Me & My Little Brain

by John D. Fitzgerald

I looked at Mamma. "You had better fix him something to eat right away," I said.

  "I'll have it ready by the time you return," Mamma said.

  I took Dr. LeRoy to the barn. The outlaw was leaning over the edge of the loft with his revolver pointing down at us as we entered. I told him I'd brought the doctor. Roberts threw down the rope ladder. Dr. LeRoy and I climbed up to the loft. The outlaw had taken off his jacket and shirt and had his underwear rolled down to his waist. I could see blood oozing from a wound on his arm just below the shoulder. He held his revolver against Frankie's ear.

  "Fix it up, Doc," Roberts said. "And fix it good and tight so it can stand some hard ridin'."

  Dr. LeRoy knelt down and examined the wound. "The bullet missed the bone," he said. "It is just a flesh wound. Nothing serious, I'm afraid."

  "You say it like you wish it was serious," Roberts said.

  "I was hoping it might be so serious you couldn't get very far on a horse without bleeding to death," Dr. LeRoy said.

  "Stop jawing and get on with it," Roberts ordered.

  Dr. LeRoy cleansed the wound and put some kind of salve and powder on it before he bandaged it up tight. Then he cleansed and bandaged the dog bite on the outlaw's leg.

  "That will hold you until you get to wherever you are going," Dr. LeRoy said.

  Roberts grinned. "That means the Marshal is seein' things my way," he said.

  "If he wasn't," Dr. LeRoy said, "I wouldn't be here."

  "How come the Marshal ain't out with a posse lookin' for my four boys?" Roberts asked.

  "They are all dead," Dr. LeRoy said. "The last one died from his wounds about two hours ago."

  Roberts shrugged. "I can always get myself another gang," he said. "But I don't get it. How come they didn't make a break for it when Austin and I didn't show up?"

  "Because my Uncle Mark outsmarted them," I said.

  "Always heard he was a right smart marshal," Roberts said. "But there just ain't no way he could stop them goin' east over that flat country at night."

  "My uncle and Mr. Benson impersonated you and Jack Austin on your horses to get close enough to catch the outlaws in a cross fire," I said.

  "Seems like a low-down trick for a marshal to pull," Roberts complained, to my astonishment.

  I was about to say that holding a little kid as a hostage was about as low-down a trick as a man could play. But Dr. LeRoy closed his bag and said he was ready to leave.

  "Well, at least I got the Judge," Roberts said.

  Dr. LeRoy shook his head. "The bullet you fired at Judge Potter hit him in the leg," he said. "He is going to be all right."

  "Damn," Roberts said.

  I pointed at Frankie. "Can I take the gag out of his mouth, Mr. Roberts?" I asked.

  "Only if he promises not to bite me," the outlaw said. "But I'm leavin' him tied up. He is the bitin'est, fightin'est, and kickin'est kid I ever saw."

  I removed the gag from Frankie's mouth. He spit a couple of times.

  "I asked God to let the bad mans get me and He did," Frankie said.

  "Don't you worry," I said. "Papa and Mamma and Uncle Mark are going to do what Mr. Roberts wants and you'll be all right."

  "Get me that grub now," Roberts ordered.

  I followed Dr. LeRoy down the rope ladder and into the house. He went into the parlor to talk to Papa and Uncle Mark. Mamma had our wicker picnic basket ready for me.

  "Tell Mr. Roberts there are ham and cold roast beef sandwiches and some pie and apples," Mamma said. "And tell him I will cook fried chicken or anything else he may want for supper. And I put a jug of milk and some cookies in for Frankie."

  I carried the wicker basket to the barn. It had handles that came up over the top. I hooked the handles inside my elbow. It was awkward but I managed to climb up to the loft with it.

  Roberts grabbed the jug of water out of the basket first and drank a lot of it. Then he began eating a sandwich.

  "There's a jug of milk and some cookies for Frankie," I said. "Can I give them to him?"

  "I ain't untyin' the little wildcat," Roberts said. "Feed him yourself."

  "I ain't hungry, John," Frankie said.

  "But you always have milk and cookies this time every day," I said.

  "I know," he said, "but I don't want any today."

  It didn't hit me until then that although he didn't show it on the outside Frankie was so frightened inside that he couldn't eat anything.

  "I know you are scared," I said, "but please at least drink the milk."

  "All right," he said.

  I got him to drink about half the milk and that was all.

  Roberts ate all the sandwiches and the piece of pie and apples and even the cookies I'd brought for Frankie.

  "My mother wants to know what you want for supper," I said. "She said she'd cook fried chicken or anything you wanted."

  "Tell your ma fried chicken will do fine," he said. "And I'll want some hot coffee in a jug. And as long as I'm stayin' here tonight, I'll need a couple of blankets."

  "When will you let Frankie go?" I asked

  "I'm thinkin' about that," he said. "Ain't no hurry. Let you and your pa and the Marshal know my plans tomorrow."

  "I've got to do my chores now," I said. "That means I have to take the mustang out to the corral to water him."

  "I know you'll bring him back," Roberts said. "Just as I know everything is goin' my way. Gettin' me a hostage was the best idea I ever had."

  After I'd finished all my chores I found Papa still talking to Uncle Mark in the parlor. Dr. LeRoy had left.

  "Sit down, J.D.," Papa said. "There are some questions your uncle wants to ask you."

  I sat down. "What questions?" I asked.

  "Is there any way to get up to that loft except by the rope ladder?" Uncle Mark asked.

  "No," I answered.

  "Then is there any way to get up even with the rafters on the other side of the barn without using a ladder?" Uncle Mark asked.

  "No," I answered. "Even if you stood on the stalls or the bales of hay you'd still be about twenty feet from the rafters. Why?"

  "I am trying to figure out a way of getting up high enough in the barn tonight so I can shoot into the loft when it gets daylight," he said.

  "Even if you could get up high enough, which you can't," I said, "the barn doors squeak like the devil and he would hear you when you opened them."

  Papa shook his head. "There is absolutely no way to kill or capture Gal Roberts without endangering Frankie's life," he said. "That boy's life is as precious to me and Tena as the life of one of our own sons. I am going to insist that you do exactly what Gal Roberts demands."

  "There is something wrong about all this," Uncle Mark said. "I don't mean it is wrong to let Cal Roberts go scot-free to save Frankie's life. I mean there is something in the back of my mind that keeps telling me it just isn't that simple."

  "This I know," Papa said. "You must let the search for Cal Roberts continue, including the ghost town of Silverlode. That will convince people the outlaw hasn’t been found. If word gets out that Cal Roberts is in our barn, everybody in town will come here. And you can't control a mob like that. Some hotheads might get the idea of rushing the barn or setting it on fire to smoke Roberts out. Either way it would mean death for Frankie. We know Dr. LeRoy will keep it confidential. I will have to tell Mr. Whitlock at the bank Monday why I want to mortgage my home for a thousand dollars. But we can trust him. That leaves just you, Mark. I want your word of honor you will not mention this to anybody."

  "That goes without saying," Uncle Mark said, as if irritated. "I'll let the search continue."

  "What if some kids come over to play?" I asked. "We often play in our barn on Sunday afternoons, especially if it is raining."

  "That is a good point, John," my uncle said. "I'll confine everybody under sixteen years of age to their own homes until this thing is over."

  I took Cal Roberts and Frankie the fried chicken supper before we ate our own meal in the house.
Frankie liked fried chicken just about better than anything. But I had a hard time making him eat just one wing and half a slice of bread.

  "My stomach is all hard and won't eat," he told me. I knew what he meant. The poor little fellow was all tied up in knots inside although he was acting brave in front of me.

  I took the dirty dishes and picnic basket back to the house. Mamma had blankets and a couple of pillows ready for me. I made two trips up the rope ladder to get them to the loft. I asked Roberts if there was anything else he wanted.

  "Tell your ma I want some ham and beans and biscuits and coffee for breakfast," he said. "And shut the barn doors when you leave. I gotta get some sleep."

  I put a pillow under Frankie's head and covered him with a blanket. I knew how uncomfortable it must be for him with his hands tied behind his back and his legs tied together. But he hadn't complained one time.

  "Goodbye, John," he said.

  "Not goodbye, just good night," I said. "I'll see you in the morning."

  "See you in the morning," he said.

  Even Cal Roberts had to admire Frankie's courage. "He's a right spunky little devil," the outlaw said.

  It was a very sad supper that evening. Nobody spoke except to have something passed to them. It was the same later as we sat in the parlor. Mamma kept dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Papa kept clearing his throat but not saying a word. Aunt Bertha let out a soft moan every once in a while. I had never felt so sad and lonely in my life. I was so used to having Frankie around, it was as if a part of me had died.

  It was even worse after I'd taken my bath and went to bed. I thought of me sleeping in a nice soft bed while poor Frankie was sleeping on hard boards. I got up and slept on the floor. It was as close as I could come to sharing Frankie's discomfort.

  The next morning I took Cal Roberts and Frankie their breakfast.

  "Good morning, John," Frankie said. "Are Papa and Mamma and Aunt Bertha all right?" His eyes were red from crying but he even smiled at me.

  "They are fine," I said, "but worried because you won't eat anything."

  "I don't want them to worry," he said. "So I'll make myself eat."

  Roberts let me untie Frankie's hands so he could eat. But he tied them back up after the boy had finished.

  "Reckon you've got your chores to do now," Roberts said. "But before you start, get a notebook and pencil and come back up here."

  I took the picnic basket and dirty dishes back to the kitchen. I told Mamma that Frankie had finally managed to eat a meal. I got a school notebook and pencil and went back up to the loft.

  "I've got it all figured out now," Roberts said. "But I don't want any slipups. Write down what I say. First I want the Marshal to give me a twenty-four-hour headstart. I keep the kid with me for twenty-four hours. Any sign anybody is followin' me and I kill the kid. Got that?"

  I wrote down the demand and then nodded my head.

  "Next, I want two saddlebags with enough beef jerky, hardtack, beans, and coffee to last for a week," Roberts said.

  I wrote it down.

  "Next, I want four big canteens filled with water," he said. "And no tricks. I'm goin' to taste that water and so are you."

  I wrote that down.

  "You bring the saddlebags and canteens of water up here today," the outlaw said. "Tomorrow morning when your pa is gettin' the money from the bank, you saddle up the mustang and have him ready to go. Then you meet your pa and bring the money to me. Got that?" I wrote it all down.

  "As soon as I get the thousand dollars," Roberts said, "I'm ridin' outa here with the kid. And I'm ridin' right down Main Street with my cocked pistol against the back of the kid's head. Maybe I didn't get to kill the Judge and the District Attorney and your pa but I want everybody in town to see Cal Roberts put one over on the Marshal and the people in this town."

  "You are a fool," I said without thinking. He slapped me so hard on the side of the head it almost knocked me off the loft. "Nobody, includin’ a kid, calls Cal Roberts a fool," he said.

  "What I meant to say," I apologized, "was that it would be a lot safer for you at night. Nobody cares what happens to Frankie except Papa, Mamma, Aunt Bertha, Uncle Mark, Aunt Cathie, and me. Uncle Mark can't prevent somebody from taking a shot at you riding down Main Street in broad daylight. He can't stop men from organizing a posse and taking out after you if everybody in town sees you leave. If you wait until tomorrow night to leave nobody will know you were in our barn until twenty-four hours later."

  "The Marshal put you up to sayin' that," the outlaw said, to my surprise. "He knows if I left at night, I couldn't see if there was a posse on my tail or not. He knows if I left at night, I'd leave myself wide open to be bushwhacked in the darkness. You tell the Marshal I'm leavin' my way tomorrow mornin' just like I planned. If somebody takes a shot at me, the kid will die. If I see a posse on my tail, the kid will die."

  "When will you let Frankie go?" I asked.

  "Not until I'm sure the Marshal has kept his word and given me a twenty-four-hour headstart," he answered.

  "How will we know where to find Frankie?" I asked.

  Roberts hesitated for almost a minute and then grinned. "I'll leave him in some town I'm passin' through," he said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  My Little Brain Against Cal Robert

  I RETURNED TO THE HOUSE. I gave Papa the notebook with Cal Roberts' demands. Papa read them aloud.

  "We might as well get started meeting these demands," Papa said. "With Mark confining everybody under sixteen to their homes, nobody will expect us to attend church this morning."

  Papa then said Mr. Harmon was a man he could trust. He left to get Mr. Harmon to open the Z.C.M.I. store. When Papa returned he was carrying the beef jerky, hardtack, and four big water canteens wrapped in a flour sack.

  I got Sweyn's saddlebags from the barn. Mamma filled them with beef jerky, hardtack, beans, and coffee. She also gave me an old coffeepot and frying pan, which Cal Roberts had forgotten. I carried them up to the loft. The outlaw looked everything over and was satisfied. Then I carried the canteens filled with water up to the loft. He made me take a swallow out of each canteen and then took a swallow from each himself. I guess he wanted to make sure we hadn't put salt or poison in the water.

  "I'll just keep everything up here until mornin'," he said. "What is your ma fixin' for Sunday dinner?"

  "Baked ham and sweet potatoes," I answered. "But she said to tell you that she'll fix anything you want."

  "That'll do just fine for dinner," he said. "But tell her

  I want a big steak with fried potatoes and onions for supper."

  I took Frankie and the outlaw their dinner at noon. I waited in the loft while they ate. Roberts sent me back to the kitchen for another piece of apple pie.

  It was one of the few Sundays that Papa hadn't invited somebody for dinner. It was the only Sunday I could remember that we didn't have homemade ice cream for dessert.

  I think that Sunday afternoon was the longest afternoon of my life. I was actually glad when the time came for me to do my chores, just to have something to do. Cal Roberts called down to me from the loft to give Dusty an extra feeding of oats. He also said he wanted a nose bag of oats to take with him.

  We always had a cold supper on Sundays with leftovers from dinner. But Mamma decided to cook steaks for everybody because Cal Roberts wanted a steak. I took the outlaw and Frankie their supper.

  When Roberts finished eating, he patted his stomach. "A swallow or two of whiskey would go good right now," he said. "Ain't goin' to be able to get myself a drink for a spell. Your pa got any whiskey?"

  "Yes, sir," I answered.

  "Get me a bottle," he said. "And tell your pa I'm goin' to make sure the seal on it ain't broke. Don't want him thinkin' of puttin' knockout drops in it."

  Papa only drank an occasional glass of brandy, but he always had whiskey in the house for company. I told him Cal Roberts wanted a bottle of whiskey and to make sure the government seal over th
e cork wasn't broken. Papa went to the pantry and got a quart bottle of whiskey. He handed it to me.

  "Maybe he will get drunk and your uncle and I can surprise him," Papa said hopefully.

  Cal Roberts proved himself too smart for that. When I gave him the quart of whiskey he looked at me and grinned.

  "Now why would your pa give me a whole quart of whiskey?" he asked. "He could have given me a pint or even half a pint. Now watch closely, boy, so you can go back and tell your pa not to try to put anything over on Cal Roberts."