Jerry laughed. “That’s the kind of smart work I used to do when I was as little as Frankie,” he says.
“THE BIG KITE WAS SAILING OVER THE PELHAM BANK ALREADY.”
But just then I seen something. “Look,” I whispered, “somebody is trying to loop our kite.”
Jerry says, “I don’t see anything.”
But I did. I says, “Now watch, and see if it don’t come up again.”
We watched for a few minutes. Sure enough, there come sailing out of the treetops a piece of string with stones on each end. The fellas seen it and knew right away somebody was trying to bring our kite down on the other side of the river.
“Pull her in,” hollers Jerry. “Wind her up as fast as you can.”
Little Frankie got excited. “Don’t let my kite get caught,” he hollers.
I says, “Keep your shirt on, Frankie, us boys will save your kite.”
But once more came that string with the stones on, and one stone looped over our kite’s string purty as you please, and with a few shaky jerks the kite began to drop into the treetops. There come a jerk on the kite winder, then the string fell loose, and we was winding in a string without a kite.
“Hurry,” hollers Jerry Moore, “get down to the bank quick! We will get that kite thief.”
Little Frankie began to cry. I stayed there on the cliff with him while the other fellers run down, and I wound up the string on the kite winder in case we needed it.
I says, “Don’t cry, Frankie. It’s too bad, but we will get your kite back.”
Little Frankie cried like his heart was broke in two. “My pop made it for me,” he says. “I kinda liked it most because my pop made it.”
I put my arm around the little fella, and dern if I didn’t feel as sorry the kite was lost as he did. I never could stand to see a little fella cry like that. I says, “Frankie, if you dry your eyes right away, I’ll promise to get that very kite back before Saturday.”
He looked up and smiled at me and rubbed the tears out of his eyes. “All right, Hawkins,” he says. “I know you will.”
We had all the string wound in and walked down the cliff. The other boys were all in their canoes rowing over to the other side. We waited on the bank for a half hour, till we seen ’em coming back. They didn’t have the kite though.
“Well,” says Jerry Moore, “I guess Dick Ferris will have to go over and tell his Pelham friends they got to quit stealing our kites.”
Dick jumped out of the boat and turned to Jerry. “You didn’t see them steal it did you?” he asks.
“No,” says Jerry, “but it was the Pelhams all right. They must of been hiding under the trees somewhere when they threw that loop over our kite string.”
Dick was going to answer Jerry, but he turned to me. “Come on, Hawkins,” he says. “I got something to say to you.”
Me and him and Frankie walked up to our houseboat. “Hawkins,” says Dick, “there wasn’t a sign of a Pelham fella over there when we got there, and Jerry just figgered out it was the Pelhams what stole the kite and run away with it.”
“Well,” I says, “maybe it was, Dick.”
Dick shook his head. “No,” he says, “those other fellas was so anxious to find some Pelham fellas they forgot to look around, but I kept my eyes open, and I seen something that makes me know it wasn’t the Pelhams who looped our kite.”
“What?” I asked. “What did you see?”
“Footprints,” says Dick. “Footprints of shoes with roundheaded nails.”
“Stoner’s Boy,” I says.
Dick nodded his head. “You guessed it,” he says.
THURSDAY.—When we come down to our houseboat today to hold our regular meeting, Briggen and Dave Burns and a few other Pelham fellas was waiting for us. “Well,” says Dick, “what’s up now?”
Briggen says, “We want to talk a little with you fellas.”
“All right,” says Dick, “come on in.”
We all went in and took our regular seats around the table. Dick says, “Now, Briggen, tell the fellas what you come for.”
Briggen stood looking hard at Jerry. He says, “Us boys knows you fellas lost a kite.”
Jerry spoke up sharp. “How did you know that?” he asked.
Briggen looked hard at Jerry and says, “We saw the kite fall.”
Jerry says, “I guess you did, and you know who made it fall too.”
Dick says, “Jerry, please don’t butt in anymore; let Briggen talk.”
Briggen says, “I come over here with my gang to tell you fellas that we didn’t do it. We don’t want no trouble on account of it.”
Jerry got up out of his chair and says, “You snide, you know you and your gang done it.”
Briggen got mad. “Listen,” he says, “I took lots of beatings from you, but you know I am game. I ain’t afraid of you though I ain’t big enough to lick you, but if it wasn’t for Dick, I’d have my gang lay for you and give you what’s coming to you.”
Jerry doubled his fist but didn’t raise his hand. “Why don’t you do it then?” he says through his teeth.
Briggen looked like he was ready to fight too, but then he turned and looked at Dick. “Dick,” he says, “I been your friend, and I tried to live up to a friend. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t ’a’ come over here to tell nothin’ at all.”
Dick says, “You better go now, Briggen.”
So the Pelham gang turned and walked out, but some of ’em took a hard look at Jerry.
None of us fellas said a word after they were gone. The meeting busted up at once, and Dick came over to me and says, “Hawkins, I think Briggen had something more to tell us.”
I says, “Well, Bill Darby and me better go over and find out.”
So we started just as soon as Jerry was out of sight. When we got down to the river, Briggen and Dave Burns were sitting in their boat waiting for us. “Hawkins,” he says, “jump in this boat. We want to show you something.”
Me and Bill jumped in, and Dave and Briggen started rowing acrost. We got out and followed the two Pelhams to the trees near their shacks. Briggen says, “You fellas know these footprints?”
We looked at the muddy ground, which was purty soft from all the rains we had this week. “Yes,” I says, “they are Stoner’s footprints.”
“And these,” says Briggen, “belong to another fella who we don’t know.”
I looked again. Sure enough, there was a new footprint we never saw before. It was made by a good new shoe. “Well,” I says, “if it wasn’t a Pelham, who was it with Stoner?”
Briggen closed one eye and looked at me. “Stoner,” he says, “has got a helper.”
I nodded my head. “Thanks, Briggen,” I says. “I think we will watch out a little closer from now on.”
And we rowed back in Dave Burns’s boat, and Dave took his boat back alone.
FRIDAY.—Johnny McLaren comes up to me today and says, “Hawkins, Doc Waters wants to see you.”
So I went up to Doc’s office. Doc was glad to see me. “Where you been keeping yourself, Hawkins?” he says.
I says, “Right in the same old place, in our houseboat.”
Doc says, “That’s just what I want to talk to you about.”
I says, “Go ahead.”
He says, “Last night I was coming home in my auto from a sick call I made, and it was purty late, almost midnight.”
“Yeah,” says I. “I was in bed about that time.”
“Well,” says Doc, “I was passing along the road near your houseboat when all of a sudden I hear a lot of bells start ringing.”
I jumped up and says, “Doc, are you telling me the truth?”
“Sure,” he says. “What I want to say is that if you boys got any alarm clocks down in that houseboat you better take ’em away ’cause old Judge Granbery will get awful mad at the noise they make. You know people might complain about that.”
I says, “Thanks, Doc, I’ll see that it won’t happen again.”
&n
bsp; I went down and told Johnny what Doc said. Johnny was all excited. “I bet it was Stoner’s Boy breaking in,” he says.
Just then little Frankie Kane come running in. “Hawkins,” he hollers, “come out here quick; here’s my kite up in the air.”
We all run out. Up in the sky was the big kite, sailing over our cliff, with a string coming from the treetops on the Pelham shore. Even as we watched it the string broke, and the kite wigwagged and fell on the cliff out on our shore. We all run as fast as we could. Little Frankie was the first one there. He had the kite when I come up. “Look, Hawkins,” he says, “there’s a note on it.”
I run up and took the big kite. A little envelope was tied to the bellyband. I took it off. “Listen,” I says, “I will read it to you fellas.”
I am sending your kite back with this message. I will break into your houseboat tomorrow night, you can all be there waiting for me if you want to because you won’t catch me anyhow, lay any kind of trap you want to, it won’t do any good, you better watch out for
STONER’S BOY
I says, “Look, it is the first time he signed his name to a note.”
“All right,” says Johnny McLaren, “we will watch for him tomorrow night.”
Dick Ferris says, “Us fellas will have to be very careful; this Stoner’s Boy is a mighty slick fella.”
Johnny McLaren says, “I don’t care how slick he is. When I hear those electric bells going off, I will be right there to grab him.”
But just then come the sound of Stoner’s horn from the river. We turned and looked over the cliff. Going up the river was the sailboat, and in it was Stoner’s Boy with the gray hankachif over his face, and there was another fella in the boat with him.
SATURDAY.—All day us fellas watched the river. No boat showed up. We was sure Stoner’s Boy hadn’t come. Jerry said to me before suppertime that he didn’t believe Stoner was going to try it.
I says, “Don’t bet on it; he ain’t got any streak of yellow blood in him.”
After supper we all come down to the houseboat and lit the lamps and played checkers, each fella taking his turn at the board with the next fella. But after we played an hour, Dick says, “We better put out the lights and wait.”
Which we did.
Oscar Koven was on watch outside with my gun. We waited in the dark about an hour, talking in whispers.
All of a sudden we heard a yell—it was Oscar outside. Then there came the sound of a horn; it was the horn of Stoner’s Boy—I knew it in a minit. I hollered, “He’s out there; he’s got Oscar! Come on, we got to help him out.”
Out we all run, down the path. It was dark as ink, good night, I didn’t know which way to go, but we heard Oscar’s gun go off, and we started for that place.
We reached the bank of the river, and Oscar was on his back kicking up his heels. “Where is he, Oscar?” I hollered.
But Oscar sat up and seemed dizzy; he couldn’t answer me. The next minit we heard the sound of bells—oh boy, it was the bells in our houseboat.
“Run back,” I hollered, “back to the houseboat. Come on!”
We raced back up the path, while the sound of the electric bells kept on louder and louder. When I come in sight of the houseboat, I nearly fell over; it was all lit up. The bells was ringing at every window and at both doors, and I jumped up the steps in one jump and rushed inside, but there wasn’t anybody there. We turned off the bells quick. A note was stuck on the table; it looked like it was written in a hurry. It only had a few words scribbled on it, and here is what it was:
I told you I would come back, and I did.
By the time we finished it, Clarence Wilks and Lew Hunter carried Oscar in. Oscar was himself again, and I says, “What happened?”
He says, “They got my gun. There was two fellas—one was Stoner’s Boy; he had his face covered. But the other fella was the one who jumped on me and blew the horn, and the gun went off when he threw me down.”
I says, “Where’s my gun?”
But I didn’t need any answer, because just at that minit came the sound of a horn from the river, and I heard the chug-chug-chug of a motorboat, which I been hearing for some weeks past. It was Stoner’s Boy’s launch going up the river.
I felt sore. I felt mean. I says, “Dern, if us fellas have any sense, we don’t show it.”
Nobody said a word. We stood there in the houseboat listening, till the sound of that motorboat died away up the river. Then Dick says, “There ain’t no use wasting all this good coal oil. We might as well turn out these lamps and go home.”
Which we did.
CHAPTER 12
Stoner’s Boy Rescues His Pal
MONDAY.—Us boys held our regular meeting in our houseboat right after school today.
We talked some more about how to catch Stoner’s Boy, but seems like nobody hopes to capture the gray ghost now any more. He has slipped through our fingers so many times that we don’t expect to ever get him now. Dick Ferris says, “By the way, what’s become of the Skinny Guy, we haven’t seen him for a couple days?”
No-body knew where Link was. So Dick says, “Hawkins, you go down and ask his pop where Link is.”
So after the meeting was over I walked down to the houseboat where Link and his pop lived. His pop was sitting on the houseboat fishing. I says “Hello, Mr. Lambert, where’s Link?”
He looked up at me kind of sharp. “Why?” he asks.
I says, “Us boys been wondering what’s become of him.”
But Mr. Lambert didn’t answer me; he turned his head again and kept watching his cork bobbing up and down in the water. I didn’t know if should ask him another question or not, but I saw him pull up his line all of a sudden with a nice big fish on it, so I didn’t say nothing. He got up and took the fish off the hook and then he threw it in a tin bucket. Then he started to bait his hook again . . .
When he had it finished, he looked at me and said, “Hawkins, I don’t give away his secret then—I don’t know why I should tell you where Link went, being as he asked me to keep it quiet.”
I says, “Oh well, don’t give away his secret then, Mister Lambert, us fellas can get along without knowing it.”
The Skinny Guy’s pop smiled to himself and threw his line in the water again. Then he says, “Well, Hawkins, Link’s gone down to Padooka.”
I says, “When did he go?”
He says, “Last week one night, when the Hudson Lee passed here, he went on that steamboat.”
I says, “He ain’t gonna stay there, is he?”
Link’s pop looked at me and made a face. “Dern if you ain’t the peskiest fella for asking questions,” he says. “No, of course not. Link is coming back with one of your old friends.”
“Who,” I asks. “Who is he bringing back, Mister Lambert?”
“Monk Bridges,” says the Skinny Guy’s pop.
I laughed. “Oh,” I says, “you mean the Red Head.”
He looked up at me and says, “Yes, the Red Head. He’s a fine boy. He was living with me for a long time; I was sorry to lose him. He was a good fisherman and a fine housekeeper.”
I says, “Why did he leave your houseboat?”
The Skinny Guy’s pop dropped his fishing pole and stood up. “Git back up to your pals,” he says pointing a skinny finger up toward our houseboat. “Git up and go, right now. You ask too many questions. I am a busy man.”
So I turned and went. I told the fellas what the Skinny Guy’s pop said. Jerry Moore scratched his head and said, “Gee wiz, what’s he bringing the Red Head back here for. That kid made lots of trouble for us.”
I says “Jerry, you know he made up for every mean trick he played on us. He was a purty square fella when he left here.”
Jerry didn’t say no more. The fellas all went down in the hollow to play a game of ball.
TUESDAY.—Today when I came down to the houseboat I saw a couple of Pelham flatboats landing on our shore. Briggen and Ham Gardner come up and says, “Hawkins, get your
gang together quick. You can capture the Stoner Boy’s pal; he is here.”
I says, “Come on, let’s go right away.”
We all got our canoes out and the Pelhams jumped in their flatboats, and we started down the river, following Briggen’s boat.
“ ‘GIT BACK UP TO YOUR PALS,’ HE SAYS”
I says to Briggen, “Where you taking us?”
He says, “His boat’s right under the willows in the cove of still-water.” But just as he said that I saw a boat push out from under the willows. There was a strange boy in it. He stood up in the boat and looked at us, and the next minit he jumped down in the bottom of the boat and took up his oars, and down the river he went.
I says, “He’s got a good start on us, and the current will carry him fast. No use following him now.”
Briggen says, “Sure, come on, he’s got to stop somewhere.”
I says, “Not me. He ain’t gonna stop while we are following him. He can go as far as he wants, and us fellas got to be home for supper, so we would have to turn back, anyhow, without catching him.”
We turned and rowed back. When we was getting out, I says to Dick Ferris, “We better watch on the bank here and see if the strange boy comes past in his boat.”
Dick went over and talked to Briggen. Then he come back to me and says, “The Pelhams are going to watch on this side.”
WEDNESDAY.—The Pelhams came over today and reported that the boat did not come back last night. I says, “Then it must not be Stoner’s pal. It must be somebody who lives down the river, and not up around Watertown.”
Bill Darby asked me to go down to the hollow to try out his new catcher’s mitt. I said I would pass with him for a while, so we walked down. Just as we passed the old shack in the hollow, Bill Darby whistled low, and says, “Gee, look there.”
It was the Skinny Guy, sitting on an old nail keg in front of the shack. He had his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.
I says, “Come on over, Bill.”
We walked over. The Skinny Guy didn’t act like he heard us. I says, “Hello, Link, what’s a’ matter?”
He looked up at me slow. “Hello, Hawkins,” he says, kinda weak voiced.
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