Airship Andy; Or, The Luck of a Brave Boy

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER V--TRAMPING IT

  "Gracious!" said Andy, and made a jump clear into the water.

  The pole had swung out of his hands when the barge struck the snag. Hegot wet through recovering it, but that did not matter much, for he hadlittle clothing on.

  By the time he had got back on deck his mysterious passenger had resumedhis old position. The cloak again completely enveloped the upper portionof his body and his hands were out of sight. Andy acted as though hismomentary glance had not taken in the sight of the handcuffs.

  "Sorry, mister, we struck that snag, but the moon's going down and a fogcoming up, and I couldn't help it."

  "Don't mind that," was all that the man at the stern vouchsafed inreply.

  The moon had gone down as Andy had said, but enough of its radiance hadfallen on the squirming figure of the stranger a few minutes previous toshow the cold, bright glint of the pair of manacles. Andy was sure thatthe man's wrists were tightly handcuffed. A sort of a chill shudder ranover him as he thought of it.

  "An escaped convict?" Andy asked himself. "Maybe. That's bad. I don'twant to be caught in such company, the fix I'm in."

  The thought made the passenger suddenly repellant to Andy. He had anidea of running close to the shore and making off.

  "No, I won't do it," he decided, after a moment's reflection, "I'm onlyguessing about all this. He's not got a bad face. It's rather a wild andworried one. I'm a runaway myself, and I've got a good reason for beingso. Maybe this man has, too."

  Andy applied himself to his work with renewed vigor. It must have beenabout five o'clock in the morning when the stranger directed him tonavigate up a feeder to the stream, which, a few rods beyond, ran into aswamp pond, which Andy knew to be Swan Cove.

  A few pushes of the pole drove the craft up on a muddy slant. It wasgetting light in the east now. Andy came up to the man with thequestion:

  "Is this where you land, mister?"

  "Yes," nodded his passenger. "Come here."

  Andy drew closer to the speaker.

  "I told you I'd make it worth your while to pole me down the river," hesaid.

  "Oh, that's all right."

  "I haven't got any money, but I want to pay you as I promised you. Takethat."

  "What, mister?" and then Andy learned what the man meant. The latterhunched one shoulder towards the timber on which he sat, and there lay asmall open-faced silver watch.

  Andy wondered how he had managed to get it out of his pocket, but hehad, and there it lay.

  "It's worth about eight dollars," explained the man. "You can probablyget four for it. Anyhow, you can trade it off for some shoes andclothes, which you seem to need pretty badly."

  "Yes, I do, for a fact," admitted Andy, with a slight laugh. "But seehere, mister, I don't want your watch. I couldn't ask any pay, for Iwanted to come down the creek myself, and I was just waiting to find thechance to work my way when you came along."

  "You'll take the watch," insisted the stranger in a decided tone, "sosay no more about it, and put it in your pocket. There's only one thing,youngster--I want to ask a favor of you."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Forget you ever saw me."

  "That will be hard to do, but I will try."

  "What's your name?"

  "Andy Nelson."

  "I'll remember that," said the man, repeating it over twice to himself."You'll see me again some time, Andy Nelson, even if I have to hunt youup. You've done me a big favor. You said you were headed for the city?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, if you'll follow back to the river, and cut south a mile, you'llcome to a road running in that direction."

  "Aren't you going to use the barge any farther, mister?" inquired Andy.

  "No, and perhaps you had better not, either," answered the man, with ashort nervous laugh.

  "Well, this is a queer go!" ruminated Andy, as the man started inlandand was soon lost to view. "I wonder who he is? Probably on his way tosome friends where he can get rid of those handcuffs. Now, what formyself?"

  Andy thought things out in a rational way, and was soon started on thetramp. His prospective destination was the city. It was a large place,with many opportunities for work, he concluded. He would be lost fromhis pursuers in a big city like that, he theorized.

  Andy soon located the road his late passenger had indicated. He lookedat the watch a good many times. It was a plain but substantialtimepiece. It was the first watch Andy had ever owned, and he took greatpleasure in its possession.

  "I don't think I'll part with it," he said, as he tramped along. "I feelcertain I can pick up enough odd jobs on my way to the city to earn whatclothing I need and enough to eat."

  It was about seven o'clock when Andy, after a steep hill climb, neared afence and lay down to rest in the shade and shelter of a big strawstack. He was asleep before he knew it.

  "What in the world is that!" he shouted, springing up, wide awake, as ahissing, flapping, cackling hubbub filled the air, mingled with shoutsof impatience, excitement and despair.

  "Head 'em off--drive 'em in! Shoo--shoo!" bellowed out somebody in thedirection of the road.

  "Geese!" ejaculated Andy--"geese, till you can't rest or count them!Where did they ever come from? Hi, get away!"

  As Andy stepped out of range of the straw stack, he faced a remarkablesituation. The field he was in covered about two acres. It was enclosedwith a woven-wire fence, and had a gate. Through this, from the road, aperspiring man was driving geese, aided by a boy armed with a longswitch.

  Andy had never seen such a flock of geese before. He estimated them bythe hundreds. Nor had he ever viewed such a battered up, dust-covered,crippled flock. Many, after getting beyond the gate, squatted down as ifexhausted. Others fell over on their sides, as if they were dying. Manyof them had torn and bleeding feet, and limped and hobbled in evidentdistress.

  The man and the boy had to head off stupid and wayward groups of thefowls to get them within the enclosure. Then when they had closed thegate, they went back down the road. Andy gazed wonderingly after them.For half a mile down the hill there were specks of fluttering andlifeless white. He made them out to be fowls fallen by the wayside.

  The man and boy began to collect these, two at a time, bringing them tothe enclosure, and dropping them over the fence. It was a tiresome, andseemed an endless task. Andy climbed the fence and joined them.

  "Hello!" hailed the man, looking a little flustered; "do you belongaround here?"

  "No; I don't," replied Andy.

  "I don't suppose any one will object to my penning in those fowls untilI find some way of getting them in trim to go on."

  "They can't do much harm," suggested Andy. "I say, I'll help you gatherup the stray ones."

  "I wish you would," responded the man, with a sound half-way between asigh and a groan. "I am nigh distracted with the antics of those fowls.We had eight hundred and fifty when we started. We've lost nigh on to ahundred in two days."

  "What's the trouble? Do they stray off?" inquired Andy, getting quiteinterested.

  "No; not many of them. The trouble is traveling. I was foolish to everdream I could drive up to nearly one thousand geese across country sixtymiles. The worst thing has been where we have hit the hill roads and thehighways they're ballasting with crushed stone. The geese get their feetso cut they can't walk. If we try the side of the roads, then we runinto ditches, or the fowls get under farm fences, and then it's troubleand a chase. I say, lad," continued the man, with a glance at Andy'sbandaged foot, "you don't look any too able to get about yourself."

  "Oh, that isn't worth thinking of," declared Andy. "I'll be glad tohelp."

  He quite cheered up the owner of the geese by his willingness andactivity. In half an hour's time they had all the disabled stray fowlsin the enclosure. Some dead ones were left where they had fallen by thewayside.

  "I reckon the old nag is rested enough to climb up the rest of the hillnow," spoke the man to his companion, who was his son. "Fetch Dobbi
nalong, Silas, and we'll feed the fowls and get a snack ourselves."

  Andy curiously regarded the poor crowbait of a horse soon driven intoview attached to a ramshackly wagon. The horse was put to the grass nearthe enclosure, and two bags of grain unearthed from a box under the seatof the wagon and fed to the penned-in geese.

  Next Silas produced a small oil-stove, a coffee-pot and some packages,and, seated on the grass, Andy partook of a coarse but substantialbreakfast with his new friends.

  "There's a town a little ahead, I understand," spoke the man.

  "Yes," nodded Andy; "Afton."

  "Then we've got twenty miles to go yet," sighed the man. "I don't knowhow we'll ever make it."

  Andy gathered from what the man said that he and his family had goneinto the speculation of raising geese that season. The nearest railroadto his farm was twenty miles distant. His market was Wade, sixty milesaway. He had decided to drive the geese to destination. Two-thirds ofthe journey accomplished, a long list of disasters spread out behind,and a dubious prospect ahead.

  "It would cost me fifty dollars to wagon what's left to the nearestrailroad station, and as much more for freight," said the man gloomily.

  Andy looked speculative. In his mechanical work his inventive turn ofmind always caused him to put on his thinking-cap when he faced anobstacle.

  "I've got an idea," declared Andy brightly. "Say, mister, suppose Ifigure out a way to get your geese the rest of the way to market quitesafely and comfortably, and help drive them the balance of the distance,what will you do for me?"

  "Eh?" ejaculated the man eagerly. "Why, I'd--I'd do almost anything youask, youngster."

  "Is it worth a pair of shoes, and a new cap and coat?" asked Andy.

  "Yes; a whole suit," said the man emphatically, "and two good dollars aday on top of it."

  "It's a bargain!" declared Andy spiritedly. "I think I have guessed away to get you out of your difficulties."

  "How?"

  "I'll show you when you are ready to start."

  Andy set to work with vigor. He went to the back of the wagon and fittedtwo boards into a kind of a runway. Then he poured corn into the trough,and hitched up the old horse.

  "Now, drive the horse, and I'll attend to the corn," he said. "I won'tgive them as much as you think," he added, fearing the farmer wouldobject to the use of so much of his feed.

  It was not long before they were on the way. As the corn dropped alongthe road, the geese ran to pick the kernels up. Andy scattered some byhand. Soon he had the whole line of geese following the wagon.

  "Now drive in the best spots," he said.

  "I'll take to the fields," answered Mr. Pierce.

  He was as good as his word, and traveling became easy for the geese, sothat they made rapid progress. They kept on until nightfall, passingthrough Afton, where Andy bought a postal card and mailed it to Mr.Webb, stating his money had been left with Mr. Dawson. By eight o'clockthe next morning they reached Wade, and there, at a place called theCollins' farm, Andy was paid off and given the clothing and shoespromised. He changed his suit in a shed on the farm, and then the youthbid his new friends good-by and went on his way.