I was still looking at this sight, when I heard a soft footstep behind me. I turned quick. Harold’s twin brother, Oliver, stood with his arms folded, looking at me, smiling.
“How odd,” he said, “it’s funny to see you lying there, Hawkins.”
“Oh,” I said quickly, “I didn’t think anybody knew where I was.”
“I didn’t,” said Oliver, “but I was coming up to the cave, and happened to pass. I saw your feet sticking out of the bushes.”
I laughed. “They are big feet,” I said. “I always knew I was going to have big feet, Ollie.”
He seemed not to hear me. “Where’s my brother Hal?” he asked suddenly.
I didn’t know whether to tell him or not. So I said, “Were you thinking you’d find him up here?”
Oliver nodded. “Up there,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the cave. “And what’s more, I’m going up to find out,” he added.
I began to think fast. I didn’t know what to tell Oliver.
“Will you care to come with me?” he asked.
I left my field glasses hidden under the bushes on the ledge and got up. “Sure,” I said, “I’d do anything for you or your brother.”
Together we walked up the path to the entrance of Stoner’s old hiding place. It was terrible still and lonesome. Oliver pulled out his flashlight and started in the cave.
“You don’t expect to find him here, do you?” I asked.
“Hush,” Oliver whispered, “this is no place to talk. I wouldn’t be supprised to find Hal anywhere.”
It was dark as night in the cave, except for the path straight ahead lit up by Ollie’s flashlight. He kept his finger pressed on the button, so we had a steady light. But when we came to the deep pit, across which Stoner used to swing on a rope, we heard a slight noise, as a rattle of sliding stones, and Ollie turned off the light quick.
For a few minutes we stood still listening. Then, just as Oliver turned on his light again, we saw a figger swinging on the rope, across to our side. I fell on my knees as something heavy knocked up against my shoulder, and Oliver gave a little cry of fright.
“Good Lord,” I cried, “what was that, Ollie?”
“Run,” he cried, “run, Hawkins.”
My hand touched something cold as I started to get up. It was Ollie’s flashlight. I turned it on and ran back to the entrance, Oliver at my heels. But as we ran we could hear footsteps in front of us.
“Hurry,” I called. We shot out into the daylight again. There wasn’t a soul around.
“Did you hear somebody running in front of us?” I asked.
“No,” said Oliver, “I was too scared, I think.”
I didn’t say any more about it. “Go down to the houseboat, Ollie,” I said. “Tell the boys I’ll be there later, but don’t say a word about this.”
He went down alone, and I hurried to my peeping place on the ledge. I picked up my glasses and turned them on the river. Not a boat nor a soul in sight. Only a barrel floating down with the current.
FRIDAY.—There was no message from Harold or Robby Hood today. I kept my glasses turned hard on the island but didn’t get a sight of any of the fellas, nor even of Skinny Link’s pop. I wondered if they had left the island.
SATURDAY.—But this morning when I reached my peeping place and put the glasses to my eyes, I saw two fellas standing on the island near the edge, and I saw the Skinny Guy up in a tree. Then I saw the other two fellas go off into the woods on the island, and the Skinny Guy sat down on the limb of the island tree to wait, it seemed.
I went down to the houseboat to be at the meeting of the fellas. But just as soon as the meeting was over, I started for my peeping place.
Oliver came running after me. “Wait, Hawkins,” he said.
I looked around, and I knew it was going to be a hard job to shake Ollie now. So I said, “All right, come along.”
He didn’t say anything to me, and didn’t bother me any. I fell flat on my stomach and looked through my glasses. I saw Harold standing on the edge of the island, all alone. He held a stick or something.
“I wish I could find out where Hal is,” sighed Oliver.
“Here,” I said, “take a look for yourself.”
Oliver acted like he didn’t want to get his clothes dirty, but he did kneel down and put the glasses to his eyes. Next minit he started laughing.
“A monkey on the stick,” he said. “Where did you get these, Hawkins?”
I FELL FLAT ON MY STOMACH AND LOOKED THROUGH THE GLASSES.
I didn’t understand what he was talking about. “Give me them glasses,” I said. “What kind of a monkey—”
But as I looked, I saw a different sight. Harold was no longer standing on the island. I saw something strange. At first I thought it was a large turtle swimming on the surface upstream.
“A turtle,” I said out loud.
“That’s funny,” laughed Ollie. “I guess those are magic glasses; everybody sees something different. I didn’t see any turtle; I saw a monkey on a stick.”
“A MONKEY ON THE STICK.”
I looked again. I thought maybe I was mistaken about that turtle. But no, there it was again, coming upstream. I got excited, and just as I was to take my glasses from my eyes, I turned it a little higher, and caught sight of a figger in a tree—it was the Skinny Guy—he was hanging on to a limb of a tree with one arm, and one foot on a lower limb, while his other arm and leg was held out till he looked like a monkey on a stick sure enough.
“Oh,” I hollered, “I know what you mean. Come on.”
I slung the strap of the field glasses over my shoulder and scampered down the path. At the turn I said, “Ollie, go and tell all the fellas to meet me on the riverbank below the cliff right away.”
He shot off toward the houseboat. I turned and ran under the cliff on the river. I put my glasses to my eyes again. It was not a big turtle coming upstream. No. It was a big barrel, like a wine cask, and out of a hole on each side stuck a hand that paddled for dear life. I saw it coming closer and closer, fast. I wished the fellas would hurry. But they were slow. By the time I heard their footsteps coming I saw the barrel plainly without my glasses.
“Stand here, close to the cliff,” I ordered, when Ollie brought Dick and the boys. “We will wait here until that barrel lands.”
“What barrel?” asked Dick, kinda miffed. I looked again.
There wasn’t anything like a barrel on the water. “Good Lord,” I said, “we mustn’t let it get away from us. Come on, all of you.”
They followed me as I ran down the bank. I had a notion in my head, and when I came to the willows that covered the entrance of Cave River, I knew I was right.
“There WAS a barrel,” I said, “and in it was either Stoner or Stoner’s pal, and it’s gone into Cave River; look the willows are waving yet where it passed under.”
Nobody said a word. Ollie had a worried look. “Don’t go in after it,” he said in a low voice, and Dick laughed at him.
“Have no fear, Ollie,” said Dick. “If Stoner or Stoner’s pal is hiding in Cave River, none of us are going to try to fetch him out.”
But I had to laugh to myself as we walked back to the houseboat. I thought of Skinny Link Lambert dancing a jig on one foot on the limb of a tree.
“A monkey on a stick,” I said to Ollie.
He looked at me and laughed. “Let’s go down there,” he said. “I would like to see Link—”; then he paused.
“You will find Harold wherever Link is,” I said softly.
“Ah,” he says, “I’m going to get out the canoes, and we will all go down to the island to bring him back, and I want you fellas to say ‘Yes!’”
Which we did.
CHAPTER 27
The Barrel Mystery Solved
MONDAY.—Us boys held our meeting early today, and most of the fellas went down to the hollow, where Bill Darby started a ball game. Harold and the Skinny Guy stayed with me up at the houseboat, and we sat on the steps and t
alked.
“Well,” said Harold, “what now?”
“Up to you, Hal,” I answered. “I’m willing to listen.”
Harold had an awful frown on his face. In fact, he never looks very happy anymore; ever since he met Stoner’s Boy he has been sorta gloomy. “I wonder what will happen next,” he said, as if he were speaking to himself. “Instead of finding how Stoner disappears on the island when we chased him, we got another thing to figger out—who was the fella swimming in that barrel last week?”
The Skinny Guy spoke next. “It wasn’t Stoner,” he said.
Harold looked hard at Link. “Who was it then?”
Link shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I only saw him when I climbed up the tree. He was following you and Robby Hood; then when you turned around he dodged into the bushes; then the next thing I know was the barrel coming up the river, and I thought I was dippy till I saw two hands sticking out of holes near the top, and paddling the barrel upstream.”
Harold grunted. “It’s a funny business,” he said. “None of us fellas could paddle a barrel; we would sink with it before we got fifty yards. How does that fella keep the water from coming into the holes where his hands stick out?”
I smiled at Harold. “Listen,” I said, “I am sure that the fella in the barrel was a pal that Stoner has set to watch us boys.”
Just then Oliver, Harold’s twin brother, came to the houseboat steps. “Hal,” he says, “Robby Hood is coming down the river in his canoe. I guess he wants to take you up to the island again.”
“Yes,” said Harold, “we got to go back there.”
Ollie frowned. “Buddy,” he says, “don’t let that boy get you in more trouble.”
Harold smiled and slapped Ollie on the back. “Don’t worry about me, Snooks,” he says. “I’ve never been in any trouble I couldn’t get out of.”
At this moment a red-and-yellow striped canoe landed on our bank, and Robby Hood jumped out and came up. “Ready, Hal?” he asked.
Harold nodded his head. “Come on, Link,” he says. We watched the three of them go down the river, the Skinny Guy leading the way in his long boat, and Hal and Robby following in the red-and-yellow striped canoe. I waved my hand at them as Hal and Robby looked around.
And when they turned the bend I says, “Come on Ollie; let’s join the ball game in the hollow.”
Oliver came with me, but he looked worried.
TUESDAY.—This morning I was sitting all alone in the houseboat, writing in my seckatary book, when in came Briggen. “Hello Hawkins,” he says, “are you busy?”
“Sure,” I answered. “I’m always busy, Briggen, but what’s the matter now?”
He grinned. “Stoner,” he said.
“Aw shucks,” I says, “can’t us fellas have a few quiet days without Pelhams stirring up some new trouble with that gray ghost?”
Briggen stopped smiling. “We didn’t stir up any trouble,” he says, and he crossed his heart.
“Go on,” I says, “what’s on your mind; tell it quick.”
Briggen came closer to the table. “Listen,” he says, “Stoner is gone, but somebody else has taken his place.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Because we seen him,” says Briggen. “He was over in our camp last night, and he turned things upside down, but he got away.”
“What does he look like?” I asked.
“Oh,” says Briggen, “he is a big fella, twice as big as you, and he wears long pants an’ a red shirt without any sleeves, an’ his hair looks like he never had it cut in his life.”
I put down my pen and stood up. “That’s interesting, Briggen,” I says. “You think he is one of Stoner’s pals?”
“Sure,” says Briggen. “I thought first he might be some fella who just came along, but we followed him in the dark, and the way he knew how to get acrost the river to the cliff and get in Stoner’s old hiding place told me that he must of been there lots of times before with Stoner.”
I nodded my head. “All right,” I said, “go back to your side of the river, and don’t stir up any trouble with this long-legged guy, and we will keep our eye open for him.”
Briggen made a face. “Say,” he hollered, “we won’t start anything, but if this tall fella thinks he can bust up our camp when he feels like it, you can just look out for trouble; that’s all.”
After Briggen was gone, I sat down and began to think. I decided not to tell the other fellas anything about it till I had a look at the long-legged stranger myself.
WEDNESDAY.—This morning, right after the meeting, when the other fellas went to take a swim in Banklick Creek, I took my fishing pole and hunted a shady little place below the cliff, where I could fish quietly and watch at the same time. “Now,” I says to myself, “I can watch this place, and if our long-legged friend comes out or goes in, I will get a look at him.”
But nothing happened on the cliff, while a whole lot happened on my fishing hook. I caught ten of the finest catfish I ever saw. Then I wondered if the long-legged cliff dweller had slipped out while I was busy taking in my fish. But it couldn’t be helped. It was getting along toward evening time, and I had to go home.
Just as I was twisting my line around my fishing pole, the red-and-yellow striped canoe came up with Harold and Robby Hood in it.
“Had any luck, Hawkins?” hollered Harold.
“If you mean fish, yes,” I answered.
Harold looked at me as the canoe came over to get me. “You mean you came down here for some other reason?” he asked.
I jumped in the canoe and said, “I came for two things, fish and a long-legged sucker.”
Hal smiled at Robby Hood. “Hawkins has found out about Long Tom,” he said.
Robby Hood nodded. “I hope he finds out a whole lot,” said Robby.
But they wouldn’t tell me any more, no matter how many questions I asked. Robby took us to our bank, and Harold and me got out. “I’ll be down early in the morning,” says Robby.
“All right,” says Hal, “I’ll be waiting here.”
As we walked up the bank I tried to get some more information out of Harold.
“Just watch for our signals, Hawkins,” he says. “We will catch this Long Tom friend of Stoner’s before long.”
THURSDAY.—Robby Hood’s purty canoe was waiting on the bank when our meeting was over this morning. Harold went down to meet him, and the other fellas watched as the canoe went down the river.
Then they wanted me to umpire a game they were going to play with a bunch of Pelhams, but I said I wouldn’t have anything to do with a Pelham gang. So they went away alone, which was what I wanted, for I got me another can of fishing worms and went back down to my shady place under the cliff.
I threw in my line a few times, but some dern little crawfish always got the bait off before I could get a bite. I got kinda tired of it, and I sat there with my chin on my hand, looking at the cliff, and thinking.
I sat there thinking so long that when I went to reach for another worm to bait my hook again, I found the birds had swiped ’em all. Just then I heard the sound of a motorboat—a sound I knew well—and I picked up my bait can and fishing rod and jumped off the log and ran behind a low tree that stood near on the bank.
Hidden behind this tree, I watched the motorboat come down the river—a gray launch it was, with four dirty-looking city fellas in it, but not one of them was Stoner, although it was Stoner’s launch all right. As they passed the cliff one of the fellas stood up and blew Stoner’s old brass horn. The motorboat kept right on down the river. I says to myself, “What in the dickens does this mean?”
But I was just about to return to my seat on the log when I heard a splashing sound coming from under the willows—and out of Cave River came the barrel, the same barrel we saw paddling up the river last week. But it turned and went down this time, and I could see that it was not only paddled with hands that stuck out of holes in the sides, but with legs too, long leg
s that stuck out of the barrel bottom. I could see them plain when the barrel got out into the clear water. I watched the barrel follow the foam of the motorboat’s trail till both turned the lower bend.
I had half a mind to follow, but I changed my notion and kept on fishing. I had good luck after that. I caught one of those crawfish that had been swiping the bait off my hook, and I made him pay for it with his life. And then I used him for bait, and by golly I caught six good-sized fish before I quit. You got to know how to do those things.
FRIDAY.—As I passed the shack in the hollow today, I saw the door was open, and sitting inside at the old table was Robby Hood, while Harold stood in back of him looking over his shoulder at a big sheet of paper spread out on the table.
“I SAT THERE THINKING.”
Harold looked up as my shadow passed the doorway, and he called me in. “Look here, Hawkins,” says Harold, “we are about to guess how Stoner disappears on the island.”
I looked at the sheet of paper; it was a map. “This is a map of the island,” explained Robby, “and here is the place where Stoner always disappeared.”
He put his finger on a little spot that had a ring of pencil marks around it. “Those marks are trees,” explained Harold, “and inside that ring of trees is the clearing.”
“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to a mark that looked like a sheaf of wheat.
“That,” says Robby Hood, “is an old tree that was struck by lightning, standing near the edge of the clearing, and all these things are bushes and trees around the clearing.”
“Well,” I says, “the map is all right, but it don’t tell anything about how Stoner disappears.”
Robby and Hal looked at each other and smiled.
“You’ll be able to see it all clear,” says Robby as he started to roll up the map, “when we get it finished. It’s a good job so far, ain’t it, Hawkins?”
“If you mean the map,” I says, “sure it is.”
Stoner's Boy Page 25