“Got away, eh?”
“Yes, but wait, let me tell you. I ran for it, and turned into the same cut. The ground is pretty rocky there, and I had to go slow. But when I came into the turn, both pony and rider had disappeared.”
“Gone through the gap, I guess. Turned down the other side.”
“No, Hawkins, they couldn’t go through. The gap was just a dip in the hills; about a hundred yards or so the hills came together again. It was like a corner wall there. Steep, too. No horse living could have climbed that steep place. It was just like a wall, I tell you. And right where the hills came together a big tree was growing, as though it had been growing there for a hundred years, and the hills had piled up against one side of it, leaving the other side free. To me, at first, it looked like a half a tree growing up against the pocket of the hillside. But then I could see that the other half of the tree was really inside the corner formed by the hills which came together there like two walls join.”
“Did you look up in the branches of the tree?”
“Sure, I did,” laughed Link. “And then I realized how silly I was. How could a horse climb up into a tree? I wouldn’t have been surprised if I had seen Bleaker up there, but I would expect to see the horse below. As it was, I didn’t see either one. They puzzled me. I went up and down each side of the pocket, but not a sign could I see. I thought maybe I could follow the tracks of the horse, but I told you it was a rocky place, and no traces left. If I only had a horse, Hawkins, I’d ’a’ found out how this smart guy gave me the slip so quick and easy.”
“You gave me an idea,” I said. “I’ll get a horse, Link, or a couple, and we will try to find out Simon Bleaker’s secret. Suppose you take me down there first and let me see the place.”
So the next morning, Link met me early at the clubhouse, before any of the boys had come except Perry Stokes. I had told Perry I would need him. And Link was glad that I had, for he said it would be well to have somebody stay and watch on the boat while we went scouting around. It was a beautiful morning; the birds were just waking up as we started, and by the time we reached the place to land, the sun was just fairly up.
We told Perry to stay on the boat and if anything should happen to blow the tin whistle or fire off his gun, and when we heard his signal, we should be quick to hurry back to him. Then Link led the way. They are beautiful hills in Park Woods. As Link led me through the tangle of wild growing things, I remembered the place. When I was a very little kid my daddy used to take mother and me up on these hills to pick blackberries. Still, the prickly bushes grew in wild confusion, holding out their thorny stems to catch us as we passed. It had been a long time since last I saw the paw-paw trees, and all of it brought back to me the memories of those good times we used to have. It was only a few years, but it seemed to me now like a long time, since my daddy took me up here for an outing.
At last, Link stopped upon a point where the ridge reached its height. Over the leafy treetops, we could just catch a glimpse of the river far below. Ahead of us was a path—really not a path but a clear space upon the ridge where it was plain to see that those who came to these woods were accustomed to travel. Forward about a hundred yards, the ridge began to dip to the right.
“Now, here is where we stood when we heard the hoofbeats,” said Link. “There are the bushes we hid behind when Bleaker rode up. Here, you can still see the print of shoes where the pony turned around.”
“Lead me on,” I said.
The Skinny Guy started on ahead of me and took me down to the right. We followed the dip until I saw that it fell to another ridge that ran along side of a short ravine, beyond which a second row of hills rose like a wall. Here the path twisted along to the end of the ravine, and then we found ourselves in a gap in the hills. It was like a funnel shape, wide where we entered and narrowing down to a point where the hills came together, and right there grew a great oak tree. Never had I seen such a freak of nature nor such a wide tree trunk. The hills came together there like the walls of a room, and right smack up against the corner grew the tree. It was a huge oak, and it seemed to me that it must be very old, so old, in fact, that already many of its limbs were lifeless and bare of leaves.
Link and I walked into the gap and down to the narrowed end, where we stood before the tree. Moss covered it like green velvet and higher up great round warts like toadstools grew out of the furrowed bark.
I glanced all around at the hillsides. They were steep. Here and there grew grass in tufts and an occasional wild bush. It did not strike me as being possible to climb up the sides of the hill. How then, if Link’s story to me was true (and I had no reason to doubt that it was), could Simon Bleaker have disappeared so quickly? Of all the puzzles I had ever run up against, this seemed to be the one that I was not going to figure out.
“You are sure he turned into this gap, Link?”
“Sure as you’re born; I ran as fast as I could.”
“Hush! Look! Who’s that up there?”
Away above us, on the top of the hill, we saw two figures moving. It was right on top of the corner where the hills came together like walls. The top of the great oak tree reached just about to the top of the joining hills. Through the half-dead branches of the tree we could see the two—Harold Court and Shadow Loomis! They were just walking along slowly, carrying sticks that they had cut, as though they were wandering through these hills for a stroll. Suddenly, there came to my ears the sound of a whistle—three short notes, faint and far below us.
“Perry Stokes has seen something,” I said to Link in a low voice. “I gave him that tin whistle to blow when he wanted to warn us. Come on.”
Several large boulders lay about in the gap. We stooped behind one and waited. We could still see Shadow and Harold moving slowly here and there upon the hilltop before us. They evidently had not heard the sound of Perry’s whistle; or if they had they did not attach any importance to it. I didn’t expect them to; only Perry and I knew about that whistle.
Then it was about five minutes after we heard the whistle, a loud shout rang out from the top of the hill before us. I saw a swift movement through the branches of the treetop. I saw more figures now moving up there. Then the next second I caught sight of a big, burly fellow—he had his arms about Shadow Loomis, and I wondered where Harold was.
“Big Ike,” I whispered to Link. “He is fighting Shadow Loomis—surprised him up there, I guess. Come on, we better run around and try to help—no, wait a minute, look there, Link, look!”
Shadow lay upon his back and Harold was bending over him. But what drew our attention were two figures that had stepped off of the hilltop and were coming down through the branches of the big tree. One was Big Ike; he seemed to be too clumsy to risk the climb down and went slowly. The other was McJinty, who swung down from one branch to the next like a monkey on a trapeze. When they reached the lowest branch, which was a good distance from the ground, I wondered to myself how they would make the leap. But I soon saw a rope ladder being lowered by Big Ike himself. He came down with surprising swiftness, as though he had been used to it, and McJinty slid down one side in a flash.
“Try to trip the big fellow, Hawkins,” whispered Link. “Wait till they start to come out.”
But they did not come out of the gap. No. I expected them to do so, myself, but I got a good surprise. They stood before the great round trunk of the oak tree, and I saw that Big Ike had a round stone in his hand. He pounded the tree with it—I wish I had remembered how many knocks—but I was too surprised to see what I saw then, and I forgot everything except that which was happening before my very eyes.
The big tree opened—yes, sir, opened—a door was cut in that tree, and I had never even suspected it. It swung open, and the face of Jude the Fifth peeped out. He saw Big Ike and McJinty, and then pushed the door wider and they entered. Silently, the door closed. As it did so, we ran forward just in time to meet Shadow and Harold coming down the branches of the tree.
“Did you catch ’em
, Hawkins? Did you see ’em?” asked Harold.
“Saw ’em, yes,” I said, “but you couldn’t catch ’em yourself, Harold. There’s a secret in this tree. They went through a door. Look. See the thin crack here. Doggone, I’d never have found it if I didn’t know it was here. Did Shadow get hurt much?”
“Just a little bump on the head,” spoke up Shadow with a smile. “That Big Ike carries a stone in his hand, I guess.”
“Look out,” spoke up Link suddenly. “Someone’s coming.”
The sound of hoofbeats reached our ears. I drew my little band back behind the boulders, and just in time, too, for around the front of the gap swung a pony—Simon Bleaker was riding in!
He rode straight up to the big tree and tapped with the butt end of his whip. The door opened; Big Ike stuck out his head, then swung the door wide. Pony and rider entered. The door closed. It only took a minute. And the boys looked at me with surprise and excitement in their eyes.
“Shall we try it?” asked Harold. “Think we might get in, Hawkins?”
I laughed.
“Might, get in alright,” I said. “The hard part might be to get out again. No, fellas. I think we better go back to the boat. Perry’s waiting for us, and we will take a ride back to the clubhouse and think out a plan first. You can bet your last bum nickel we will see inside of that tree door some sweet day.”
Which we did.
CHAPTER 28
The Black Cat
AT our next meeting in the clubhouse we talked about the secret hiding place of Simon Bleaker and his friends that we had discovered in the hills.
“The thing to do, Hawkins,” said Will Standish, “is to smoke the Fox out of his hole.” Most of the boys had begun to call Simon Bleaker “the Fox.”
“No,” I said. “If you will excuse me for saying it, Will, you are wrong.”
“Suit yourself, of course,” he answered with a good-natured smile. “You may have other ideas about it, old top. But doesn’t it stand to reason—”
“That’s what I told Hawkins when we saw it happen,” spoke up Harold Court. “There was no use turning around and going right home when we saw Simon Bleaker ride in on his pony through that tree door. Believe me, Will, I wanted to go right in after him. So did little old Perry there. He’s got spunk.”
“So have I,” I said. “I’ve got spunk enough, but I’ve got something else, too. I think common sense is what we need here, fellas.”
“Hawkins knows best,” said Shadow Loomis. “I myself had a notion that I’d like to see the inside of the big tree, but I am ready to listen to anything the Seckatary has to say about it.”
“It’s that way with me, too, sir,” spoke up Perry Stokes. “It does seem reasonable that common sense should—”
“What do you know about the inside of that tree?” I asked. I looked straight at Harold. “I like your courage, Harold, but honest to goodness, what would you do after you got inside that tree?”
“That remains to be seen,” said Harold, promptly. “I always look around when I get in a place and figure out what I’m going to do then.”
“I know you do,” I said. “That’s just why I don’t believe you should go into that tree door. Not yet, Harold, old boy. You might get in easy enough, but you might not have much time to do your figuring after you entered. And then what? Supposing they have some nicely laid trap waiting for you, boy, what good would it do you to get in?”
Neither Harold nor Will spoke.
“Beggin’ yer pardon again, sir,” spoke up Perry Stokes. “I wish to say that a boy such as the likes of Simon Bleaker would be expecting of us to come in. I am of the opinion, sir, that he has things set for anybody who should get a notion to steal into his private apartments, sir.”
“You’ve said the first sensible thing I’ve heard at this meeting, Perry,” I said. “You’ve got a lot of good old common sense. I only wish these other dudes could see things the same way.”
“Look here, Hawkins,” sang out Will Standish. “I’m jolly well satisfied to let you plan this whole business—”
“So am I,” said Shadow Loomis. “And if he thinks it’s best, I’ll be for waiting until the time is ripe before we attack Simon Bleaker’s fox hole.”
“As far as that goes,” said Harold Court, “I’m always willing to stick by what the Seckatary thinks is best. I appreciate your advice, Hawkins. Only once in a while, I think I ought to be allowed to make a few plans myself.”
“Far be it from me, Harold,” I said, “if you want to go up there right now and bust into that hornet’s nest, don’t think for a minute that I’m going to stop you. But I want to tell you boys this: unless we all do the right thing and think before we leap, we are likely to find ourselves answering Judge Granbery some pretty unpleasant questions. This clubhouse stands here only by his consent. And with the understanding that we are to be very careful not to cause trouble or get into trouble. First thing that happens as soon as there comes trouble, our daddies go to the judge and complain to him. Now I think you understand. That is all. Now you can all beat it out of here. Play ball or go fishin’ or anything you want, but forget about Bleaker and his hiding place.”
They all left me, except Perry, who stayed to clean up the clubroom. I stood at the window and watched them go. Just as I was turning back to my writing room, I saw Doc Waters and the sheriff turn into the river path, and I went out on the porch to meet them.
“You want to talk to me, I guess,” I said, as Doc came up.
“You’re a good guesser, as usual,” said Doc with a short laugh. Then, as my eye fell upon the sheriff: “Don’t worry about the sheriff, Hawkins,” said Doc. “We haven’t got a warrant for any of your playfellows. We just came for a little talk. Better go back in your little room, hadn’t we?”
I led the way back, and Perry hurried ahead to shove up chairs for my visitors. They both sat in front of my desk.
“Let’s have it,” I said. “What’s on your chest, Doc?”
He looked at me with a curious smile.
“This time it’s Stoner’s Boy,” he said. “How long since you saw him last?”
I told about the fight on the cliff with Stoner and his big dog, and how it had ended with the death of the ugly animal.
“That was bad,” said the sheriff, “because it gives the youngster another reason to try to revenge himself. He will be more reckless than ever now.”
“I know,” I said. “But honest, Sheriff, what do you expect of us fellas? How can we be goody-goody boys all the time? You know we ain’t looking for trouble. But what do you think we should do—run every time the Gray Ghost shows up on this place? What kind of boys would we be if we showed our heels all the time? We got to fight back when somebody brings us a fight to our own doorstep.”
“I ain’t a’sayin’ you oughtn’t,” spoke up the sheriff in a wheezy voice. “All the same, I am right about Stoner’s Boy. I knowed his pappy—not a single good thing to say about his pappy—worst villain I ever turned the lock on. It’s a pity, too, on account of the boy. Such a pappy for a little boy. What do folks expect from such a thing as that?”
“Hawkins,” said Doc. “There is something strange going on in our neighborhood. Burney’s Field is a dangerous place—”
“We hardly ever go over there,” I interrupted.
“You should never go,” said Doc. “Besides, this Stoner’s Boy may have something to do over there that you boys don’t know about.”
“I think he has,” I said slowly; and I looked Doc in the eye. “What do you know, Doc? There’s something on your mind. Just what do you know?”
“His daddy has escaped from prison!”
“Broke away,” said the sheriff. “Clean gone before his time was out, and he was a dangerous man. The judge wanted him kept for seven years. He will never be caught again.”
“That is bad,” I said. “That is terrible bad news, Doc. I don’t know what to say.”
“This is what troubles me, Hawkins,”
said Doc. “When Stoner’s daddy was captured, he knew that you boys had something to do with putting the sheriff on his track. Stoner’s Boy always said it was your fault that his daddy was taken prisoner.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know that, Doc. It was Link, the Skinny Guy, mostly.”
“But they blamed the whole crowd,” said Doc. “The question is, will they come here, the father and the son, to pay you back for what they imagine you were to blame?”
I shook my head.
“Don’t talk any more to me about it, Doc,” I said. “I am worried, sure enough, but I will do my best. Poor old Stoner. I’ve got to feel sorry for a boy with a pop like that. If it wasn’t for that, Stoner’s Boy would never have turned out to be such a bad boy. He has a lot of good sense, Stoner’s Boy has. He is clever. Too bad he had to turn out so mean. I always hoped that we might catch him some day and let Judge Granbery send him up to the school where bad boys must go. If he had the right kind of training, I bet you, Doc, Stoner’s Boy would turn out to be a fine fella.”
Doc shook his head.
“I fear there is no hope for Stoner’s Boy,” he said. “The sheriff thinks it was the boy who helped the father break out of prison.”
“We could tell by the footprints under the cell window,” said the sheriff. “There was two sets o’ prints, one the ol’ man’s and the other a smaller shoe with the sole full of nailheads.”
“It was him,” I said, nodding my head. “That’s the footprint of Stoner’s Boy. What did the footprints lead you to, sheriff?”
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