“It’s no use,” I said. “Nobody is ever going to catch Stoner’s Boy. The sheriff’s been hanging out a reward sign for that Gray Ghost ever since he first showed up around here. And nobody has caught him yet.”
“I’ll try, anyway,” said Will.
“Come on, Hawkins,” spoke up Jerry Moore. “What are you all the time holding back like that for? Ain’t no chance to catch the Gray Ghost if you don’t try.”
And so I consented, for I saw that every boy in the club wanted to go after Stoner. Not that I thought anybody would catch him. No. And they didn’t. Nobody ever did. That’s the strangest thing I will always remember about Stoner. As long as I’ve known Stoner’s Boy, I always felt that nobody would ever catch him. And nobody ever did.
We hustled down into the Skinny Guy’s big launch, the Cazanova, and Will Standish took the wheel. He always knew how to run motorboats. I never will forget the exciting motorboat trips he steered for us down on a certain river in Cuba. And now, since he had come back, every boy in our club allowed him to run the boat every time we took a trip.
We spied the gray launch before we knew it. Yeah. The gray launch was a new one. I knew that. It looked the same. Stoner’s strange figure, with his cape coat and big hat, the gray handkerchief around the lower half of his face, sitting like a mummy at the wheel of the gray launch—all looked the same as it had done as long as he had passed up and down the river. But there was hardly any sound to the motor. The old familiar chug-chug-chug was gone. It was just a faint purring now, and I knew that he had a new launch with an electric motor.
Dick Ferris edged up to me where I stood at a window, peeping out at the launch ahead of us.
“You’ll manage this job, won’t you, Seck?” he asked.
“Yes, if you’ll boss the boys. Let Perry Stokes there be in front with the rifle. See that the gun isn’t loaded, will you, Dick?”
I ran up into the little wheelhouse and stood beside Will Standish.
“Steer her close to the bank, Will,” I said. “And keep a good distance behind. Best not to let the Gray Ghost hear us. He’s a slick article, old Stoner’s Boy. If he knows we are on—”
“Too late!” broke in Will, suddenly. “Look, he has turned his head—he’s on to us, Hawkins. See there, he’s getting away. What’ll I do? Speed her up?”
“Sure,” I said, quickly. “Let’s see what he’s up to, now that we’ve got him close.”
Got him close. It makes me laugh. Nobody ever got Stoner close. No. That silent motorboat of his suddenly shot on like a sardine suddenly come to life. It sped on, cutting the water like a greased knife, and were it not for the fact that the old steamboat wreck lay so near, he would have been out of sight before we could have counted ten. But the big boat was lying there rotting on the right bank, not a hundred yards ahead. And even as we watched, Will and I there in that wheelhouse, with our boat going as fast as she was able, the little slender motorboat reached the old wreck of the Smokey City and disappeared. Yes, sir. It disappeared. The river was higher than when we saw the wreck last, and the water covered part of the hull of the old wrecked steamer. It seemed as if the gray launch had gone through a hole in the steamboat’s bottom—
“To the right now, hard, Will,” I hollered. “Slow her down—stop right there by the old paddle wheel.”
Will Standish landed the Cazanova as nicely as anyone could wish. In a flash, I had run down the steps and was calling for Harold Court and Shadow Loomis, who followed me without a second order, and I noticed Perry coming with the rifle and Dick Ferris and the other boys. Will Standish was the last to leave the boat, and he was yelling something to me from the window, but the other boys were making such a racket I could not hear. But I saw what he meant. Yeah, when I looked up, I saw the half-covered face of Stoner’s Boy peering at us from the second deck of the wrecked steamboat—I saw his hand lifted, and I yelled:
“Duck your heads, fellas!”
We all ducked as a round looking thing came like a smoking ball through the air—it passed about a yard above our bent heads and then exploded like a torpedo.
“Git him for that!” yelled Jerry Moore. “He can’t git away, Hawkins. He’s on the boat. Come on. We are enough to hold him. Come on.”
I didn’t need any coaxing now. No. Seems like when I get excited like that, I am just as bad as the other fellows. I want to go right in and finish it then. We swarmed over the rail of the lower deck and up the stairway to the second. I saw Stoner’s Boy standing by the rail at the door of the cabin, as if waiting to see if we really would come after him. When he saw my head, he raised his arm and sailed another torpedo after me, but it went high over my head, and I heard the splash as it hit the river. Then I yelled and was after him. I saw Will Standish coming up the steps on the opposite side, while all of our boys, headed by Harold and Shadow, were sweeping up behind me.
“There he goes,” yelled Will Standish. “There, Hawkins, into the cabin!”
I saw him, and I shot into the cabin after him. I saw the gray figure run like a deer down the long cabin between the rows of staterooms, and it was some feat, too, running on that slanting floor. I saw him turn suddenly into a door of one of the staterooms—
“Number nine,” yelled Will Standish. “He’s gone in room number nine.”
I even heard the door of number nine slam while Will yelled. We hurried on a slanting floor, the old wrecked steamboat lying so much on one side, and we stood there, pounding on the door of number nine—
“Open this door,” yelled Shadow Loomis, pounding with his fist.
“Open, or we will break it down and get you anyway, sir,” yelled Perry Stokes, pounding with the butt end of the rifle.
I leaned up again the wall and breathed hard, for the climb and the run had taken my wind. I’m a little too fat for these things. And I let them pound and yell, because I knew it was no good. Stoner would not open the door. Even if we could break it down, we would not find him there—
But suddenly the door did open; yeah, it was pulled open suddenly and swung wide, and a boy stepped out—
“What do you want?” he asked, quietly.
It was Simon Bleaker!
For a moment, every boy in our crowd stood still, unable to speak. It was Jerry Moore who spoke first.
“We want you, you Gray Ghost,” he said, stepping forward. “You can’t fool us by changing yer clothes so quick—”
“Not so fast,” broke in Simon Bleaker. “Not so fast as that, my friend—”
And then he turned and slipped past between us and the wall and ran for the front of the wrecked boat.
“Hold him!” yelled Jerry Moore. It seemed as if not one of the rest could talk.
But hold him, indeed! With the quickness of Stoner’s Boy he had let himself down over the rail, as I had seen him do once before, and by the time we had reached the rail he was not there. But over in the middle of the river a silent gray launch was making its way swiftly downstream. It carried only one passenger. His name was Simon Bleaker!
CHAPTER 25
Jude Retaliates
WE SEARCHED all through that wrecked steamboat, but not a sign of a living thing did we find, we who had expected to capture the Gray Ghost, Stoner’s Boy, whom we had seen land beside the wreck and run into a cabin, out of which a few minutes later Simon Bleaker had come and escaped.
“It seems simple enough,” said Will Standish to me. “That fellow you call Stoner’s Boy is a clever kid. He has his plans all laid before he starts. No doubt he had a different suit of clothes in that stateroom, and although he went in as the Gray Ghost, he came out as your nice friend, whom you call Simon Bleaker.”
I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “I’ll never believe that, Will. If you knew as much as I do, you wouldn’t believe it either.”
* * *
I might have known that Jude the Fifth would get me sooner or later. He had never forgotten that day he had met me, when I asked him to sit down awhile and talk t
o me, and while we were talking, Shadow Loomis and the other boys came up and captured him. That same night, the Gray Ghost set him free, but he had never forgiven me. He believed that I had asked him to sit down so as to keep him there until the other boys could come up and take him, but I was not to blame for that—I had not known that Shadow or anybody else knew we were sitting there under the secret post office tree, but Jude believed it was a trick I played on him. He meant to get me for that, sooner or later—and he did.
He picked out a fine day for it, too. Or maybe he had been waiting long for just such a time as this. The boys had all gone over to play a game of ball with the Happy Days Nine. Perry Stokes had been with me in the clubhouse; he was cleaning up after the meeting while I wrote the minutes, but something had taken him back to the town—I don’t know what, but he wasn’t around when I stepped out onto the porch. I looked about for a moment and then locked the door and started for the river path.
Just as I reached the big trees that spread their tops across the river path, he stepped out from behind a tree—Jude the Fifth, the old boy himself with his new rifle. His cap was shoved back upon his head. A curly lock of his yellow hair waved across his forehead. He had a smile on his handsome face, but a smile that I would rather not have seen there, for it meant that he was glad that at last he had a chance to settle up this thing with me—yeah, I could read that smile alright.
“I’m glad it’s you,” he said, and he stood squarely in the path before me so that I had to stop. He held the rifle in both hands, as a sort of a stopping bar before me.
“Hello, Jude,” I said. “I’m glad to see you, old friend—”
“Don’t call me ‘friend,’” he interrupted quickly. “By rights, you ought to be ashamed to call me that—you who did me such a snide trick.”
“Listen, Jude,” I said earnestly. “I am afraid you were mistaken. I didn’t play you any trick, boy. That day you were caught, I was as much surprised as you. I didn’t know the other boys were anywhere near us. I was sick that day. I sneaked away by myself—”
“Don’t lie!” he exclaimed sharply. “Don’t make it no worse, Hawkins. I know it all. You can’t fool no old-timer like me. You’re a snide and a snitch.”
“Go slow!” I spoke rather hotly. “Names like that make me sore, Jude.”
“I want ’em to make you sore,” he cried. “I want you to put up your fists. I’m goin’ to give you the finest lickin’ you ever had, Seckatary Hawkins, and next time you’ll know enough to treat fellas like me square.”
“Cut that out,” I broke in; for now he had me all worked up. “Jude, you little crazy kid, you don’t know what you’re talking about, but if a scrap is going t’ make you feel better, why come on.”
He threw down his rifle. I give Jude credit for fighting square. I stood still and waited for him to advance. The moment he saw where the rifle fell, he turned to me with his fists doubled up. I thought I heard a noise in the tree above me, and that caused me all my trouble, too, for I turned up my face to see what it was in the tree, and as I did so, Jude took the opportunity and let fly his left fist—it hit me squarely under my upturned chin and I tumbled back, stunned and pained. The blow jarred me—it rocked me from one side to the other for a moment, and then I came back at Jude with a purpose, but I never got to him, for just as I swung, something heavy dropped out of the tree full upon my shoulders and bore me to the ground. As I was going down, I saw, close to my face, the dirty little face of McJinty—and then my head hit a stone. That was all I knew. It had knocked me out.
When I opened my eyes again, I lay upon my back in a strange place. For a few seconds, I wondered what had happened, and then I remembered, but how came I to be in this place? Like a cave or a cellar, it looked, but the room was made up swell. There was a table with an oil lamp with a green shade. There was a small cupboard with two doors, on the top of which were a stack of books. There was a wicker armchair and an old oaken rocking chair beside an old cot with some blankets on it. Before I had time to take in more of my surroundings, I heard the patter of bare feet, and then I saw the little, dirty McJinty standing over me. He turned when he saw my eyes and called out:
“He ain’t sleeping no more—come quick!”
Jude came out of some place behind me. I couldn’t well turn my head, for it hurt very badly, and my arms were tied tight to my sides and my ankles were tied together.
“Well,” said Jude, smiling down upon me. “Seckatary Hawkins, I guess you didn’t expect me to take you and pay you back like this, did you?”
“Let me up,” I said, in a weak voice. “I’m feeling terrible bad, Jude. My head hurts awful, and these strings are cutting my wrists.”
“Ha,” he laughed. “You’ll feel worse before you’re through, alright. This is only the beginning, Mister Seckatary. You’ve got worse medicine to take yet.”
“I’ll remember the place,” I said. “And as soon as I get out, I’ll let the sheriff know about this den. Nice thing for a boy like you to be doing, isn’t it, Jude?”
Jude scowled. And I didn’t like to see a scowl upon that handsome face. Because it spoiled his looks. And Jude was a very fine-looking kid, even if I must say it.
“Listen, Hawkins,” he said, in a low voice. “You and your fellas think that you and the sheriff up there can run things to suit yourselves. You think every fella’s got to do things the way you guys want. Well, you’ve found out you’re mistaken, haven’t you? There are some fellas who won’t do as you guys order ’em to, ain’t there?”
“Only one,” I said. “Stoner’s Boy. All the others will do what we say sooner or later. But Stoner’s Boy, I own up to. I can’t beat him, and nobody else can, not even you, Jude.”
Jude’s face lit up with a mysterious smile.
“No,” he said, and then, as if not wishing to say too much, he said to McJinty, “Put the bandage on him again. He might see too much. You know the orders. Blindfold him right away.”
Which McJinty did and with a will, too. He tied the bandage over my eyes so tight that I think I wore a mark around my head for several days after. And then, having me there blindfolded and helplessly bound up, they left me. I heard their footsteps dying out.
It seemed hours that I lay there. I remember wondering whether or not Perry Stokes—but no. Most likely he had not even the slightest idea where I had gone or that I had even been in trouble. I was beginning to be awfully cramped and my head ached worse every minute. And then came the sound of a voice singing somewhere near:
Down in dear old N’Orleans.
It was Three-Finger Fred! Yeah, I knew him. The same old voice that we had heard one day in the pilothouse of the old wrecked steamboat. I wondered now whether or not I lay in some room of the old wrecked boat. But before I had a chance to think further on that, in came the singing voice—oh, how I wished that I could pull that bandage from my eyes and look again upon Three-Finger Fred. I had done him a good turn once.
He had been good to me and thanked me for helping him.
His footsteps were now beside me. His singing stopped abruptly. I imagined that he was looking down upon me, but that he could not recognize me with my eyes covered up.
“Three-Finger Fred,” I said.
“How you know my name,” he whispered, “when you got your eyes covered up?”
“I always remember the voices of my old friends,” I answered, smiling.
I heard him move closer to me and stoop. The next second he was working at the knot behind my head and then whipped off the bandage from my eyes.
“Seckatary Hawkins!” he exclaimed, and fell back upon his hands, staring at me as I sat up.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s me, Fred. You ain’t forgot the time I helped you when you wanted to get your gray launch away from Stoner’s old gang—”
“No, by Georgia!” he exclaimed. “No, I ain’t forgot it, Hawkins. I allus did think about you ever since I went away—”
“And you came back,” I said. “Cam
e back after telling me you were through and would not associate with bad company anymore. Didn’t you, Fred?”
He hung his head and brushed his chin with his three-finger hand. “Yes, I did,” he mumbled. Then looking up, he continued, “That was when I thought Stoner was dead. And maybe he was dead. But he came to look for me down in N’Orleans. He found me, too.”
“So I see,” I said. “Here, get these ropes off my wrist, will you?”
He held up a warning finger. There came a sound from the rear as from another room.
“Hush!” he whispered. “Don’t make a noise, Hawkins. I ain’t forgot what you done for me. I’ll pay you back. I allus wanted to, an’ I reckon now’s a good chanst. Here, let me put this back on you.”
He bent over me and replaced the bandage over my eyes. Then I felt him rip the cords that bound my feet, and although my legs ached, I got up and waited for him to loosen the cords on my wrist. But he did not. No. He led me, whispering to me to be quiet, and I walked slowly as I felt him pulling my sleeve. About ten steps were taken when we halted and I heard a peculiar grating sound as of a latch being raised and a door opened. Somehow, after I took the next step, even blindfolded as I was, I seemed to know that we stood outside in the daylight. I heard the sound of a horse sneezing.
“Here’s the stirrup,” Three-Finger Fred was saying. “Lift yer foot quick.”
I lifted my foot, and Three-Finger Fred boosted me into the saddle. The horse snorted once, and I heard Three-Finger Fred talking to the animal. Then we moved. It was a most uncomfortable ride, with my hands bound to my sides, but I was glad to get it, I can tell you, for I didn’t know what Jude the Fifth had intended to be my punishment for what he believed I had done to him, but which I hadn’t done at all.
“Fred,” I said as we rode. “Why do you cover my eyes?”
“If you would know where that place was,” he answered, “you might want to go there, and that would get me in trouble. I don’t want you ever to look for it again, Hawkins. Best that you don’t know nothin’ about it, see?”
The Gray Ghost Page 20