Freddy and the Dragon

by Walter R. Brooks

  “I was there,” said Uncle Ben. “All true.” But, of course, not being much of a talker, and also because he was an inventor who fooled around with atomic engines and such, the police weren’t inclined to believe him either.

  Mrs. Church and the sheriff, only having seen the second part of the horseman’s flight, couldn’t testify to what had happened at the cave.

  “This man that came galloping down the road—you didn’t know him?” the Lieutenant asked.

  “Never saw him before,” they said. “A little man with a crooked nose and beady, black eyes.”

  “That was Jack,” said Percy.

  “Quiet, you!” shouted the Lieutenant. “Don’t you realize, sheriff and ma’am, that he may be a perfectly innocent person, out for a ride in the cool of the evening?”

  “Not at the rate they were going,” said the sheriff.

  “They were scared blue,” said Mrs. Church.

  The Lieutenant paid no attention. “And you deliberately set this bull on them,” he said. “I warn you, if this man complains, you may be in for serious trouble.”

  “Phooey,” said the sheriff. “I’ll bet sixty-four dollars and thirty cents against that box of paper clips that you’ll never get a complaint.”

  “Why sixty-four thirty?” asked the Lieutenant.

  “Because that’s all I’ve got in my pocket,” said the sheriff. “Give me a couple days and I’ll make it five hundred.”

  “We are not allowed to bet,” said the Lieutenant sourly.

  “Lucky for you,” the sheriff replied. “You’d be out a box of clips.”

  They argued for a while, and at last, at the insistence of the sheriff and Mrs. Church, the Lieutenant agreed to go up and make a more thorough search of the cave.

  “In the morning,” he said.

  “Why not now?” said Jinx. “It’ll be just as dark in the cave in the morning. We have the map of it, so you can find your way.” And he explained that the map had been made by two spiders, Mr. and Mrs. Webb, who had explored the cave for them.

  “Spiders!” and Lieutenant Sparrow went off into his great laugh again, and all the other troopers laughed with him. They roared and howled and slapped their thighs. “Spiders! He’s got a map a spider made for him! How about it, Loot, you going to turn over the command to a spider?”

  Mrs. Church drew herself up. “You’re all very funny,” she said. “But I’ve paid a hundred dollars to this gangster to keep from having my windows smashed, and a lot of others have done the same. You’ve got evidence that he’s been living in the cave. Sheriff, if Lieutenant Sparrow won’t act, I suggest you swear in some deputies and look over that cave yourself.”

  “Just what I was goin’ to suggest, ma’am,” said the sheriff. “I’ve got twenty prisoners down at the jail now; they’re all nice boys—most of ’em burglars, too, which are specially good at hunting around in the dark. I’ll go back and swear ’em in and we’ll go up and through that cave with a fine tooth comb.”

  But Lieutenant Sparrow didn’t like that idea. “No, no, sheriff,” he said, “there’s half a dozen of our boys here all ready to go. No need to bother you. We’ll start right away.” He got up. “Now you all go along to your homes and leave it all to us. We’ll take care of it. And,” he added with a laugh, “I don’t think we’ll need any spider’s advice either.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Freddy and Jinx spent that night at Mrs. Peppercorn’s. After breakfast they sat on the front steps. They were talking about how they were going to get rid of Jack, but every time somebody went by, Freddy would scratch Jinx’s ears and say: “Are you my good kitty-cat?” or something like that, and Jinx would growl and mutter that he’d like to get his claws into that long nose. But he didn’t dare say anything out loud, because they had to pretend that Freddy was just a little boy playing with a cat.

  Pretty soon a kitten came walking along the sidewalk. She stopped at the gate and looked up at Freddy and Jinx a minute, and then she turned in and walked straight up to them.

  “Can you purr?” she asked the cat.

  “Can I purr!” Jinx exclaimed. “I’m a cat, ain’t I? What do you think I do—bellow?”

  “Well, I’m a cat too, or will be when I grow up. But I can’t purr. And I thought maybe you could show me how.”

  “Why you just—you just purr, that’s all. Like this.” And Jinx gave a specially loud purr. Freddy could feel the front steps under him vibrate.

  “My gracious, I wish I could do that!” The kitten moved closer to Jinx. “You see, I belong to Mrs. Twitch, the cook at the hotel—Mr. Ollie Groper’s hotel. She likes me to sit on her lap, but it makes her feel sad that I don’t purr. I want to purr, but I just can’t. Listen now—I’ll try.”

  Both animals put their ears close to the kitten, then shook their heads. “Can’t hear a thing,” said Freddy.

  “That’s it,” said the kitten. “I try and try and nothing comes through. Do you suppose you could give me purring lessons?” she said, looking up hopefully at Jinx.

  “Well …” said Jinx. “I don’t know.… I’m not a very good teacher. And then maybe even if I was—maybe your purrer isn’t any good. Besides, I’m pretty busy—”

  “I could pay you,” said the kitten. “Not with mice, but—”

  “Never touch the things,” said Jinx gruffly.

  “I don’t either,” said the kitten; “I’m afraid of them. But Mrs. Twitch is good to me; she gives me all the cream that’s left in those little bottles they put on the tables with the coffee, and any leftovers. My goodness, yesterday she gave me a whole serving of creamed codfish—enough for five cats. So I could give you lots of good things to eat. Will you do it?”

  Jinx licked his chops thoughtfully. “Well,” he said, “I can try. But I don’t promise anything, you understand. You did say cream, didn’t you?”

  So it was arranged that he should go down to the hotel to give his first purring lesson that afternoon.

  Freddy rode out to the farm on his bicycle. He didn’t bother to hold the handkerchief up to his nose except when he passed someone he knew on the road. On the way across the barnyard he met the bull. Percy was not in the fenced-in enclosure behind the barn; he seemed to be free to roam at will. When he saw Freddy, he stopped and bowed.

  “My dear sir,” he said, “what a pleasure! I trust you are having success in your detective work.”

  “Not much,” said the pig. “We haven’t caught your pal Jack yet.”

  “Ah,” said the bull. “But you will, sir; you will. I have every confidence in your brilliant deductive powers. I have heard much of them in the past few days.”

  “Why, thank you,” said Freddy, slightly overcome by this gracious speech from one who had been such a tough talker only a short time ago. He thought it might be a good idea to have Samuel Jackson become the conscience of several other animals in the neighborhood.

  Percy nodded toward the cow barn. “My new residence,” he said. “Won’t you step in for a moment? My daughters will be pleased to see you. After you, sir,” he added.

  So Freddy did, and was greeted warmly by the cows. Mr. Pomeroy had stopped in earlier to report on the goings-on at the cave. The troopers weren’t getting much of anywhere with their exploration. They had banged around and yelled and flashed their flashlights, but although two of them had come out in the morning for breakfast, the other four had not appeared. Voices could be heard shouting once in a while, but the echoes were so confusing that it was impossible to tell where the sounds came from. And the two that came out had not found any of the rooms occupied by the gangsters.

  “I suppose they’ll find their way out some time,” said Freddy. “Maybe they’ll get into a shooting match with Jack. He must have gone back in there.”

  “He’d have gone back for his money,” said Percy. “All those envelopes he’s been collecting—he must have nearly a thousand dollars. But now that his headless disguise is discovered, and you’ve found his hideout, he’ll pro
bably head for home.”

  “How about the others with him?” Mrs. Wiggins asked. “You said there was another horse and some pigs.”

  “Yeah. Old Dutch—he’s the horse, a mean old critter. And there’s a dog, Cornelius, and three pigs—they’re so tough and badly brought up I don’t think they’ve even got any names. And there’s Thurlow.”

  “The weasel?”

  “No,” said Percy, “he’s a mink. And you go slow if you meet him. He’s just plain vicious.”

  “Well, if the troopers don’t find them—” Freddy said, “and it looks as if they wouldn’t—we can let the dragon go in after them. But I don’t see what we can do now.”

  So Freddy rode back to town. He got to Mrs. Peppercorn’s just as Jinx was returning from giving his first purring lesson.

  “Boy, that’s a bright little tad, that kitten,” the cat said. “She’s going to have a good rich purr that’d be a comfort to any cook she sits on the lap of. Can’t hear it yet, of course, but you can feel the vibration if you put a paw on her throat.

  “Say, you remember Ollie Groper, fellow that runs the hotel? Well, he recognized me when he came into the kitchen, and what do you suppose he said?”

  “I can imagine,” said Freddy with a grin. Mr. Groper loved long words, and he was known as a man who couldn’t say: “How are you?” without putting in a dozen six-syllable words.

  “Well, I memorized it,” said Jinx. “‘Well, if it isn’t my ancient feline associate! What balmy Hesperidean zephyr has wafted you hither? And which of the many luxurious forms of nourishment which this caravansery offers its clientele may I be privileged to prepare for your delectation?’ I didn’t know whether to get mad or not.”

  “I hope you didn’t. He was just saying he was glad to see you and would you like something to eat.”

  “Yeah?” said Jinx. “Well, he did pour me out a nice saucer of cream, so maybe he meant it. After I gave my lesson I went and sat in the lounge for a while. Nice big plush chairs they got. I like to watch the people. Gee whiz, they think cats are crazy.…” He shook his head. “There was one guy came in and registered—little guy with a limp. He had a suitcase and another bag, and the bag had holes in it—can you beat that. I don’t mean it was torn or worn out or anything; the holes were in a pattern at each end. They—”

  “Gimpy Jones!” said Freddy suddenly.

  “Quit interruptin’, will you?” said Jinx. “These holes—”

  “They were so the snake could breathe,” said Freddy. “You remember, Percy told us about a friend of this Jack’s called Gimpy Jones because he limped? And he had a black snake trained to go into windows and pick out jewelry? Well this must be the man.”

  “And the snake was in the bag!”

  “Sure. And that means more trouble for us. More burglaries, and probably you’ll be arrested. Because cats can get in open windows and swipe things.”

  Jinx jumped up. “What are we waiting for? The guy went up to his room and left his bags, and then came right down and got in his car and drove off. My guess is he’s gone up to the cave to find this Jack. Now’s our chance.”

  Neither pigs nor cats are afraid of snakes, particularly the non-poisonous black snakes, which some people even keep as pets. The two friends hurried down to the hotel. There was no one in the office, and after a glance at the register where they found that Mr. Jones had been put in No. 17, they ran upstairs.

  No. 17 was unlocked. Inside, on the bed, were the suitcase and the bag. Freddy snapped back the fastener on the bag and pulled it open. Inside, the snake was curled up on a small cushion. Freddy put his head in and seized him by the neck and dragged him out on the floor. Then Jinx grabbed his tail, and working fast they tied him quickly into a double square knot.

  Then Jinx grabbed his tail.

  When Freddy had been with Boomschmidt’s Circus there had been a trained snake who had a very amusing stunt. He would allow the spectators to tie him into knots, and then he would get out of them again. The only knot he couldn’t get out of was this one. So Freddy put his sailor hat on again and hooked the snake over one arm like a large black pretzel and they went down and out the front door and nobody saw them at all.

  Of course the snake wriggled a lot, and he kept calling: “Help! Help!” But when a snake raises his voice above a whisper it usually turns into a hiss, so all anybody could hear was a sort of “Hssp! Hssp!” Nobody but Jinx and Freddy heard it.

  Freddy didn’t think Mrs. Peppercorn would want a snake in the house, so he rode his bicycle out to the farm, with Jinx on the handlebars and the snake still struggling hopelessly to get out of the knot.

  “Hey look, kid,” he said to Freddy, “loosen up this knot a little, will you? It makes my stomach ache. And what’s it all about anyway? Where are you taking me?”

  “Your stomach will just have to make the best of it till we get where we’re going,” Freddy said. “You’re a burglar. We’re going to lock you up. Then we’re going to catch your friend Gimpy and lock him up.”

  The snake gave a wiggle which would have been a shrug of the shoulders, if he had had any shoulders, and if he hadn’t been tied in a knot. “I couldn’t care less,” he said. “You know what Gimpy gave me for supper last night? Stale bread pudding! Me that was brought up on frogs and centipedes and caterpillars—”

  “Hey,” cut in Jinx, “shut up that talk about eating centipedes, will you? You want to spoil my supper?”

  “That reminds me,” said the snake. “If you lock me up, what are you going to give me for supper? How about a nice fat mouse, hey?” And he winked at Freddy.

  Freddy grinned at him suddenly, showing all his teeth. “How’d you like to be supper?” he asked.

  The snake gave him an astonished and terrified look. “Oh-oh!” he said. “I thought you were a kid in a sailor suit. You’re not a little boy—you’re a pig!”

  Pigs have been known to eat snakes, and snakes are naturally afraid of them. Nobody said anything till they reached the farm.

  They hung the snake on a peg in the barn.

  “What are you going to do with him?” Jinx asked as they walked across the barnyard.

  “I’m not going to eat him for supper, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said the pig. “If we shut him up in that old rattrap, it seems kind of mean, and we’ll have to feed him. Buy hamburger, I suppose. I’m not going to run around catching centipedes at my age. And yet if we release him, he’ll just go back to that Jones man and more burglaries.”

  “He didn’t seem very crazy about Jones,” said Jinx.

  Freddy said: “If we could get him to join us, the way Percy did.… That Samuel Jackson is clever; maybe he could work on him.”

  “I don’t suppose a snake has a conscience,” said the cat. “If he has, it’s a pretty sluggish one.”

  “Maybe Samuel will have an angle,” said Freddy. “Let’s talk to him.”

  An hour or so later Jinx and Freddy were hiding behind a corner of the barn, listening. Samuel came trotting along. He gave them a wink and went into the barn. They heard him say:

  “Hey, what are you doing up there?”

  “Starving,” the snake whispered.

  “H’m,” said the mole, “I thought snakes only had to eat once every two months or something.”

  “Not when they’re fed on stale bread pudding,” said the snake. “This guy I work for, he doesn’t feed me good any more. Just stale leftovers.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Samuel. “Jones—isn’t that the fellow? I know him. He’s a burglar. I say he’s a burglar.”

  “You know him, eh? Then you know it’s me does all the burgling and him that gets the cash. ’T wasn’t that way at first. It used to be steak most every day, and mice on Sundays and holidays. I haven’t had even a teensy-weensy frog for six months.”

  “I take it then you don’t specially relish your present occupation?” said Samuel.

  “Come again?” said the snake.

  It occurred to Samuel that
snakes don’t have much education. “You don’t like your job?” he said.

  “Well, yes and no,” said the snake. “You always like something you can do well. And I tell you, I’m good. Say there’s an upstairs window open. If I can’t climb to it, Gimpy lifts me on a pole. I crawl in and up on the dresser and feel around. I can pick a diamond bracelet out of a bunch of costume junk just by feel. Boy, do I know diamonds!”

  “Yeah,” said the mole, “but what does all this skill get you?”

  “You got me there,” the snake said. “Say, you wouldn’t have a few beetles about you, would you? I’m starved.”

  “Sorry,” Samuel said. “I couldn’t get ’em up to you if I did.”

  “No, I suppose not. There used to be some little green beetles when I was a little fellow. What fun my brothers and I had hunting them! Tasty too. Ah, that was the life—hunting bugs through the long grass, and then sleeping on a sun-warmed rock.”

  “Better than spending nine tenths of your life in a dark, musty old bag, eh?” said the mole. “Mister, I think you’re kind of a sucker.”

  The snake didn’t say anything for a while. Then he said slowly: “Yeah, I suppose I am.… Sure, I am! … You know we snakes are neat people. And he hasn’t dusted that old bag out for me in six months.… Well, what do you think I should do?”

  “’T ain’t for me to advise you,” said Samuel. “But there are some nice residential sites for snakes up on Margarine’s land, beyond the woods. Plenty of bugs of all kinds. That is, if you can persuade Freddy that you’d like to give up the burglary business and live as a private citizen. Only, let the mice and rabbits alone. They’ve got a protective association up there. And while one rabbit is no trouble, fifty rabbits together can be a bad headache for a snake.”

  “It would be nice,” said the snake reflectively, “to have a real home of my own—go in and out when I felt like it.… O.K., go get that pig. I’ll talk to him.”

  CHAPTER 13