown 128 XV Johnny Finds a Man 137 XVI The Face That Seemed a Mask 147 XVII The Sergeant's Story 155 XVIII A Scream--A Shot 165 XIX A Bullet 175 XX A Card from the Underworld 184 XXI The Secret Number 194 XXII Startling Transformations 202 XXIII Many Bullets 207 XXIV Not on the Program 214 XXV A Wolf Seeks Culture 222 XXVI These Are the Guns 230 XXVII An Arrow Speeds to Its Mark 240 XXVIII Taken for a Ride 248 XXIX The Night Ride 255 XXX Many Perils 260 XXXI The Creeping Spot 267 XXXII Sky High 272 XXXIII The Show-Down 279

  THE ARROW OF FIRE

  CHAPTER I THE SQUAD CALL

  It was midnight. The waters of Lake Michigan were like glass, smoothglass, miles of it, blue-black. There was no moon. The stars burned queerbright holes in the blue-black glass. The long, low craft that glidedthrough the water caused scarce a ripple.

  At the prow of this Great Lakes' freighter stood Johnny Thompson. He wasgazing at the skyline of his own beloved city. Three years had passedsince last he had caught the rumble of that great metropolis and had seenher lights gleaming out into the night. Now he was gliding slowly, surelyforward--to what? His city, to be sure. But after that? Mystery? Romance?Fresh adventure? Who could say?

  In his three years of wandering Johnny had known mystery, romance, andadventure aplenty. He had glided up dark mangrove-bordered streams at theheart of tropical America. He had crept into dungeons in the hauntedcastle of Haiti. He had felt the call of the barren tundras and smokingmountains of British Columbia and Alaska. He had faced the savage, hungrywolf pack, and had matched power and prowess with the Kadiak bear.

  Ah yes, mystery, romance, adventure, had been his.

  And yet, as he stood there watching the skyline of the city he had knownso well as a boy, as her massive buildings bulked larger and largerbefore him, as he saw the spire-like structures that had rearedthemselves skyward in his absence, as he thought of the dark, littleknown streets, of the hidden cellars, the underground tunnels, of thewealth, the misery, the power, the intrigue, the crime of this, hisnative city, he could not but feel that after all he had wandered far invain, that even here at his own doorstep was to be found romance,thrills, adventure such as he had not known in strange lands. Was heright? Only time could tell.

  So he stood there dreaming until he felt the boat bump against themassive cement finger that is the city's Municipal Pier, and knew it wastime to go ashore.

  "Where'd you come from?"

  A well set up young man, some years his senior, asked him this questionthe moment his feet were on the pier.

  He wanted to tell the fellow it was none of his business. But he hadlearned caution. He looked the questioner over from head to toe.

  "Some college fellow," was his mental comment as he took in the other'sspick-and-span appearance. Dressed to the minute, that's what he was."May be a young reporter."

  "Just came down from the North," he said quietly. "Been hunting with bowand arrow." He whirled his leather cased bow about as evidence. "Caughtthis boat at Two Harbors."

  "Yeah? Do you always travel that way?"

  "Freight? Why, anyway, I've never waited for a fancy boat. Take the firstone that will bring me where I want to go."

  "Not a bad idea." The stranger's look changed. "Going over town? Boundthat way myself. Mind company?"

  "Not a bit."

  "All the same, I wonder who he is and what business of his it is that Icame from somewhere and am going somewhere else," Johnny thought, as theypassed through a long, low shed, and turning to the right, headed downthe pier toward the city.

  For some time the two walked on in silence. Johnny was busy studying hisrather sudden friend. His smart black derby, neatly creased trousers andshining shoes contrasted oddly with the blue shirt and khaki trousersthat Johnny wore.

  But Johnny had formed a habit of looking through clothes to the man.

  "This chap," he told himself, "is no fop. Hate to meet him when he isfull of fight. Don't get those shoulders, that chest, that stridedrinking pink tea, nor smoking through his nose. This chap's a man.Hundred per cent. But why did he pick me up? Try to find out."

  "Used to live here in this city," he volunteered. "Had a room withanother boy in an old bat roost over beyond the Wells Street bridge."

  "I know the place," the stranger replied. "Gone now. Tore it down.Putting up the biggest business building in the world there now."

  "They are?" Johnny was taken aback. This city of his was too fast forhim.

  "Sure are. Quite a building yours was, too. Don't matter. Thing's in theway. Down it comes. That's the city for you."

  Again there was a period of silence.

  "Get a car here." The stranger stopped beside the curb. "One coming now.But where you going?"

  "Hadn't thought much about it. Lots of places in a city. One night, itdon't matter."

  "Come on down with me. Like to see that thing you say is a bow. Can't domuch with it, can you? Come along. Got an extra bunk. Not much. Goodenough for one night, though. Just down here on Grand. Be there in tenminutes."

  The street car rumbled by. Once more Johnny marched beside his new-foundfriend. And march was exactly the word.

  "Walks exactly as if he were going to war," Johnny told himself. "What aqueer chap! Dresses like a college dude. Trains like a prize-fighter.Walks like a soldier. Worth knowing, I'd say."

  When, however, they reached a dark opening between two six storybuildings and the stranger said, "This is the place. We go down. Watchyour step. Shaky old stairs," Johnny experienced something very much akinto fear.

  He knew enough about strange cities at midnight to
be on his guard. Thispart of the city certainly was not the best. They were near the city'swater front. The river was two blocks away. Between them and the waterlay endless rows of warehouse slips, great dilapidated sheds, boats halfsunken and rotting; all this and more.

  As he hesitated a truck rumbled down the deserted street. It turned tothe right to enter a gap of darkness that was a door to the brickstructure nearest at hand.

  Cheered by the thought that there was someone about, he decided to riskit.

  Moving cautiously, he followed his companion down a low flight of stairs,then passed down an uneven board walk that ran close to the walls of whatappeared to be a dilapidated one story structure.

  Once more a stair confronted them. This time they mounted upward.

  Once at the top the stranger threw open a door and touched a switch tothrow on a flood of light. Johnny entered. The door was closed and lockedafter him.

  The room his eyes took in at a glance was in strange contrast to its rudeexterior. Softly tinted wall paper, shelves filled with books. Goodpictures, tasty furniture. A man's place; but neat, with the neatnessthat comes only at the touch of a woman's hand.

  "Nice place," said Johnny.

  "I like it," the other smiled. "Even like where it is. Know what? Thisshack is older than the place where you used to live! Funny, ain't it?Just a wooden shack. But here she stands. Life's funny that way."

  Johnny stared at his companion. His words did not affect him. It was whathe did at this moment that counted most. Having removed his coat, heunstrapped a belt to lay an automatic pistol on his dresser. He did allthis as if it were quite the customary thing, part of his day's business.

  "And this," Johnny told himself with an inaudible gasp, "is neither inthe movies nor in the wild and woolly West."

  "Well," he told himself a moment later, "Whatever's on, I'm in for it.I'll not run."

  Johnny was no weakling, nor was he a coward. When opportunity permittedhe spent an hour or two each day punching the bag or swinging the glovesat some real companion. He was a lightweight boxer of no mean ability, asyou who have read our other books will know. Just at present he was athis best. Boxing had been denied him, but rugged mountain trails, thecamp axe, and a six foot bow had offered opportunities for training thatno indoor sports could match.

  Nor was Johnny wholly unarmed. He had never in his life carried arevolver, yet in the corner where he had placed it, close at hand, wassuch a sturdy yew bow as might have gladdened the eye of Robin Hood. Andbeside it were six ashen arrows with points of steel keen as a razorblade.

  "But this," he told himself, "is Chicago. My native city. My home."

  "You'll be feeling need of sleep," said his companion of the hour."That's your bunk. Turn in when you wish. Don't mind a little music tolull you to the land of dreams?" He snapped on a radio which stood, untilnow quite unnoticed by Johnny, in the corner.

  "Not a bit. Something soft and low," Johnny chuckled, "like the murmur ofa mountain stream."

  "No chance at this hour. Jazz is all you'll get."

  Johnny disrobed to the tune of "Deep Night" which seemed appropriate tothe hour.

  When he had crept beneath the blankets, his strange host threw off thehouse lights, leaving only one dull golden eye, the radio's tiny diallamp, gleaming.

  Johnny was truly weary. The day had been long and full of the inevitableexcitement of arriving. His last impression as his eyes closed and hissenses drifted away was that of a great golden eye glaring at him fromthe dark.

  Then, with a suddenness that set his blood racing, he was sitting up inbed wide-awake.

  Loud, jangling, setting his ears roaring, a gong had sounded.

  "Bam! Bam! Bam!" It seemed in this very room.

  "Wha--what was that?" he stammered as the sound died away.

  As if in answer to his query, a voice came from the radio:

  "Squads attention! Squads 21 and 24 go to Jackson and Ashland at once; adrug store. Robbers breaking in there."

  What did it mean? To Johnny the whole affair was but a confusion ofsensations, a mild affair of the night.

  Before his question could be answered the words came again. "Squads 21and 24 go at once to Jackson and Ashland; a drug store. Robbers breakingin there."

  Then, in strange incongruity, there came again the wild, fantastic rhythmof a modern dance tune.

  "That," said the strange host in a quiet tone, "is a squad call. It's athing the police have taken up. They hope to check crime that way.Forty-six squad cars are waiting for the calls. Two cars are at Jacksonand Ashland now. It's a new stunt."

  "I should say it was," said Johnny as he began to understand that thesound of the gong as well as spoken words had come from the radio. Oncemore he settled back against his pillow.

  As he lay there now he kept his eyes on the profile of his host. Dimlylighted as the room was, Johnny seemed to read on the face of the man alook of alert expectancy which had nothing to do with jazz music.

  "He is listening," he told himself. "Waiting for another squad call."

  At once questions formed themselves in his mind. Why did this young manlisten so intently? Where lay his sympathies? With the police, or withthe law breaker? If with the law breaker, was he interested in some darkdoings of this night? Was he listening for the call that would tell ofthe discovery of his band?

  "Strong body. Clear eyes. Keeps himself fit. Wonder if law breakers arelike that. Be interesting study. Have to--"

  In the midst of his speculations he fell asleep.