“It was a dirty trick,” said Robby, after I told him how the gray ghost had helped Long Tom out. “We saw Long Tom lighting the fire before we caught up to him; then he ran to the farther opening and disappeared. When we couldn’t get out that way we came back here, but the burning leaves and twigs made too much smoke.”
“Well,” I says, “you fellas don’t look very well. I think we better go up and see Doc Waters before you all go home.”
Which we did.
CHAPTER 31
Auto Thief Captured
MONDAY.—Us boys met right after school today down in the houseboat. I was hoping Robby Hood would show up, but I was disappointed. I still had in my pocket the papers that little Rags Sanders gave me for Robby, telling the secrets of Stoner and his gang.
When I saw Robby last Saturday, when Stoner and Long Tom smoked us out of the island tunnel, there was so much excitement I forgot to give him the papers. I thought first I better throw the papers away, or tear them up, and then we wouldn’t get into any trouble over them. But I remembered my promise to Rags Sanders. When I promise, I always try to make good. So I said I would wait until I saw Robby Hood, and turn over the papers to him.
I went down the hollow to watch the boys play ball for a while. When I walked up to the houseboat again, I heard the organ playing. “Lew Hunter is there,” I says to myself, and walked on up.
Lew looked at me when I came up. “Oh,” he says, “you scared me Hawkins, coming in so quiet like that.”
I laughed. “Lew,” I says, “what’s getting into you? You never used to be so nervous.”
Lew shook his head. “No,” he says, “I think I was as brave as anybody, till I came here, and heard about Stoner’s Boy.”
“Sure,” I says, “that mean boy is enough to make a fella nervous.”
Lew didn’t answer me. He seemed to be listening for a minit. Then he got up and tiptoed over to the door and peeped out. He looked this way and that, and then he came softly back and sat down on the organ bench. I watched him till he sat down.
“What on earth!” I says.
Lew smiled. “I ain’t taking any chances. I heard something outside just before you came in.”
I laughed. “It was Oscar Koven’s dog,” I says. “I saw him going down the riverbank as I came up.”
Lew picked up something off the floor and handed it to me. “Did Oscar’s dog throw this in the door?” he asked.
I whistled. “Gee,” I says, “maybe Stoner is here again.”
I looked at the thing Lew handed me. It was a ball of soft mud, and it felt like a piece of putty.
“Threw it in the door,” says Lew. “It struck the organ, just missed my face about two inches.”
Blam! Lew ain’t no more than said it, when in through the nearest window comes another ball of mud. It whizzed past my ear and stuck on a shelf on the wall. I made a motion for Lew to follow me.
We rushed outside, each of us taking a different way around the houseboat. We met at the other end, but I didn’t see anybody.
“Did you see him?” I asked Lew.
Lew shook his head. “Let’s go,” I says. “This is no place for us.”
TUESDAY.—We told Dick today about the mudballs that were thrown at us yesterday. Dick says, “We must not forget that the Pelhams are likely to do such things; don’t blame everything on Stoner.”
“No,” says Jerry Moore, “I don’t think Stoner is here, because Robby Hood would not stay away. Robby is on the trail of Stoner.”
WEDNESDAY.—The Skinny Guy was sitting on the houseboat steps when I came down today. “Hi, Hawkins,” he says, and I says, “Hello, Link.”
“I’ve been following Long Tom,” says Link, “but he give me the slip.”
I says, “What’s he been doing?”
Link laughed. “Making mudballs on the riverbank,” says Link. “He carries a little basket full of mudballs.”
“Yes,” I says, “two of those mudballs came into the houseboat. I nearly got one in my face, and Lew Hunter missed one that was aimed at his head.”
Link stopped smiling. “I wish Robby Hood would come down,” he says.
“Listen, Link,” I says, “you know where Robby lives?”
“Sure,” says Link, “up in Watertown.”
“Let’s go up,” I says. “I want to hand over some papers to him.”
“All right,” says Link, “my longboat is down on the river; we will just have time to go up there and back before it gets dark.”
So I left a note for Dick and told him I wouldn’t be at the meeting, and then Link and me went down to his boat, and we started up the river.
We both paddled hard, and we made good time. It was an hour before we sighted the wharfboats and steamers that lay on the river at Watertown. We nosed our way through and got a little snug place against a wharfboat. I jumped out, and Link tied the boat.
Just as I turned around somebody touched me on the arm. I looked up. It was Ham Gardner.
“Hawkins, what you doing here?” he asked.
“Not so loud,” I says. “What are you doing down here yourself, Ham?”
Ham grinned. “Briggen and me and Dave Burns came down,” he says. “We saw Stoner go up the river in his gray launch, and we followed. Briggen has trailed along after Stoner, and I stayed here to watch our boat.”
I says, “Link, you come along with me, and Ham can watch our boat, too.”
Ham said he would, so we started off. Link led me through a whole lot of trucks loaded up on the wharf and then out upon the steep riverbank, which we climbed.
We reached a big wide dirty street, and Link trotted along close to the houses, until we came to a little alleyway. As we turned into the alley, Link said, “I’ll show you Stoner’s hangout place. Briggen was kept a prisoner there one time; you remember when Stoner had him, don’t you?”
“Sure,” I says, “the time when he brought him back in his spider automobile, and put him in the cave prison.”
Link nodded. “Well,” he says, “here is where Briggen was held.”
“THIS IS THE HEADQUARTERS OF STONERS GANG.”
He stopped and pointed up to a dirty window in the second story of a low frame house. There were only a few little raggedy kids playing in the alley.
“Great guns,” I says, “how can a fella live in a place like this?”
Link says, “He don’t live here; this is only the headquarters of Stoner’s gang.”
“Ah,” I says, “it’s just like ’em.”
“Hush,” says Link. He pushed me back into the hallway of the dirty little house. We crowded back behind the door, just as somebody came rushing in. We didn’t dare to look out, but we could hear the fella going up the rickety steps and slamming a door at the top.
We just started to come out of our hiding place when we heard another step. “Gosh blame it,” said a voice.
We both come out of our hiding place. Robby Hood stood in the doorway. He looked supprised. “What you doing here Hawkins?” he whispered.
I pulled the papers out of my pocket and handed them to him. “From Rags Sanders,” I says. “I been trying to give them to you for a week.”
Robby didn’t look at the papers but shoved them into his waist. “Thanks,” he says, “but we haven’t any time now. We’ve got to catch the beggar upstairs; he is one of Stoner’s pals.”
“Come on,” I says. “I ain’t afraid of him.”
A FELLA WAS LEANING OVER A TABLE, READING A NOTE.
Robby tiptoed up the steps, and I followed him, with Link at my heels. At the landing Robby softly opened a door, and we three looked in. A fella was leaning over a table, reading a note. He didn’t hear us.
“Don’t make any noise,” says Robby.
The fella nearly fell over with fright. “What you want?” he snarled.
“Give me that note,” says Robby. The dirty kid looked like a trapped fox. His little shiny eyes looked quickly all around the room; then he darted for the dirty wi
ndow. He had his foot over the sill before Robby and I could get to him, but I grabbed him by his sleeve and held him. He struck me in the face, but Robby got a good hold around his shoulders and pulled him back into the room.
Link forced open the dirty hand that held the note and handed the paper to me.
“Read it, Hawkins,” said Robby. “I’ll hold him.”
I read:
Tell all the boys to be at the wharfboat Saturday morning, to go down the river. Long Tom reports that Sanders has given that fella Hawkins a paper telling all our secret hiding places. We must get it back. I can’t come home till I finish a job I have down here. But you be sure to get the boys down on Saturday morning. The gray launch will be waiting for you all at the wharfboat.
“That’s fine,” said Robby, after I had finished reading. “We will be able to give them a little supprise.”
Link grinned. “If you let that guy get away,” he says, pointing to the fella Robby was holding, “he will change all their plans.”
“What will we do with him?” asked Robby.
I walked over to the fella. “What’s your name?” I asked.
He looked sulky and wouldn’t answer.
“Listen, you,” I says, “we don’t hurt fellas anymore than we can help. Now if you will just be a good fella and do as we tell you for a few days, you will not be sorry.”
He looked at me with his foxy eyes.
Then he said, “I wish I was out of this.”
“Get out of it then,” I says. “Look at little Sanders; he quit Stoner cold, and he is glad of it.”
The fella looked at me hard. “Sanders got cold feet,” he says. “He is a traitor. I wouldn’t do what he did. But you fellas tell me what you will take to let me go. Maybe we can come to a bargain on it.”
I turned away from him. “Link,” I says, “we will have to keep him locked up somewhere till Saturday.”
Robby let go of the beggar and ran over to the window and closed it. “Come on,” he says, “we can keep him down in the houseboat for a few days.”
We each took the fella by an arm, and Link closed the door as we went out. He didn’t seem to care anymore what we did to him.
Down in the alley a fella was standing; we could just see his feet as we started down the steps. “Look out,” whispered Robby. “Who is that standing down there?”
I stooped and looked. It was Briggen.
I says, “This will be settled easy enough. Turn your prisoner over to Briggen; them Pelham fellas can keep him locked up better than we can.”
We put the proposition up to Briggen when we came down. He looked at our prisoner and then laughed. “Oh,” he says, “it’s Three-Finger Fred; hello, old scout. I been looking a long time for you. You remember the time you and Stoner caught me down at the wharfboat and kept me locked up in this dirty place? Well, I’ll see if I can’t keep you locked up for a while; see how you like it yourself.”
Link and I left in our boat, while Robby went back, promising to be with us Saturday.
Briggen and Ham Gardner and Dave Burns followed us with their prisoner in their flatboat. We watched them take him over to the Pelham shacks, and then I went home, and Link went back to his pop’s houseboat on the island.
THURSDAY.—Today when we came down after school, we held our meeting and then went over to Pelham. Briggen met us.
“How’s the prisoner?” I asked.
“Fine,” says Briggen, “Three-Finger Fred is an old friend of mine; him and me got a lot of things to settle between us.”
“Well,” I says, “you will keep your hands off him till you get orders from us. We don’t want any harm to come to him. After Saturday you can let him go.”
Briggen grinned. “Maybe I will,” he says.
I thought it best not to start any argument with Briggen, so we went back.
“Jerry,” I says, “you will have to keep your eye on Briggen. Don’t let him do any mischief.”
Jerry smiled. “Leave it to me,” he says. “I know Pelham; whenever you say the word, I can set Three-Finger Fred free.”
“All right,” I says. “I’ll give you the word.”
FRIDAY.—Doc Waters was down at the houseboat today. “Hawkins,” he says, “old Judge Granbery is awful mad about something.”
Doc looked at me to see if I acted like I knew.
“What is it?” I says. “Has he got a grudge against us boys again?”
Doc smiled. “Yes,” he says, “but I know he’s wrong; somebody rode off in his automobile this morning.”
“Ah,” I says, “I thought you were going to say something like that, but I can tell you none of us boys would do such a thing.”
“All right,” says Doc, “the sheriff might be down to ask you some questions in a little while. See if you can help him out.”
Doc went away, and in a little while skinny Link Lambert came up. “Hawkins,” he says, “I think we can lay our hands on Long Tom.”
“Fine,” I says, “lead the way.”
Jerry and Dick and Bill Darby came with us. Link led us up on the main road and stopped to look at some tracks. “He hasn’t come back yet,” he says, “but we ought to be able to hear him soon.”
“Did you see him going away?” I asked.
Link nodded. “He passed me here,” he answered.
So we waited there along the road. But it got dark before we knew it, and we had to go home.
SATURDAY.—Robby Hood was waiting when I opened the houseboat this morning. “They changed their plans, Hawkins,” he says. “They must of got suspishus when they found Three-Finger Fred missing.”
“Well,” I says, “what we got to do now?”
Link Lambert spoke up. “Watch the road,” he says. “They will come by the road.” So we hung around the road all morning, but nothing happened.
Little Frankie Kane came running from the houseboat to tell me that the sheriff was there and wanted to see me.
“Bring him up here,” I says.
In a little while Little Frankie came back with the sheriff.
“Hello, Hawkins,” he says. “I’m looking for a guy who stole Judge Granbery’s automobile; have you any idea who the fella was?”
Before I could answer Skinny Link spoke up. “Go down to the houseboat, sheriff,” he says. “We will bring the guy to you.”
The sheriff didn’t like to be told what to do. But he went anyway.
About a half hour later, Skinny Link told us it was about to happen. “Here they come,” he says. “Maybe the whole gang is with Long Tom; it looks that way.”
A big automobile was speeding toward us. If Stoner’s gang was in that machine, I knew we couldn’t stop them. But Skinny Link was running to Dobel’s meadow, and he soon came back leading two of Dobel’s horses, which he stood in the road, so that they blocked the way.
Link laughed to himself. “They will stop now,” he says.
We could hear the fellas in the automobile yelling to the horses, but we made the horses stay in the road. The automobile slowed down. Jerry Moore ran out into the road and jumped upon the running board. Long Tom was driving, and he stopped the machine to strike at Jerry.
In a minit the automobile doors were flung open, and out came the gray figger of Stoner’s Boy, and behind him four of his own gang. They leaped upon us like wildcats.
Skinny Link picked out Stoner, while I and Dick and Bill Darby tackled the others. It was a purty good fight, but they had the best of us.
“Here comes the sheriff,” hollered Little Frankie Kane, as he came running up the road. The whole gang of Stoner’s pals left off fighting and darted away into the roadside. Jerry was still struggling with Long Tom, and we went to his help. We pinned him down in the automobile seat.
“Where is the sheriff?” hollered Jerry Moore.
Little Frankie laughed. “I just said that to scare those fellas,” he said.
Jerry looked at Long Tom. “You mean sneak,” he says. “By rights we ought to whip you within
an inch of your life, for the way you treated poor Rags Sanders, but us fellas don’t treat boys that way; we will turn you over to the sheriff. You can explain to him who gave you the right to use the judge’s automobile.”
Long Tom didn’t say a word, but he looked awful mean at us.
“Come on,” says Jerry. “Get out of this machine.”
“Watch him, Jerry,” I whispered. “He’ll give you the slip.”
“No he won’t,” says Jerry. “He ain’t big enough; I never had a chance to lay my hands on him before, but I got him now.”
“Come on,” says Dick Ferris. “Don’t waste time, or Stoner and his pals will be back here to rescue him. The sheriff is waiting for this automobile stealer; let’s take him up right away.”
Which we did.
CHAPTER 32
Stoner’s Lair Visited
SUNDAY NIGHT.—Us boys don’t come down to the houseboat as a rule on Sunday, but Jerry Moore came up to me right after church was out and said the Skinny Guy was waiting to talk to me.
I went down to the houseboat and found Link sitting on the steps. “Sorry to bother you on Sunday, Hawkins,” says Link, “but I been thinking about Three-Finger Fred.”
“Oh,” I says, “I forgot all about him.”
“Yeah,” says Link, “I thought so, but I don’t think we ought to let the Pelhams keep him prisoner any longer; we got Long Tom now, and it ain’t likely that Stoner will do much mischief with Long Tom gone.”
“You’re right, Link,” I says. “We will go over to Pelham and see about it.”
We rowed acrost the river and had to wait a long while till any of the Pelhams showed up. They must sleep long on Sunday mornings; I guess none of them go to church.
While we waited, Link snooped around all the shacks, but came back to say that the Pelhams must have Three-Finger Fred locked up somewhere else.
But soon Briggen and Ham Gardner came. “Well,” says Briggen, “I guess you fellas came over for Three-Finger Fred.”
“Yes,” I says, “it’s no use to hold him any longer; where have you got him?”
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