Stoner's Boy

by Robert F. Schulkers

  Jerry shook his head. “Don’t try to tell me what to do, Dick,” he says. “It didn’t suit me to see this little kid locked up. I got him out, and I’m going to stick to him till he gets away and out of this fuss. Come on, Sanders.”

  Jerry and the little ragged kid walked out of the houseboat. Dick looked at me, but I held up my hands. “I’ve got nothing to do with it,” I says.

  “Neither have I,” says Dick. “I wash my hands clean of this whole thing.”

  SATURDAY.—We held our meeting this morning, and all the fellas paid up their dues. Jerry Moore did not come.

  I went with Harold and Robby Hood to the riverbank, where the Skinny Guy was waiting for us in a longboat. “We want you to get acquainted with your watching place in the rotten tree,” says Harold.

  I didn’t answer. I begun to hate that old tree more and more. Just as we turned the bend, the Skinny Guy gave a little cry and pointed down the river ahead of us.

  “What’s that?” he asked. I swung my field glasses around and trained them on the river.

  “By golly,” I says. “It’s Long Tom’s barrel.”

  Robby Hood got excited right away. “Doggone,” he says, “he got ahead of us; it’ll be too late to get to the old tree before he does.”

  Nobody said another word, but I was glad that Long Tom was ahead of us. We all paddled harder.

  “Maybe we can catch up with him before he lands,” says Harold. “But it was a hard job.”

  Somehow or other Long Tom could make that barrel travel faster than any boat. It was like swimming in midstream and beating the current.

  “Why does he swim in that barrel?” I asked.

  The Skinny Guy laughed. “Why, do you think he could hide his face if he didn’t do that?” he asked.

  “Another reason,” says Robby, “is that the big barrel keeps him afloat, and another reason is that if anybody tried to throw at him in the water, they couldn’t hit him or hurt him.”

  “Look,” says Link, “he’s headed for the north point of the island.”

  The barrel had by this time reached the reeds that lined the bank, and we steered our longboat close to shore, so that we could not be seen so easily. We stopped paddling and drifted, our eyes turned on the point where the barrel was landing.

  “Good Lord,” said Harold, “look at that; it’s enough to scare a fella in broad daylight.”

  The barrel had reached the shallow water; then it jumped up on two long legs and ran like an ugly big toad upon the bank. By his feet we could see that he was facing our way, and then I noticed two peepholes near the top of the barrel.

  “He sees us,” whispered Robby Hood. The next minit we saw the long legs carry the barrel into the bushes that lined the north point.

  “Paddle,” said Robby.

  We hurried our longboat to the point.

  “Careful,” whispered Harold, “he may be laying for us.”

  We leaped out lightly, and Harold sprang first into the bushes. “Ah,” I heard him say.

  Robby and me were by his side in a minit. He was standing beside an empty barrel, about the size of a wine cask. Two holes on the sides and two on the bottom were covered with rubber gathered together tightly.

  “That’s how he kept the water out,” says Harold. “Look, see how this rubber covering fits tight around your arm.”

  He shoved an arm through the gathered rubber.

  “But how does he get in?” I asked.

  Robby lifted off the lid of the barrel. Inside it had a round pillow covered with leather. “You see,” says Robby, “when he gets in, he shoves his feet and legs through those rubber holes, then fastens the top down with these clamps inside, and the pillow rests on his head, so the top of the barrel don’t bump him. Then he shoves his arms through these side holes and gets in the water. It’s a purty smart trick.”

  “Well,” I says, “I wouldn’t care to ride in it. And what’s more, you fellers ain’t going to get me to try out that hiding place when I know Long Tom is here waiting for me to walk into his trap.”

  Harold and Robby smiled at each other.

  “THE NEXT MINIT WE SAW THE LONG LEGS CARRY THE BARREL INTO THE BUSHES.”

  “No,” says Robby, “it will be best for us to leave the Skinny Guy here to search around by himself. Link, you know Long Tom is here; see if you can find out anything more about him.”

  Link nodded his head. “I’ll track him,” he says.

  “All right,” says Robby. “Well, Hawkins, if you don’t want to try out your hiding place in the rotten tree, maybe there is something else you’d like to do.”

  “There is,” I answered. “I think us fellas ought to get Harold’s good fishing tackle and try out that place where the mudcats are biting so good.”

  Which we did.

  CHAPTER 29

  Tree Mystery Revealed

  MONDAY.—Us boys met in the houseboat early today to hold the last meeting of this vacation, as school opens tomorrow. The twins, Oliver and Harold, left in the afternoon for their fancy school in Massachusetts.

  All of us boys except Jerry Moore went to the station with the twins. Harold noticed that Jerry was absent, and he felt rather hurt. “I’m sorry Jerry is such a hothead,” he says. “I would like to shake hands with him before I go.”

  But there was no use talking about it, and the train came and took our twins away from us again. Golly, how blue it makes us boys feel when any fella has to leave. We sat down on the riverbank after they were gone, and nobody had much to say.

  TUESDAY.—School today. I used to feel awful gloomy on opening day of school, but somehow I don’t mind it much anymore. It don’t do any good, anyhow; a fella has to go to school whether he wants to or not, so there ain’t no use to kick about it.

  As soon as school was out we had our meeting in the houseboat, and after that I took my fishing tackle and went down to my quiet place to catch some mudcats.

  After I had been fishing for a little while I looked around the bank and saw a fella sitting up on the rocks near the cliff. I put down my fishing pole and walked up to him.

  It was Sanders, whom Jerry Moore set free last week when he was locked up in a Pelham shack.

  “Hello!” I says. “What you doing here?”

  “Nothing,” he says, “I just wanted to get a little fresh air.”

  I says, “Don’t you belong to Stoner’s gang?”

  He looked up suddenly, like he was scared, and stared into my eyes. “I used to,” he answered, “but I don’t belong to any gang now.”

  “Well, then,” I says, “what are you hanging around here for?”

  He smiled at me. “Because,” he answered, “I promised I wouldn’t run away, and I’m going to keep my promise.”

  I looked at him awhile; then I said, “Who asked you to promise that?”

  He says, “The fella who got me out of that dirty place across the river.”

  “Ah,” I says, “Jerry Moore.”

  “Yes,” said Sanders, nodding his head quickly, “that’s him, Jerry Moore. He is a fine fellow. He has a fine mother; she can bake fine pies. I had fine meals up there.”

  I had to laugh at the little beggar; everything he talked about seemed to be fine. “Fine,” I says, “Jerry is a good scout. I am glad he treats you so nice. How long you going to stay?”

  “Till Jerry Moore tells me to go,” says Sanders.

  I didn’t say any more, but I sat down near the raggedy kid and watched a steamboat coming up the bend. Purty soon Sanders said, “I’ve got to pay him back for the nice way he treats me.”

  I nodded my head. “Sure,” I says, “how do you expect to do it?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I know you,” he said. “Jerry told me you are Seckatary Hawkins, and I like you, too.”

  “Thanks,” I says, “but I won’t give anything away. You can trust me with anything; tell me how you going to pay Jerry back for his kindness?”

  But Sanders shook his head. “Excuse me
,” he says, getting up and brushing the dust from his pants, “I got to answer no questions but what Jerry Moore asks me; you know, I owe him a lot.”

  I nodded my head, but I didn’t say anything, and I just watched little raggedy Sanders mosey along the bank till he came to the place where Jerry’s pop built a boat landing. He met a fella there; it was Jerry, and they both walked away together.

  “Dern smart little kid,” I says to myself, “strange how the Pelhams could capture a kid as smart as him.”

  WEDNESDAY.—“Hawkins,” says Dick Ferris to me after our meeting today, “Robby Hood is waiting for you in the shack down in the hollow; he wants to see you sure.”

  I nodded my head and said, “All right,” but dern if I didn’t feel like going somewhere else. But anyway I went down to the shack. Robby was already there, sitting by the table, reading his big map. He looked up and nodded to me as I came in the door.

  “Sit down, Hawkins,” he says.

  I took the chair on the opposite side of the table.

  “You’ve got to take Harold’s place, Hawkins,” he says. “We would of caught Stoner this week, and Long Tom, too, if Harold didn’t have to go away.”

  “Oh, sure,” I says. “I was expecting you to catch the whole gang some day.”

  Robby Hood smiled. “I’m good-natured,” he says. “I can take a joke, and I think you fellas got a right to make a little fun of me for being so long about it. But, honest, Hawkins, you and I can finish the job.”

  I looked at Robby straight in the eye. “I guess you mean that it’s up to me to finish it,” I says.

  “How come?” asked Robby.

  “Oh, you know what I mean,” I says. “You got my job picked out for me; you and Harold had it all fixed. All I got to do is to wait in that hollow tree for Stoner or Long Tom to come and pull me out.”

  Robby laughed. “Nothing of the kind,” he says, “that plan has been changed a little bit. Do you know what we must do?”

  I says, “No.”

  “Well,” he says, “you are the best friend of Jerry Moore’s.”

  “How do I know that?” I asked.

  “Don’t make any difference what you know,” says Robby. “We all know you are, and that’s enough.”

  “Go on,” I says, “tell me the rest while I feel like listening.”

  “Well,” says Robby, “Jerry Moore can give us the key to the place on the island where Stoner and his pals disappear.”

  “Ah,” I says, “you can tell the most interesting stories, Robby; how in the world—”

  But I stopped all of a sudden, and Robby watched my face and smiled. “You catch on?” he asked.

  I says, “You don’t mean—”

  Robby laughed. “Sure,” he says. “Sanders, the raggedy lad; get Jerry to make him tell where Stoner hides.”

  I sat still for five minutes, looking Robby straight in the face and thinking. “I wonder,” I says at last. “I wonder if he would tell.”

  Robby hit the table with his fist. “Make him tell,” he hollers. “We got him where he has to talk.”

  But I got up and started to walk out.

  “Rob,” I says, “this ain’t just the right kind of work for a square fella; it’s too much like making a boy snitch on his old pals.”

  Robby was rolling up his big map like he didn’t hear me talking. When he had it rolled he turned and said, “I leave it to you, Hawkins; whatever you do will be all right. If you think you can’t do it—”

  But I held up my hand and hushed him. “I will do it,” I says. “I’ve got to forget everything but our own fellas now, Robby; what’s best for them is the right thing to do.”

  “That’s it,” said Robby. “Think how happy they will all be if we get rid of Stoner.”

  I nodded my head as I shook hands with him. Then I went down and had a talk with Jerry.

  THURSDAY.—Today after school we held our meeting in the houseboat, and Jerry Moore was there. After we called the roll and paid our dues, Jerry got up and says, “I’ve got something to say.”

  “Say it,” says Dick.

  Jerry went to the door. “Come in, Sanders,” he called out.

  In comes the little raggedy Sanders.

  “Now,” says Jerry, “here’s a little fella I am proud of. I wish all the fellas in this houseboat had as much true blood in him as Sanders has. He is going to take us to the disappearing place of Stoner, down on the island. He is doing this because he is thankful for me getting him out of that dirty Pelham shack. Hawkins, whenever you want him, he is ready to take you there.”

  “Tomorrow,” I says, “we will want to go right after school tomorrow afternoon.”

  I walked over to where the raggedy kid stood. “I want to shake hands with you, Sanders,” I says. “It ain’t every fella who would turn traitor to his gang.”

  Sanders shook my hand. “You don’t know me right,” he says. “I ain’t a traitor, but I want to get away from Stoner’s gang; they are bad boys, and I know they won’t let me get away if they are still running around here. Jerry has promised that you will catch them and turn them over to the sheriff, so they can’t hurt me.”

  I looked at Jerry and said, “I hope Jerry is right.”

  Dick came down and shook hands with Sanders. “There’s a place open in the houseboat club, if you want to join it,” says Dick.

  Sanders’s face lit up with a smile. “Oh,” he says, “do you think I could stay down here all the time—”

  But then his face grew sad again. “No,” he says in a low voice, “I ain’t got no place to stay. I got to go back to my old wharfboat at Watertown.”

  Jerry Moore came over to me. “Hawkins,” he whispered, “I’m going to keep this kid at my house; Pop said I could. He’s a fine kid, and it would be a shame to send him back to working on a wharfboat in Watertown.”

  I nodded my head. “Do that, Jerry, if you can,” I says. “Us fellas will try to take care of him.”

  Jerry took Sanders by the hand. “Come on, Rags,” he says. “We will go home.”

  Then as they started out the door, Jerry turned. “Tomorrow then,” he says, “after school, we will be waiting at the river.”

  FRIDAY.—Right after school we all met at the river, and the Skinny Guy had six longboats waiting for us. We all got in, Jerry Moore and Rags Sanders leading in the first boat.

  We reached the island without anything happening. I began to think that none of Stoner’s pals was out today. We landed on the island, and Sanders led the way. He took us to the clearing; then he stopped and looked up at Jerry. “I am afraid,” he says.

  Jerry patted his curly hair. “Don’t worry, sonny,” he says. “I’ll see that you don’t get hurt, if it kills me.”

  Sanders went ahead then, as if he felt much bolder. Straight to the rotten old tree he went, the old tree that lightning had struck down and blighted. Here Sanders stopped till we all came up.

  “Go ahead, Sanders,” said Jerry Moore. “We will be right behind you.”

  Sanders got in the hollow tree. We saw him stoop and pull up a big round board, like the top of a barrel, with a ring in the center.

  The next minit he had let himself down in a hole through the root of the tree. Jerry started in after him, but Sanders held up his hand.

  “Wait,” he whispered, “let me go first; there might be some of Stoner’s pals down here.”

  His curly head disappeared into the hole. Us boys waited there five minutes without saying a word.

  After a while Bill Darby says, “Maybe he has given us the slip.”

  Jerry scowled at Bill and was going to say something nasty to him, but just then we heard Sanders call, “Come on Jerry; bring Hawkins along. Everything is all right.”

  Jerry started to get in the hole, and I was just about to follow, when all of a sudden I heard Sanders scream. We stopped just a second. Then Sanders screamed again, but it sounded farther away, and as if somebody was choking him.

  “Good Lord,” I whis
pered, “hurry up, Jerry; they got him sure.”

  Jerry was down in the dark hole in a minit, and I was right upon his heels. I listened for a sound, but heard nothing. I whipped my flashlight out of my pocket and flashed it around. It was just a narrow tunnel, big enough for one fella to pass through, standing up, and I could see that it was dug out only a short time. Jerry hesitated. “Go ahead,” I told him. “You must help Sanders out of this.”

  I pushed Jerry in front and handed him my flashlight. We moved slowly, and I heard Bill Darby and Dick Ferris in back of us. Purty soon we came to a halt.

  “Can’t get any farther, Hawkins,” called out Jerry.

  I looked over his shoulder. We had run up to the end of the tunnel. There was nothing more to do. Something had happened. We didn’t know what. Was Sanders playing a joke on us, and did he give us the slip? Or did he run into the hands of Stoner’s Boy or his pals, and was he really in trouble? Nobody could answer these questions.

  We turned and filed back out of the tunnel, and climbed out of the bottom of the rotten-tree stump. Jerry put the round board cover back over the opening, and then we walked sadly back to our boats.

  We talked it over there and decided to make another search over the island.

  “He’s got out somewhere,” says Bill Darby, “and we ought to be able to find him before he gets time to leave the island.”

  But after we searched high and low, we gave up the hunt and paddled back up the river, and after we got home, the Skinny Guy took the longboats back to his pop’s houseboat.

  SATURDAY.—Jerry Moore was sad today. After our meeting, during which we all talked about Sanders, Jerry came over to me and says, “Hawkins, I feel like something happened to Sanders; he wasn’t a fella who would play a trick on us.”

  “I believe you, Jerry,” I said, “but I can’t give you any advice now; it’s got me guessing.”

  But I took him along to the shack in the hollow. Robby Hood was there, working on his map.

  “Ah,” he says, “just the fellas I want; come on in.”

  He turned a chair for each of us, and we sat down.

  “Since we were in the tunnel yesterday,” he says, “I discovered something.”