by Carol Norton
Chapter Eleven The Conspirators
It was difficult to say which of the two was the more frightened, the manin the bushes or Jim. The only difference was that Jim held a rifle. Hedidn't know quite what to do with it as all his training had been to theeffect that he should never point the muzzle of a gun at anyone. So hewaved the gun around uncertainly, first pointing it at the man and thenaway. The erratic maneuvers of the gun muzzle served to terrify thestranger even more.
"Don't shoot!" he repeated, his frightened eyes going back and forth asthey followed the end of the waving gun barrel with a horrifiedfascination.
The man presented a very odd sight. He was short, but with abnormallybroad shoulders and powerful arms. His heavily muscled body was strippedto the waist, and he wore nothing but a pair of faded khaki trousers.This garment was crumpled and dirty with several jagged tears in thelegs. He was both barefooted and bareheaded. His brown weathered face andarms had numerous partially healed scratches and cuts. At first Jimreceived an impression of villainous ferocity caused by the man's mangledface. Then as he calmed down he saw the stranger had an ugly but ratherpleasant countenance. Also, that powerful chest looked rather gaunt, forthe ribs were beginning to show. Jim looked at his captive inuncertainty, unable to decide whether to feel angry, terrified, or sorryfor the man.
"Did you steal my horse?" he asked finally, when he found his voice. Hetried to sound stern, but his voice insisted on quavering.
"No, sir!" denied the stranger, who was more frightened because Jim wasobviously excited than he would have been had the boy been calm andsteady. "I borrowed a horse a couple of days ago but I took good care ofhim and turned him loose so he could go home."
Jim thought this over for a minute. The evidence of the bridle andTicktock's recent grooming pointed to the truth of the statement.
"Why'd you borrow him?" he asked. "I went down to the railroad tracks tosee if you were hurt, and you ran off with my horse."
"I was scared," said the man frankly. "I didn't see you were a boy. Arailroad cop had just chased me off that freight. I thought maybe theyhad rangers in this state like they have in Texas and one was after mefor bumming a ride. I just lost my head and ran."
"How did you get here?" Jim was very annoyed at anyone's finding hishideaway.
"After I got on the horse I just rode away as fast as I could. When Icame to this woods I slowed down and let that little horse walk along.All of a sudden he turned off the road and came here. It looked as good aspot as any, so I stayed."
The explanation was very logical. For once Jim wished that Ticktock wouldrefrain from displaying his intelligence to others. It was all right tobe smart, but to take a stranger to the secret hideaway was anothermatter.
"We'll go back to the clearing," he said firmly, motioning with his gun.
"Yes, sir," the captive moved forward promptly. Jim marched behind theman, his nervousness gone. His brown hands held the gun steadily, andthere was a serious frown on his normally cheerful face. He couldn'tquite figure out the situation. The stranger seemed perfectly frank andstraightforward in his manner and didn't look like a horse thief should.According to Jim's conceptions, a horse thief should be a sullen,villainous man with a mustache and a long scar on his cheek. This man wasa good-natured, honest-appearing person.
When they arrived at the clearing, Ticktock was standing near the brushhut. The man walked up to him and began patting him on the neck.
"How are you, old fellow?" he asked in a soft persuasive tone. Ticktockseemed to like the man. He looked over and winked at Jim as if he wereputting the stamp of approval on the stranger.
"Nice horse you got here, son," said the man.
"He sure is," agreed Jim. He always warmed toward anyone who appreciatedthe mustang. Yes, this whole thing certainly was a puzzle.
"Why did you let him loose?" he asked.
"You don't think I'm a horse thief, do you?" asked the other indignantly."I could see that someone was taking awful good care of this pony andmust like him. So I turned him loose."
"Look here," said Jim, "I can't figure this out. Why should you be soscared just because you were riding on a freight? Lots of people dothat."
"In some states they put them in a chain gang or jail too, when theycatch them."
"That would explain your running off with Ticktock," said Jim, reasoningout loud, "but it doesn't account for your staying here in the woods. Youlook peaked and hungry to me. Why don't you go some place where you canget something to eat? And where are your clothes?"
Where are your clothes?]
"I washed my clothes," said the other nervously. "They're hanging overthere in the bush."
Jim's eyes followed in the direction of the pointed finger. There was ashirt, undershirt and two socks hanging on a limb. They had obviouslybeen washed, although it was rather a poor job, since there had been nosoap and only the cold water of the stream.
"That doesn't answer the other questions," said Jim stubbornly. "I thinkyou are hiding for some other reason."
The man looked at Jim long and searchingly. Apparently he was reassuredby the appearance of the boy's frank face and steady brown eyes.
"I think I'll tell you the truth," he said at last. "I think you'llunderstand."
"Go ahead."
"Look, I'm kind of weak from lack of something to eat. Why don't we sitdown, because this is a long story? And how about pointing that riflejust a little bit in the other direction? It makes me nervous."
"All right," agreed Jim, sitting down on a log, "but I'm keeping this gunhandy."
As Jim placed the rifle across his knees, he suddenly realized that hehad forgotten to load it. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of hisstomach and a big lump suddenly came up in his throat, threatening tochoke him. He couldn't very well reach in his pocket, extract a shell,open the breech, and load the gun. Nervous as he was, he knew he would beslow reloading it. He knew how, but had never had much practice and itmight take a long time. The other man was too close to permit such amaneuver. There was nothing to do but try not to change expression andstick it out.
"You were right," said the captive, commencing his story and apparentlynoticing nothing wrong in Jim's expression or behavior. "The law is afterme. I'm wanted for killing a man."
"A murderer," said Jim involuntarily. He gulped. Matters were gettingworse by the minute.
"I'm no murderer," said the man with indignant sincerity. "But I'm surein the worst mess that ever happened to any man. The police are after me,I'm starving, and I don't have any place to go. All of it's an accidenttoo."
The man's tone was full of so much woe that Jim felt a wave of sympathysweep over him. Somehow he couldn't help liking the man and believing inhim. He didn't look like a murderer.
"How did it happen?" Jim asked.
"I'm a horse trainer--one of the best in the country," said the otherproudly. "I've handled all kinds of horses, from big work teams to racehorses. The last few years I've been training race horses. I was workingfor Mr. Medway and we had his horses at Churchill Downs just outsideLouisville. Last Monday--it seems like a year--I was walking alongoutside the stables when I saw a jockey named Willie Fry in one of thestalls. I don't suppose you know much about the things people do tohorses now and then at race tracks, but this jockey was doping a horse.You can dope a horse several ways--you can give him something to make himslow and dopey so he can't run well or you can give him a shot to makehim all hopped up."
"What's that?" asked Jim, so interested that he forgot about the unloadedrifle.
"It's just like a man taking snow-cocaine, any kind of dope. It makes himthink he can do anything. Well, the same thing happens to a horse. Ahorse that's hopped up can run much better than he would normally. It'sbad on his heart, bad all over for that matter. He's apt to strainhimself and be ruined. Sometimes a horse can run so hard he may goblind."
"Was he giving a horse that kind of dope?" asked Jim
, full ofindignation.
"No, this was the night before the race and he was doping a horse to makehim sick and slow. Judges can usually tell a horse that's hopped up, butit's hard to tell when a horse has been given something to make him sickor is just naturally not up to form. Well, I hate to see a horse doped ormistreated in any way. What made me even madder was that Willie wasdoping _my_ horse. Redwing was the horse, and she was a sure bet to winthe next day. I had most of the money I'd saved all summer on that race."
"Why didn't he want her to win?" asked Jim, puzzled.
"Well, there could have been several reasons. One--he was riding a horsethat was the second favorite, but he knew as well as I did that he didn'thave a chance against Redwing. Then he could have been paid by thebookies--they are the men that take bets on the race--to fix it so thefavorite couldn't win. That way they could clean up, not only on nothaving to pay off on any money on Redwing, but by putting money upthemselves on Willie's horse. Anyhow, I was really mad. I jumped onWillie and he started to fight. He pulled a knife on me and so I grabbeda bottle that was handy. I hit him over the head, and he dropped like asack. Blood started running down his face. I was really scared. I felthis pulse and couldn't feel a thing. So I lit out of there and I've beenhiding ever since."
"Why didn't you go to the police and tell them what happened?" asked Jim.
"I was too scared to think straight and then there were a couple ofthings against me. No one saw Willie doping the horse, or the fight, soit would have been just my word about what happened. Then the worst thingwas that Willie and I had been in a fight the day before over a girl. Iwarned him to stay away from the girl I was going to marry. The policewould play that up big and I wouldn't have a chance."
"You sure are in a tough spot," sympathized Jim. "It's even worse thatyou ran away."
"I know it is," said the man mournfully. "That's why I was so scared whenI was on that train and when you came hunting for me. I figured thateveryone had seen the newspapers and was searching for me."
"What were you planning on doing, just staying here?" asked Jim.
"Well, when I first got here I thought that brush hut and fireplace hadbeen built by some hunters. The place didn't seem much used, and itwasn't hunting season; so I thought I'd stay until things sort of quieteddown. That is, if I could figure out some way to eat. Then about noontoday I noticed those jumping bars for a horse. That and the way thatlittle horse brought me here made me think that someone was using theplace for something. So I decided I'd better move on. I turned the horseloose and figured I'd leave when it was night. I didn't think whoeverowned the horse would be back inside of an hour. I was wrong. You showedup and caught me asleep."
"Haven't you had anything to eat since I saw you jump off the train?"asked Jim solicitously.
"I had two sandwiches that I had in my pocket," said the man. "I pickedthem up the night before in a diner near a freight yard. But that's all.I sure am hungry."
"I think maybe I could get you something to eat," said Jim, considering.
"I knew you would believe the truth when you heard it," said thestranger. "You're not going to turn me over to the law?"
"I believe you. I don't blame you a bit," said Jim. "Since I'm going totrust you, I may as well put this gun down. I am pretty relieved anyhow,because I forgot to load it."
The man stared at Jim in amazement. "Captured by a boy with an unloadedrifle! I'm certainly a desperate criminal."
Jim grinned. "I think you better stay right here for a while," he said,taking charge. "I can feed you here and you are better hidden than at anyplace I can think of."
"You found me," pointed out the late captive dubiously.
"Well naturally," said Jim scornfully. "This is my secret headquarters.No one else knows about it though. Besides, you haven't seen half of ityet. If you'll promise never to tell, I'll show you everything."
"You have the sacred word of Timothy Dinwiddie," said the man solemnly.
"Follow me."
Jim led the way to the hidden cave. He paused just outside the entrance.
"Don't let anybody ever see you enter here." He pushed back the bushcovering the cave mouth. "I keep a flash light hanging here just insidethe door."
Timothy followed the boy inside. He stood with mouth open as he followedthe flash-light beam around the walls. There were several rows ofcans--baked beans, vegetables, shoestring potatoes, chow mein, cornedbeef and everything possible to preserve.
"Food! Beautiful, beautiful food!" said Timothy in rapture. "This is themost wonderful sight I've seen since a horse I picked won the KentuckyDerby about ten years ago."
"Pick out what you want," said Jim, very proud of his stock ofprovisions. He was gratified that they were proving so handy.
In a few minutes the two had a fire going. Baked beans were warming in apot while some weiners were simmering in a frying pan. The coffee beganto boil while Jim was opening a can of peaches. Timothy sniffed theappetizing odors hungrily and put more wood in the fireplace. He finallydecided everything was warm enough and dished out a huge portion. Jimwasn't hungry, but the enjoyment he received from watching Timothy devourthe food more than repaid him for all the trouble and expense he hadundergone in collecting his stock. After finishing the first helping,Timothy filled his plate again. He ate everything down to the last bean.Then he and Jim had a cup of coffee together.
"That was certainly the finest banquet I ever ate," said Timothy leaningback in satisfaction. "You really got a well-stocked kitchen here. Andthat cave is about the trickiest hiding place I ever laid eyes on."
"It is pretty good," said Jim glowing with pride. "I just laid in thatfood in case I might need it sometime."
"I'm certainly glad you did. It saved me from starvation."
"I get to town quite often," observed Jim. "You look the stock over, andanything you need or that gets low I'll pick up at the grocery store."
"Look, Jim," said Timothy, reaching in his pocket. "I got about thirtydollars. You better take twenty to buy groceries."
"I don't want your money," protested Jim. When he decided to be friendswith anyone he made no reservations. "You may need it."
"You are the one that needs it. You can't feed a hungry man like me fornothing." Timothy shoved the twenty-dollar bill in Jim's shirt pocket."When you go to town, would you buy any Louisville paper you can find forthe last week. I'd like to know what they are saying about me."
"I know I can get the recent ones," said Jim. "I'll be back tomorrowafternoon. Right now I better get home before my folks, because I left anote saying I was hunting for the man that stole Ticktock."
Jim rode home bursting with excitement. He wished there was someone towhom he could tell his exciting tale, but such a course was out of thequestion. Others might not realize, as he did, that Timothy was thevictim of a bad break. Anyone who would try to dope a horse deserved tobe hit on the head, he decided. He had to guard the secret of Timothyvery closely, because if the police found him they might hang him. Heguessed that's what they did with murderers.
The family had not returned when Jim arrived. He destroyed his note andthen began grooming Ticktock. He was busily at work when the Meadows' cardrove in the lane. Feeling full of mystery and importance, he hailed hisparents.
"Ticktock came back!"
"So I see," said Mr. Meadows. "How'd it happen?"
"He just came trotting up the road. Got loose I guess." The explanationseemed so tame compared to the story he could have told, but he heldhimself sternly in check.
The family gathered around to welcome the mustang back. Mrs. Meadows wasvery relieved, as she had worried over her son's evident grief. Jean wasoverjoyed. She was becoming almost as fond of the pony as was Jim. In thegeneral excitement, everyone talked at once and neither the father normother noticed anything unusual in Jim's behavior. Jean, however, wasn'tto be deceived. She sensed that her brother was acting a little toomysterious and self-satisfied to know as little as he did. She saidnothing, but watched him narr
owly.
On Monday Jim made some excuse and went to town early. At the localstore, which sold newspapers, he was able to get Louisville papers fromthe preceding Friday through Monday. He was very conscious of hisexciting new role of helping a hunted man and played the part with allhis usual intensity. Afraid that it might look suspicious to hunt throughthe papers while in town, he stuffed them in one of the saddlebagswithout even a glance. While walking down the street he met ConstableWhittaker, to whom he gave a very cordial greeting. He grinned tohimself. Constable Whittaker represented the only forces of law and orderJim had ever known. Being a conspirator who was outwitting Whittaker wasrare fun.
After buying a few groceries at the store, Jim completed his errands bypurchasing a quart of ice cream and some cigarettes. They were to be asurprise for Timothy. He didn't know if the fugitive smoked, but hesuspected that he did. He was rather nervous while buying the cigarettes,as he knew they were not supposed to be sold to anyone under twenty-one.However, he had occasionally purchased them for his father.
"They are for a client of mine," he said casually to the druggist, whodidn't think of doubting Jim's motives.
The ice cream was carefully packed so that it was still in good conditionwhen Jim arrived at the hide-out.
"You certainly are the answer to a man's prayer," said Timothy, dividingthe ice cream into two equal portions. "Ice cream and cigarettes! Ireally was craving a smoke. You put those ravens in the Bible to shame,Jim. Imagine a bird delivering a quart of ice cream! I prefer a boy witha horse. It's not so fancy, but it's a good deal more satisfying to thestomach."
Jim produced the papers and together they went over each page of all foureditions. They made a hasty search first and then examined each articlethoroughly. Even the financial pages were searched. There was not asingle mention of Timothy Dinwiddie or his victim, Willie Fry.
"That's funny," said Timothy, scratching his head. "It happened onMonday. You'd think there would still be some mention of the business onThursday. I might not be so important as I thought, but Willie Fry was awell-known jockey."
"Maybe they're keeping quiet on purpose," suggested Jim, who had read hisshare of mystery stories.
"What do you mean by that?" inquired Timothy nervously.
"Sometimes the police keep very quiet in order not to let a criminal knowthey are hot on his trail," Jim said ominously.
"I hope that's not what's happened," Timothy said fervently. He lookedapprehensively around at the woods.
"Well, I'll go to the newspaper office. The editor and I are pals. He mayhave the old papers. I'll think up some story and get the missing onesfrom Monday on," said Jim. "I can't go tomorrow, as it might looksuspicious to be going to town too often. But Wednesday I'll get them.I'll bring you some fresh eggs and milk too. Also, we got a lot of melonsif you want one."
"Boy, oh boy," said Timothy, shaking his head. "You think of everything.I'm glad you're not a cop."
