“Whose place is it, Fred?” I asked.
But he wouldn’t answer at all. We rode on for fifteen minutes then without a word. Then I heard a call—the call of Perry Stokes, who had missed me and was out searching for me. Perry always thought it was his duty to watch me. As soon as his call came to us, Three-Finger Fred stopped the horse and ran around to me. I felt a knife slip under my wrist and cut the cords. My hands were free. I quickly put them to my eyes and snatched off the bandage. Three-Finger Fred stood beside me, and the horse I rode was no horse at all, but only the roan pony that belonged to Simon Bleaker. I slid down off the saddle and grabbed the crippled hand with only three fingers, and I shook it warmly.
“Thanks, Fred, old boy,” I said. “I’ll do as much for you someday.”
“Do that one thing I told you,” he said. “Don’t look for that place again.”
Before I could say anymore to him, he had swung into the saddle and turned the pony’s head. In three leaps the pony had reached the bushes, taking them as a fancy jumping horse leaps over the hurdles, and disappeared behind the green.
And the tops of the bushes were yet shaking where the heels of the pony had touched them when Perry Stokes, rifle in hand, came up to me.
“Here you are, sir,” he cried joyfully. “I’m glad indeed to find you, Hawkins. The boys have blamed me, sir, for not finding out where you were going. They won the ball game and want to celebrate it, sir. They are waiting for us on the big boat. Shall we go to them at once, sir?”
“Yeah,” I said.
Which we did.
CHAPTER 26
The End of the Ugly Dog
SEVERAL days later, as Perry Stokes and I were alone in the clubhouse, the other boys having gone out to play right after the meeting, I called Perry into my little writing room. “Perry,” I said. “You’ve been a good pal to me. You’ve always took it upon yourself to see that Jude the Fifth did not get a chance to catch me.”
“Yes, sir,” remarked Perry. “It’s this way, Hawkins. I know that lad. He is a reckless kind, sir. If he would think a little more, he wouldn’t be a bad one at all, Hawkins, but he is quicktempered, sir. He’s got a grudge against you, and he will take it out on you when he gets a chance. That’s why I’m watching, sir, so’s he won’t get a chance.”
I smiled at Perry.
“He’s already had it,” I said. “Perry, he took me prisoner.”
“What!” exclaimed Perry, standing up quickly. “You mean, Hawkins—”
“I mean that he caught me, Perry. He wouldn’t have had such an easy time of it if it had not been for McJinty. The little monkey was up in a tree and landed on my shoulders just as Jude gave me a punch on the jaw. It was easy, then. I crumpled up.”
Perry’s face showed keen regret.
“It wasn’t my fault, Hawkins,” he said. “I was kept at home—mother had work for me. I’m sorry it had to come when I was away. I could have helped you lots, sir.”
“Yes,” I said, “you would have scared them with the rifle, anyway, Perry, but they took me off my guard. You see, I hadn’t figured on McJinty being up in the tree. I tell you, I was knocked plumb out of my senses. When I woke up, I was in a strange place.”
Then I told Perry how I had found myself in the little den and how I had been tied and blindfolded by Jude and McJinty. I also told him how Three-Finger Fred helped me escape.
“Just a minute before you met me,” I continued, “Three-Finger Fred had ridden away on the little pony that belongs to Simon Bleaker. It’s a funny business, isn’t it, Perry? Who is Three-Finger Fred sticking to? If he and Stoner’s Boy had their headquarters in that strange den, then why was Jude the Fifth there, who is always with Androfski the Silent? And if Androfski the Silent hangs out there, what was McJinty doing there, who we know is Simon Bleaker’s little pal? And how comes it that Three-Finger Fred, who bums with Stoner, can ride Simon Bleaker’s pony whenever he wants to?”
Perry shook his head.
“It’s strange business, sir,” he replied to my several questions. “Ever since I heard that terrible cry over on Burney’s Field, Hawkins, I have been more afraid than ever. Those boys don’t fear anything, sir. And somehow it seems that the sheriff can’t catch ’em. Did you tell Doc Waters?”
“No,” I answered. “You’re the only one I’ve told, Perry, but I’m going to tell you something more. I mean to find back the place in which I was held prisoner. I want you to keep a sharp lookout, and if you get a chance, follow any of those whose names I mentioned as being in this place. Here’s a tin whistle.”
I handed him the whistle which I had been keeping in the drawer of my desk.
“What directions go with this, sir?” asked Perry.
“Should you ever get a chance to follow any of those boys,” I said, “and get in a place where you need me or think you have found something that I should see, I want you to blow this whistle. That’s all, Perry. I know you understand what to do. You’re a great scout, Perry.”
“Yes, sir,” and Perry took the whistle and went out.
A half hour later, Lew Hunter came in. Lew is a nice boy; he never bothers me. He knew I was there writing, but he didn’t come back into my little office. He just came in to practice on the organ. Lew is a real musician; he plays ball and swims and does all the things the other boys do, but music is what suits him better than anything else. I knew he was going to say something to me about the boys not practicing lately. It’s been too hot for that, and then it’s vacation time when boys like to play regular healthy outdoor games instead of staying in the clubhouse for singing practice.
But today Lew didn’t bother me at all. I heard the old organ begin to wheeze out the strains of “Do You Ever Think of Me,” and I said to myself: Lew is playing that for my benefit, so I threw down my pen and walked into the meeting room.
Lew looked up as I entered but kept on playing.
“Lew,” I said. “It never takes me long to figure out what you’re thinkin’ about when I hear you playing on that old, worn-out organ.”
“Why?” he asked, putting his foot on the soft pedal, but keeping on playing.
“You knew I was in there,” I answered, nodding my head toward the writing room, “and you just wanted to remind me that I haven’t been paying much attention to you lately. Isn’t that it, Lew?”
He smiled as he brought the music to a stop, and turned around on the bench.
“Hawkins,” he said, “it’s a shame the way the boys have been neglecting their singing. I know they all like to play ball and stay around the old swimming hole. I hoped they would find enough time, though, to keep up the singing practice. It only takes a half hour a day. Yeah, they never think of that anymore, and you’re just as bad.” He turned back to the keys and began to play some light air. “Yeah,” he continued, as if he were talking to the organ, “I’ve been wondering a whole lot lately whether you ever think of me.”
I liked old Lew Hunter. I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Lew,” I said. “It’s been a wild summer around this old riverbank. What with Stoner and Bleaker and Androfski, it’s a wonder I’m able to stand here and talk to you about it.”
“Of course,” said Lew, quietly. “It’s up to you, Hawkins, to see things through. I know that, but I know too that you like music and singing yourself. I thought sure you would at least ask the boys—”
“Say no more about it, Lew,” I interrupted. “I’ll speak to the boys tonight. I’ll tell Dick that, as he is captain, he will have to give out orders that singing practice for a half hour each day is one of the rules of this clubhouse, and every boy who wants to belong to the club will have to live up to all the rules.”
At that moment, there came from outside the loud, angry barking of a dog. Both Lew and I ran to the door, only to find it pushed open into our faces as Jerry Moore leaped into the room.
“Dern that dog,” cried Jerry. “The next time I git a chance, Hawkins, I’m goin’ t’ nail him with a ro
ck. Lookit!”
There was a big tear in his pants. He showed it to us with a sad face, but his eyes sparkled fire. Jerry meant to avenge himself on the dog, that I could read in his face.
“Whose dog was it?” asked Lew.
But Jerry didn’t need to answer, for as we moved to the open window, we could see through the screen an ugly dog running along the river path to disappear a little further on in the bushes toward the river.
“Stoner’s Boy,” I said. “It’s his dog, the ugly one. We’ve seen it before. Jerry, where are the other boys? Go down and tell them all to come up to the clubhouse. Stoner’s Boy is in this neighborhood.”
Jerry took another look to be sure that the dog had disappeared.
Then he went to do what I had ordered. Perry Stokes came running in a few seconds later.
“Hawkins,” he said. “Stoner’s ugly dog is around here.”
“I know it,” I said. And I went back to my writing room, because I did not want to talk further about this business, but in a very few minutes, Jerry came back with all the other boys except Harold and Will Standish and the Skinny Guy. They had gone out earlier in the big launch.
“Stay in this clubhouse,” I told the boys. “Dick, it’s about time you gave orders for the boys to stay in and practice singing for a change. I bet you their voices are growing rusty.”
Dick Ferris looked at me and caught the meaning in my eye.
“Yes, of course, Hawkins,” he said. “Say, did you ever hear the Rolling—John Loomis, I mean—sing bass? Oh, boy, come on, John, give us a listen. Wait till you hear this, Hawkins. Strike ’er up, Lew. Where’s Will Standish? I wish he was here. You should hear him warble tenor. Well, we have to get along without him. I’ll do the tenor myself, Lew. You can help me out. Perry, oh Perry!”
Perry Stokes was outside on the porch, with his trusty rifle, waiting for a chance to take a shot at that ugly dog.
“Let him stay there, Dick,” I said. “He can tend to his own business out there.”
“Oh, alright,” said Dick. “Bill Darby can sing in Perry’s place. Shadow Loomis, you and Robby Hood wait till the chorus. Then you know how I want it done. We’ll start with ‘Come Where the Lilies Bloom.’ Roy Dobel, you better keep out of it this time. You got to take a few more private lessons with Lew sometime soon. You’re awful rusty. Let ’er go, Lew.”
And so the singing began, and I must say right here that those boys could sing. Dick Ferris knew a little about singing himself, and he and Lew together could make those fellows sing about as pretty as I ever heard youngsters sing.
Come away, away, away,
Come where the lilies bloom so fair.
Come where the lilies, the sweet,
fragrant lilies—
The words sound silly to some fellas, but dern if they don’t sound fine when the boys are singing. Yeah, I always liked that lily-bloom song about as well as any, besides maybe “My Old Kentucky Home,” but while they were singing, I slipped out on to the porch and joined Perry.
“Seen him?” I asked.
“Saw the dog again,” said Perry in a low voice. “No sign of Stoner yet. The dog is running around in those bushes on the left of the path, sir.”
“Good,” I said. “We will go the other way. I think Link and Will said they were going down to the island. We must meet them, Perry. I think Stoner is laying for them. He knows they will land right there. I’d like to know what his game is now. In broad daylight, too. Come on, Perry.”
We walked through the green things growing to the right of the river path and started on down toward the cliffs. Then an idea struck me.
“We’ll go up to the top of the cliff, Perry,” I said, “and we can sight the boat when it comes and warn the boys.”
So up the cliff path we went, past all the holes and cracks which enter the caves wherein Stoner’s Boy used to have his hiding place. Up to the top we went, and there we sat down. I had cut a stick off a young tree on our way up, and I tied to it my handkerchief.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” said Perry, as he watched me. “What is the flag for?”
“Signal,” I said.
We sat down then for about five minutes—anyway, the boat came into view before I ever expected it, and I jumped to my feet and waved the flag. I did not want to yell. I didn’t want Stoner to know I was signaling. I still hoped that we might capture the Gray Ghost. I thought maybe Will Standish—
But even as I waved the flag, I heard some footsteps on the cliff path below. Then followed the bark of a dog.
“Quick, Perry,” I whispered. “Fire off the gun, so that Link will look this way and see our signal.”
Perry searched through his pockets and took out a cartridge. Slipping it into the gun, he held the muzzle in the air and fired. Bang!
It was the wrong thing to do, but I didn’t realize it till too late. As the gun went off, we heard the angry barking of the ugly dog, and it was close to us. I turned my head and saw the brute galloping up the rocks toward us. I saw Perry working out the empty cartridge and going through his pockets again—
“Aha,” came a voice; oh, how well I know that voice. “So, my fine Seckatary, you are here. Get him, Big Boy.”
I caught first a sight of the gray hat, then the kerchief that hid the lower half of his face. Before I could see more of him, the big dog was upon me. I struck him as he bounded against my chest, and I felt his hot breath on my face, but down I went, and as I fell, I managed to drop away from the dog, for there was a step-off to a ledge that hung out over the side of the cliff. I was more afraid at that minute of falling off that ledge than I was of the dog, but before I had time to realize my greatest danger, I heard Perry’s gun bark again—and the howl of a dog and the angry shout of Stoner’s Boy—
I pulled myself back upon the cliff again as quickly as I could. As I did so, I saw the dead body of the ugly dog flash past me, and I watched it, fascinated, as I lay there upon my stomach on the clifftop. With a splash, it hit the river fifty feet below and sank out of sight. There was a red tinge in the circling waves where it had hit the water. That was all.
But I had to leap to my feet quickly, for even as I turned my head, I saw the Gray Ghost spring upon Perry and wrench the rifle from his hands. The next second, the gray figure had flung his bulky form upon the slight, freckle-faced kid, and although Perry resisted stoutly, Stoner was slowly but surely bending him back over the edge of the cliff.
I sprang for the fallen rifle and raised it to my shoulder. The Gray Ghost never missed a thing. He saw me. He must have thought it was loaded, for he suddenly let go of Perry and flew down the rocky cliff path. Perry stood for a moment upon the edge of the cliff like a bent willow, and I was just in time to hold out my hand, which he grabbed or he would have been over. We both turned quickly, just as the Gray Ghost’s coattail disappeared around the first bend of the cliff path.
“Shall we take out after him, sir?” asked Perry, blowing hard.
“No,” I said. “He might not believe the gun is loaded next time. Look there, the big boat is pulling over this way. Link has seen my signal. We better wait till they come and get us.”
Which we did.
CHAPTER 27
Simon Bleaker’s Secret
“YES, Hawkins,” said the Skinny Guy to me as we sat upon our clubhouse porch after his return in the big boat. “We had quite an exciting trip. Will Standish wanted to get out at the place where the old wrecked steamboat lays, but Harold and I talked him out of it. We went way down past the island. The hills are beautiful down there this time of the year.”
“Did you land the boat?” I asked.
“Oh, sure,” said Link. “And it’s a dandy place to land, too. We had a fine time, but the most exciting part of it all was to see you and Perry Stokes fighting on top of the cliff with Stoner’s Boy and his dog when we were coming home. You don’t know how excited we really were. We knew we were too far away to help you.”
“Lucky we didn’t ne
ed your help,” I said. “I saw you were making the boat go as fast as it was able.”
“Yes,” said Link. “Will Standish was at the wheel. Say, it was a sight to see that big dog tumble off the cliff and down into the river. Perry Stokes certainly finished him, and with only two shots, too.”
“Only one shot,” I said.
“We heard two,” said Link.
“The first one was fired in the air, to let you fellows know we were there. It was the second shot that finished the dog. And it was a good thing, too. The big brute nearly pushed me off the rock. I just saved myself—”
“Now what will Stoner do?” asked Link. “He thought a heap of that dog, I bet you. He is bound to get revenge on you for that, Hawkins.”
“On all of us,” I said. “But I don’t mind. Really, I wouldn’t worry so much about this whole business if it wasn’t for the others, Androfski and Simon Bleaker.”
“Ah,” said Link. “If we only had room on our boat for a horse, Hawkins.”
“A horse?” I repeated. “What for?”
“We could have used it down there this afternoon. We were returning to the boat, after about an hour on the hills. The woods are very thick on the hills—the place is called Parks Woods. We had just located some paw-paw trees, but the fruit was green, and we made a note of the place and said we would come for paw-paws this fall. And just as we were starting down, we heard the sound of hoofs, and here comes a pony and rider down upon us. We all ducked into the bushes to let him pass. Who do you think it was?”
“Simon Bleaker?”
“Yes, it was him. He stopped the pony for a while and looked all around the hills. Then he muttered something to himself. I imagine he had either spied us or heard us and was wondering where we had disappeared to so quickly.”
“Smart boys, you three.”
“But not so smart as Bleaker. When he turned his pony around I told Will and Harold to go down to the boat and wait for me. Then I took out after the pony, and as he was just running easily, I didn’t have much trouble keeping up with him. I followed for a half a mile. Then, suddenly, something made Bleaker turn his head. He caught sight of me, I am sure, even though I dodged into the bushes. I didn’t dodge quick enough for him. The next minute I heard the hoofs beating a fast gallop down into a sort of a ravine, a split in the hills. I leaped and followed as quickly as I caught on to it, but he had a good start, and it was then I wished I had a pony or a horse. The last I saw of the pony and rider was when they turned sharply into a cut between two hills.”
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