It was a new voice that chimed in. A new voice—from the open door. A new voice, and we all turned to look.
Simon Bleaker stood there. Poor little Simon, with a painful look in his eyes, standing in the door, holding the reins of a white and brown pony that stood behind him.
“Just one minute, please,” he said, and he came in. And as he came, I noticed that he limped. He could not walk fast. “I’ll take a hand, Jude, and you, Fred, let me handle this, won’t you? I’ve come back. I told you I would. They can’t keep me down, that’s all.”
He walked up to the Gray Ghost. Stoner kept standing as he was. In his eyes, there was a merry twinkle that told me he was laughing.
“Stoner’s Boy,” said Simon as he reached the Gray Ghost. “Am I right?”
“Right you are,” said Stoner. “I hope you are satisfied.”
Simon paid no heed. He walked up to Androfski.
“And you,” he said. “Are Androfski the Silent?”
Androfski nodded his head. It was the best he could do.
“Now then,” said Simon. “I’ll give you one minute to get out. I would advise you to go. It would be best that you go without more words.”
There came the mocking laugh of Stoner. Androfski’s face showed the half-moon smile.
Simon did not waste words. He did not see us in the dark room beyond, I know. But dern it, I wish he had. Maybe we wouldn’t have had to get the same punishment he gave Stoner and Androfski. But anyway, the laughing echoes that Stoner awoke in that cavern had hardly died out, when I saw Simon lift up his hand. Three-Finger Fred shot away into the dark past us. The next minute there was the worst yelling you ever heard. Everybody yelled. I yelled, too. For there seemed to shoot through my body a thousand needles, red hot needles—oh, boy!
I fell down, like a bag of rags. It only lasted a minute. Maybe not that long. But I knew at once what it was. Electricity. Yeah, electricity in the air, and how he did it, I never will be able to tell you, but that Simon was a wonderful inventor. For a boy, he was a wonderful inventor. Perry Stokes took a fit, I believe. Anyway, the air was split with the banging of his gun, as he sent one blank cartridge after another into the air, and kept on reloading the rifle until I, having got to my feet again, went over and took the gun away from him. When the smoke cleared away, Stoner and Androfski were gone; so was Jude the Fifth. Simon Bleaker stood beside the table; and in the light of the old ship’s lantern, I saw a smile upon his face.
Three-Finger Fred came back into the light.
“I never heard such yelling,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe such a handful of boys would make such noise, would you? And how that Androfski did fire his gun?”
Poor old Simon! He didn’t even know we were there. He had thought it was Androfski’s gun making all that racket. Even while he was smiling a shadow darkened the doorway, and Big Ike stood there.
“Ah, I thought I would find you here,” he said in his thick voice. “Simon, why did you run away? Yer pop’s been scolding me—scolding and scolding—now, Simon, turn right around here and come back with me like a good boy.”
Simon gave Big Ike one look, then he turned once again to Three-Finger Fred.
“Freddie,” he said. “I must go right back—I slipped away, but my leg is bad, very bad. I got a new pony. You’ll come up to see me? Don’t let any other boy know where I live? That’s good, Freddie. You’ll always stick to me, won’t you, Freddie? That’s good. Now, Ike, I’m ready. Good-bye, Freddie.”
He let Big Ike help him limp out to where the pony waited. Big Ike lifted him tenderly and placed him in the saddle. We drew back into the dark of the cave as Three-Finger Fred turned away. I saw that Fred was crying. He drew back into the gloom and waited until the sound of the pony’s hoofs no longer rang out on the stony ground. Then I peered out. The door was closed. Three-Finger Fred was gone. The light of the ship’s lantern on the table was burning out. We were all alone in Simon’s place.
“I guess Simon knows how to keep his place for himself without our help,” said Shadow Loomis with a grin.
“I’ll say he does,” said the Skinny Guy.
“Let’s get out of here then,” said the Rolling Stone.
Which we did.
CHAPTER 34
Androfski’s Miracle
I DON’T know what made me think again of the deserted dugout over on Burney’s Field. But right after our meeting I began to look around for somebody to go over there with me. The Skinny Guy saw me and came right up to me.
“What do you want?” he asked. “Another trip to Simon Bleaker’s hole in the hill?”
I shook my head.
“Simon is alright,” I said. “We won’t bother him anymore. But I’ve got to get at the bottom of the mystery over on Burney’s Field, Link. Do you remember the dugout—where we found Harkinson’s old owl that day? And Androfski with the canary birds?”
“Why should I forget that?” asked Link. “It was Androfski’s hiding place—he and Jude the Fifth held out there.”
“I’m going back over there and take a look around,” I said. “It may be that the trouble is right in that dugout, and we never even suspected it.”
“Let me know when we start,” said Link, with a grin. “I’m in on it, Hawkins.”
“Sure. I want to go after supper, I think. No use going in daytime. Nothing happens in the daylight. You’ll remember the cry we heard—always at night. Whatever that thing is that makes that noise, it doesn’t come out in the daytime.”
“Well, I’m going down to the hollow,” said Link. “Bill Darby brought his football down. Thinks we can get up a good team.”
“Go ahead,” I told him. “And I’ll finish my writing. You can take supper at my house, Link. Suppose it wouldn’t be wise to ask some of the other fellows along?”
“No,” said Link. “Better that we two go alone, Hawkins.”
“Alright. See you later.”
Link went out, and I sat down in my little writing room to write. But there wasn’t much to write about these days. Ever since the time we had seen Stoner, Androfski, and Simon Bleaker together in the cave behind the tree door, we had had no visits from any of them. It was quiet and peaceful around our clubhouse. I began to wonder if all three of those boys had gone away. Perhaps they would no longer worry us with their exciting visits. But that was too good to be true, I knew. I knew that sooner or later one or the other would show up. Just as I was about to close my writing book, Doc Waters and the sheriff came in.
“We want you to go along with us tonight, Hawkins,” said Doc. “We are going to make one more investigation over on Burney’s Field. The sheriff got some information today. You can lead us, I suppose, to the spot where you stood the first night you heard that scream.”
“I was thinking about going over there myself,” I said, with a smile. For I knew how worried Doc would have been, had he known a couple of us boys were over there alone at night. He shook a warning finger at me.
“You must be careful, Hawkins,” he said. “Even as old as I am, I wouldn’t risk being over there myself at night. I don’t think the sheriff would, either.”
“Naw—sir,” spoke up the sheriff. “It’s only because the judge told me to go and git to the bottom of that trouble over there. Else I wouldn’t go. But I’m sheriff; it’s my bounden duty to see that things like that is taken care of.”
“Judge Granbery asked me to go with the sheriff,” explained Doc. “And I thought that you, Hawkins, might be of some help—”
“I can show you the place,” I said, “where we first heard the cry. I can show you the place where the thing, whatever it is, shot past us in the dark. Simon Bleaker saw it. He said it was a unicorn.”
“It might have appeared as such to him,” said Doc. “But there’s no such animal. A unicorn, if I remember correctly its description, is a horse with a single pointed horn upon its forehead. But we know there was really never such a thing. It is only in fairy tales that we hear of it.”<
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“Whatever it be,” said the sheriff, “it’s got to be caught or destroyed.”
“We will meet you here at the clubhouse,” said Doc. “Will that be alright, Hawkins?”
“No, better not,” I answered. “Better meet us—”
“Us?” repeated Doc.
“Yeah,” I said. “The Skinny Guy is going with me. You got to let him come along, Doc. Link’s careful. Believe me, he went through enough with us down in Cuba. He can stand a little excitement, I tell you. But better wait for us down at the little wharf on the river. We will have canoes there. Because if you meet us here in the clubhouse, every boy who happens to be here will want to go. And you wouldn’t be able to stop ’em, either. They’d just follow after you went.”
“Alright, then,” said Doc. And he left with the sheriff, while I waited for Link and took him to my house for supper. I always like to have Link with me. I’ve been through so much adventure with him, and we’ve been together so long that he seems a kind of a brother to me.
* * *
The night was pretty chilly, but there was a bright moon, for which I was thankful. Link and I walked down the old river path, and as we passed the clubhouse, we heard Lew Hunter playing the organ and the boys practicing their singing lessons. It made me feel a little nervous, though, because I had to think about them singing there in that peaceful little shack, while we were on our way to a possible adventure that might prove dangerous. It was a hard thing for me to do, to pass by that clubhouse full of music and song without stopping in for a while at least. But the Skinny Guy ahead of me walked fast and urged me on. We soon passed down to the riverbank, and in the shadows beside our little wharf, I saw Doc and the sheriff waiting. Another smaller figure stood in front of them.
“Hawkins,” said Doc in a low voice as we came up. “This little fellow insists that he go with you. I don’t think we can shake him, do you?”
I walked up close and took a look at the boy’s face.
“Perry Stokes,” I said. “How did you know—”
“I was watching outside, sir, on the porch. I saw Dr. Waters and the sheriff pass down the river path, and I followed. I heard ’em talking, sir, so I knew by that they had an appointment with you. I go everywhere you go, Hawkins. I have the rifle, too.”
I smiled at Doc.
“Better let Perry come,” I said. “He’s a good watchman, Doc. We might use him.”
The Skinny Guy had pulled out the long green canoe that belonged to Jerry Moore. It held all of us, and we got in and went across. Pelham was dark; we passed through quickly and into the woods behind the shacks. Burney’s Field soon lay before us in the moonlight, a wide stretch of treeless, stony ground with here and there a solitary bush sticking up like dark patches on a silver sheet. Across the field where the trees grew, there was a flickering blue light, winking on and off—the same blue flame that we had noticed on another night. I said nothing about it, but began to lead on quickly toward the spot where the deserted dugout lay. I was not surprised when I came up to see a dim light down in the dugout. The door stood open. I raised my hand for a signal to the others not to make a noise, and stooping down, I looked down over those limestone steps into the dugout. At the table sat a boy, reading a book in the dim light of the old lantern. It was Jude the Fifth. Even as we looked, he got up and walked around the table. He stopped to look at a battered alarm clock that ticked away on the shelf.
“If he don’t come soon,” he said to himself in a low voice, “I’m goin’ home by myself.”
He returned to his book and began to read again. Doc motioned for us all to get behind the little rise where the field sloped toward the woods. We had hardly got safely hidden in the gloom when there came the sound of footsteps.
“I couldn’t git here, that’s all. They been watchin’,” said a low voice.
“I been having the signal light every night,” said another voice. That voice! I poked my head out a little—sure enough, it was Stoner’s Boy. Muffled up in his gray kerchief with the old cape-coat and broad-brim hat, he walked beside a man; they were heading for the dugout.
“Everything is fixed,” said Stoner’s Boy. “You’re safe now, Pop. Little by little you can get away. It is a good place to hide. There’s a steamboat passin’ by in the morning. I got a ticket for you. You got to go to New Orleans an’ stay there. ’Tain’t safe for you up here no more.”
“Anything you say,” returned the man. “You’ve been a purty tough youngster, but I got to say one thing: you always took care o’ yer pappy. Ain’t got no kick against you fer that.”
“Wait here,” said Stoner’s Boy. “No use letting that signal light keep on. I’ll turn it off; then we’ll go inside.”
He sped off across the moonlit field. His father remained standing a short distance from the dugout door. I saw the figure of Stoner’s Boy disappear in the dark under the trees beyond the field. I watched the flickering blue flame as it leaped fitfully in the dark shadows of the treetops. In a few minutes, it had disappeared. Now I saw another figure coming from another direction, runnin’ swiftly—ah, I knew—Androfski the Silent! It was he. Running swiftly and silently, his footfalls sounding like the pad-pad of a big cat. He disappeared in the dark shadows. The next minute came the sound of a rifle shot. Then, the cry—the same terrible cry that we had heard several times before.
“The unicorn!” I exclaimed. “Come on!”
“Hawkins, wait! wait!” It was Doc’s voice calling. “Come back—”
From out of the dark shadows under the trees came Androfski, running like a deer, and something was after him—in the moonlight I could see the dark shape chasing Androfski, its hoofbeats thundering upon the stoney field. From another direction came Stoner’s Boy, and he was making directly for the dugout. Jude the Fifth, too, had heard the noise—he rushed up the limestone steps with his rifle in his hand and took one look, then started across the field to head off the thing that was chasing Androfski. But suddenly the thing turned sharply and made for Stoner’s Boy, who was not so far away as Androfski. Stoner’s Boy seemed to be taken by surprise. Instead of running on he stopped and started back. Too late! Too late!
Ah! the terrible thing was upon him!
But Androfski had run back up when he saw what was happening. I saw him fall to his knee and raise the rifle—then four or five shots in rapid succession. The great unicorn put its nose in the air and screamed!
Then it fell. It fell with a crash, and lay still. We ran forward, every one of us. Androfski had run up to the fallen monster; he leaped upon the thing and raised his gun and yelled—
“I have killed it!” he cried, as he saw us coming up. “I have killed it. The unicorn—I killed it myself!”
For a moment we stood staring at Androfski—
“You can talk!” I shouted. “Androfski, you speak—”
“Yes, yes, I talk again—I talk, don’t I? I got my voice back, Jude—oh, Judy, Judy—”
He ran up to Jude the Fifth, who stood in dumb surprise at the head of the party. Jude grasped his hand.
“Andy,” he said; his voice quivered. “Andy, you can talk again? You are no longer Androfski the Silent—”
“No, no, I can talk again,” Androfski was both laughing and crying now. “The unicorn did it; I been wanting to kill it, and I did—I can talk again, Judy.”
He laughed happily. Doc Waters stepped up to him. “Will you please come with me—”
But both Androfski and Jude mistook Doc’s intention, I suppose. They thought, perhaps, that he wanted to turn them over to the sheriff, because at one time they belonged to the Red Runners. Anyway, they did not wait to hear more; both Androfski and Jude shot away across the field. Jude headed for the dugout, but I saw Androfski pull him back, and they continued across the field to the woods, and so, I suppose, to their boat on the river. For they would not stay in the dugout now, when they knew we were on to it.
“Stoner’s Boy,” I said. “Where is Stoner’s B
oy? I saw the unicorn get him and knock him down, Doc. Oh, get to him.”
But there was no sign of Stoner, nor of his daddy. During the excitement they had slipped out. I did not think much about it then. But later I did.
“Let us see this unicorn,” said Doc, flashing his light down upon the big dark shape as it lay on Burney’s Field. We walked over. And that was the first time I got a good look at this terrible killing thing. I was glad it was dead.
“He’ll not hurt any more people,” said Doc. “That Androfski is a good shot. Each one in the head. Ah, I think I can explain this matter.”
He bent down over the fallen animal. I looked, too. It was the strangest looking thing I had ever seen. It looked like a horse. It was of a brownish color with a white tail, exactly like a horse’s tail. The head and neck were very large, and out of one side of the forehead there was a strangely curved horn.
“Sheriff,” said Doc. “This is one of the creatures that escaped from the zoo up at Watertown. You’ll remember the fire, I think. It was during the excitement when several animals got out. They captured or killed all the others. And they followed this one down to the cliff, and there they lost track of it. They were told by some boatmen that the thing had been seen to leap off the cliff and fall into the river. I suppose they thought it drowned. But we see it did not. It came over here and roamed this field; probably had a hangout in the hills back yonder. Anyway, you can notify the zoo it has been found and killed.”
“I’ll tend to that,” said the sheriff. “I s’pose we kin go back now.”
We went back, but I could not get my mind off of this evening’s excitement. At the river, we were met by all of our boys, led by Dick Ferris.
“Hawkins,” he said, as soon as I came up. “Androfski came to the clubhouse—he can talk—he’s so happy he says he will never bother us again.”
“I know,” I said. “I was there when his voice came back—excitement did it, I think. But we’ll see him again, don’t worry; we will see more of Androfski.”
Which we did.
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