by Me
He opened the bottle. He took two big drinks from it. Then he held it over the side of the loft and poured the rest of the whiskey to the ground below.
Frankie was still tied up and watching. "The bad mans ain't going to let me go," he said, so solemnly that it shocked me.
"Of course he is," I said. "Papa and Mamma and Uncle Mark are going to do everything Mr. Roberts wants them to o. And Mr. Roberts has promised to leave you in the first town he passes through."
"He is going to leave me deaded," Frankie said. The outlaw looked as astonished as I felt.
"What makes you say a thing like that?" I asked, thinking the outlaw had told Frankie he was going to kill him.
"I don't know how I know," Frankie said. "I just know he is going to leave me deaded."
Roberts leaned over and slapped Frankie very hard on the face. "You shut your trap, kid," he ordered.
I stared at the outlaw. "Why would he say a thing like that?" I asked.
"How should I know?" Roberts asked with a shrug. "I made a bargain with your pa and the Marshal. If they keep their end of the bargain, I'll keep mine. I'll drop the kid in the first town I come to after the twenty-four hours are up." I said good night to Frankie and went back to the house. Papa was disappointed when I told him what had happened to the whiskey. We ate supper in silence. After the dishes were done we all sat in the parlor. Mamma and Aunt Bertha had busy hands. They were always darning, sewing, crocheting, knitting, or doing something with their hands when they sat in the parlor after supper. But not this night. They both held their hands clasped tightly in their laps. Papa nervously smoked a cigar. I sat on the floor. Nobody talked until Uncle Mark came to the house.
"The men finished searching the ghost town," he said as he removed his Stetson hat and sat down.
"There will be no need for further pretense," Papa said. He got my notebook and handed it to Uncle Mark. "Here are a list of demands Roberts made J.D. write down. Tomorrow morning when he rides out of town with Frankie, everybody will know he has been in our barn. You've got to warn everybody in this town that every demand Roberts made is going to be met."
Uncle Mark read what I'd written in the notebook. "Now I know what was bothering me," he said as he finished. "Cal Roberts has no intention of leaving the boy alive."
"That is what Frankie told me!" I cried. "He said Roberts was going to leave him dead. He said it twice."
"I believe the boy has an eighteen-karat premonition," Uncle Mark said.
"What makes you arrive at that conclusion?" Papa asked.
"These demands," Uncle Mark said, tapping the notebook with his hand, "and a premonition of my own. Why does Cal Roberts want a week's supply of food? Why does he want four big canteens filled with water? Put them together and they only spell one thing. Roberts is going to head for Mexico. He will ride almost straight south from here, crossing the southwestern Utah desert to the Arizona line. Then he will cross the Arizona desert until he reaches Mexico."
"Even so," Papa said, "why should he kill Frankie?"
"He isn't going to slow down the mustang with the additional weight of the boy," Uncle Mark said. "And he isn't going to share precious water and food with him. He lied when he told John he would leave Frankie in some town. He has no intention of going anywhere near any town, knowing I might send telegrams to all the marshals between here and Mexico. The thousand dollars isn't going to satisfy a man like Cal Roberts. He wants his revenge in blood. He failed to kill the Judge, the District Attorney, and you. So he will kill Frankie instead, knowing all three of you would rather he had killed you than the boy. And believing he has a twenty-four-hour headstart, it is my guess he will kill Frankie within an hour after leaving town."
An agonized moan came from Mamma's lips. "Dear God in heaven, save my son!" she cried.
I added a prayer of my own as my entire body turned cold with fear.
"Cal Roberts must be killed before he leaves town," Uncle Mark said. Then he looked steadily at me. "You are positive, John, that he told you he was going to ride right down Main Street holding Frankie on the saddle with him?"
"Yes," I answered.
"His vanity may be his undoing," Uncle Mark said. "We will let him think we are meeting all his demands. I'll line Main Street with unarmed people all holding their hands over their heads. We will make him feel like a king as he rides down Main Street. He won't be expecting us to try and stop him."
"And just how do you propose to stop him without getting Frankie killed?" Papa asked.
"Hal Benson is the best sharpshooter in the county," Uncle Mark said. "I'll station Hal on the second floor of the Sheepmen's Hotel in a room with an open window facing Main Street. He will be armed with a Winchester repeater. Roberts will have his eyes on the crowd lining both sides of Main Street. When he passes the hotel, Hal Benson will shoot the gun out of his hand with the first shot. Then he will shoot to kill Roberts."
"No!" Papa exclaimed.
"I'd do it myself," Uncle Mark said, "but if Roberts doesn't see me standing unarmed with my hands over my head in the crowd, he will become suspicious."
"That isn't what I meant," Papa said. "The risk to Frankie is too great. Even if Hal succeeded in hitting the revolver in Roberts' hand, it could trigger the gun and kill Frankie. Roberts bragged about the hair trigger on his gun to J.D. And if, by a miracle, that didn't happen, the bullet from Hal's rifle could ricochet off Roberts' gun and kill Frankie. And if Hal missed the revolver with the first shot, Roberts would know the second shot would be aimed at his head and he'd kill Frankie."
"I grant the possibility of everything you have said," Uncle Mark admitted. "But I know if I let Roberts ride out of town with Frankie, I will be signing the boy's death warrant. I am going to convince you that my way is the only way if it takes me all night."
Mamma looked at the clock on the mantelpiece over the fireplace. "It is past your bedtime, John D.," she said.
I knew Mamma wasn't worried about me staying up late under the circumstances. She realized that Papa and Uncle Mark were going to end up in a real argument and didn't want me to hear.
I went up to my room. I sat on the edge of the bed without turning on the light. I had a terrible feeling that no matter who won the argument between Papa and Uncle Mark, Frankie would be killed. Uncle Mark had convinced me that Cal Roberts had no intention of leaving Frankie alive once they were out of town. Papa had convinced me that Uncle Mark was asking Mr. Benson to do the impossible. And there was Frankie's premonition of death. Why would a little four-year-old boy believe Cal Roberts was going to kill him? There was only one answer. It must be Frankie's guardian angel warning him of danger.
I got off my bed and knelt down. I clasped my hands in prayer.
"Dear God in heaven, please save Frankie," I prayed. "You must want him to live or you would have let him die with his family in Red Rock Canyon. Amen."
I got to my feet and reached for the beaded chain which turned on the ceiling light. I pulled it sideways. The light came on. The beaded chain swung back and forth. I wondered why it kept swinging back and forth without stopping. Then a strange thing happened. The beaded chain began to dissolve and, plain as day, I saw Sweyn's lariat hanging from a rafter in our barn and my brother Tom climbing up it. Then once again all I could see was the chain and it had stopped swinging.
I remembered one time after an argument with Tom that I'd gone up to his loft and pulled the rope ladder up after me. When he hollered for me to throw it down, I leaned over the edge and gave him the good old raspberry. He had shouted that his great brain knew more than one way to get up to the loft. He'd taken Sweyn's lariat and thrown it over a rafter. Then he'd climbed up the lariat to the rafter and gone hand over hand across the other rafters until he reached the loft.
I'd told Uncle Mark that a man couldn't get to the loft without the rope ladder or bringing a wooden ladder into the barn. But a kid could. I didn't know exactly what I was going to do, but something told me to go to the barn. Maybe I co
uld get to the loft without waking Cal Roberts, and grab his revolver and bowie knife and throw them over the edge.
I took the screen off the bedroom window and shinnied down the elm tree. Brownie barked softly and came running to meet me. I told him to be quiet and took him back to the doghouse, where Prince was sleeping.
"You stay," I said.
I knew Brownie wouldn't move until I gave him another command. I walked to the corral. It was a bright moonlit night without a cloud in the sky. I stood with my arms resting on the railing of the corral fence and stared at the barn. I knew if I tried to open the doors, the hinges would squeak and wake up the outlaw. Then I thought of the loose board at the rear of the barn which we often used as a shortcut or while playing hide and seek. I walked softly to the rear of the barn. I lifted up the board. It squeaked, but very softly. A moment later I was in the barn.
I could see pretty well by the moonlight shining through the cracks on the sides of the barn. I looked up at the loft. I could see the cowboy boots of Cal Roberts sticking out over the edge of the loft. Tom had so much junk piled up in the loft and the outlaw was such a big man, I figured Roberts couldn't lie down without his ankles hanging over the edge. I could hear him snoring. I dropped my head and looked at Sweyn's lariat hanging from a wooden peg on the side of the barn.
Then another strange thing happened to me. Two words started repeating themselves in my mind: Lariat, ankles. Lariat, ankles. It was as if somebody was trying to tell me something. Oh how I wished I had a great brain like Tom. But I only had a little brain and it was up to me to figure it out. Just then Dusty moved in his stall, and suddenly I knew exactly what to do.
I walked softly to the livestock stalls. I let the horses smell me and patted them each on the nose. I scratched our milk cow behind the ears. Then I got the lariat. I held it coiled and walked to the center of the barn. And just as I'd seen Tom do it, I tossed the lariat upward letting it uncoil as it went. I wanted to drop half of it over the rafter. I missed the first time and the second time. But on the third try, half of the uncoiled lariat dropped over the rafter and uncoiled as it came down. I now had the lariat over the rafter.
I made a slipknot noose on one end of the lariat. I gave myself plenty of slack as I placed the noose between my teeth. Then, using the double lariat, I climbed hand over hand up to the rafter. I grabbed it with both hands and let go of the lariat, except for the noose part between my teeth. Then I swung myself hand over hand from rafter to rafter until I came to the one closest to the loft. I pulled myself up and stood on the rafter.
I could see Gal Roberts lying on his back, a pillow under his head. He had a blanket over him except for his ankles. He was still snoring. Frankie was under a blanket in a corner with his back toward me. There was three feet separating me from the loft. This was going to be the hardest part. I placed the fingers of my right hand on the roof rafter between the sheathing and shingles and swung myself onto the loft. My feet touched just to the right of Roberts.
I removed the noose from my mouth. I was just stooping over to put it around the outlaw's ankles when his legs moved apart. I was afraid I'd awaken him if I tried to push his legs together. So I slipped the noose over just one ankle and tightened it carefully. I used the roof rafter to swing myself back to the crossbeam rafter. I hung from it with both hands and began to swing my body to give me momentum. Then I went hand over hand across the rafters until I was above the bales of hay. It was about a twenty-foot drop but seemed like a hundred before my feet landed on a bale of hay.
I climbed down and walked to where the other end of the lariat hung from the crossbeam rafter. I made a slipknot noose big enough to go over Dusty's head. Everything now depended upon the mustang. I walked to his stall. I patted him on the nose. I led him by the mane to where the lariat was hanging. I slipped the noose over his neck. I figured he could walk about thirty feet to the end of the barn.
"Please, God, make it work," I prayed.
Then I walked Dusty toward the end of the barn until the lariat began to tighten.
"Now Dusty!" I shouted, giving his mane a jerk.
Feeling the lariat tighten around his neck, the mustang seemed to know exactly what to do. He sprang forward. The lariat made a squealing sound as it slipped over the rafter. Dusty and I kept going. First the legs and then the body of Cal Roberts were dragged off the loft. Dusty and I took a few more steps and then stopped. Cal Roberts was upside down, swinging in a wide arc.
"What in the hell!" the outlaw shouted, startled, as he woke up.
His revolver had dropped from his holster as I thought it would when he was pulled off the loft. But the bowie knife was still in his scabbard. I saw him reaching for it. I knew he would try to lift himself up and cut the lariat.
"Stand, Dusty," I commanded the mustang.
I ran and grabbed a pitchfork. Roberts had the bowie knife out and was starting to lift himself up. I ran toward him and jabbed the pitchfork in his behind. He let out a yell and dropped the bowie knife. Then he reached for his revolver and found his holster empty. He began shouting the foulest oaths I've ever heard in my life. I ran and opened the barn door.
"Here, Brownie!" I shouted.
I had trained Brownie to go for help in case I was ever hurt. I lay down and grabbed my knee. When he came into the barn, I began groaning. He licked my face and then ran out of the barn, barking.
I was afraid to leave Cal Roberts alone because he might try to free himself. I was right. He had raised himself up. He had hold of the lariat with one hand and was trying to loosen the noose around his ankle with the other hand. I grabbed the pitchfork and rammed it into his rump again. He let out a yell and let go of the lariat as he flopped upside down. But I wasn't taking any chances. I held the points of the pitchfork about two feet from his face.
"One move out of you and I'll ram this right into your face," I told him.
He didn't move but he called me every dirty name in the English language.
I heard footsteps running down the boardwalk in our backyard a couple of minutes later.
"In the barn!" I yelled.
I heard the corral gate open and then Mamma's voice.
"I told you that dog would never come scratching and barking at our front door unless John D. was in trouble," Mamma shouted.
"No trouble, Mamma!" I yelled. "I've got Cal Roberts hogtied!"
My shouting must have awakened Frankie. "John!" he shouted. "The bad mans is gone!"
Uncle Mark, Papa, Mamma, and Aunt Bertha came running into the barn. They stopped and stared at Cal Roberts hanging from the rafter upside down.
"Well, I'll be double-damned!" Uncle Mark said, and it was the first time I'd ever heard him swear.
"Please hurry, Uncle Mark," I said. "I need the lariat to get up to the loft to get Frankie."
My uncle removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt. "Just put your hands behind your back, Roberts," he ordered, "or I'll leave you hanging there until you do."
Cal Roberts put his hands behind his back. Uncle Mark snapped the handcuffs on the outlaw's wrists. Then my uncle picked up the revolver and bowie knife.
"All right, John," he said. "Back up Dusty and let him down."
I grabbed Dusty's mane and backed him up until Roberts was lying on the ground. Uncle Mark removed the noose from his ankles and told him to stand up. He pointed the outlaw's revolver at his back.
"I'll lock him up in jail," Uncle Mark said, "and then I'm coming back. I want to hear how a nine-year-old boy captured the most dangerous outlaw and gunslinger I have ever known."
"Are you all right, son?" Papa asked, as Uncle Mark marched Cal Roberts off to jail.
"Papa!" Frankie shouted from the loft, as he recognized the voice.
"I'm just dandy," I said. "But Frankie is still tied up. I let me get him and then I'll tell you all about it."
I got up to the loft the same way I had before, with Mamma calling for me to be careful all the way. I untied Frankie and rubbed his wrists and h
ands. Then I made him grip my hands to prove the circulation was restored and he had the strength to hold on before I let him get on my back. I tossed the rope ladder over the edge of the loft and climbed down.
When we reached the ground, Papa, Mamma, and Aunt Bertha made a fuss over Frankie and then we all went into j the house. While Mamma gave Frankie a bath and put him I into a clean nightgown and robe, I told Papa and Aunt Bertha I what had happened. Then Mamma came back into the parlor I carrying Frankie in her arms. She sat down in her maple I rocker, holding him in her lap. I had to tell Mamma about my capture of Cal Roberts. I had no sooner finished than Uncle Mark arrived, which meant I had to tell it for the third time. Then my uncle paid me a compliment that I didn't deserve.
"I don't believe," he said, speaking to Papa, "that Tom is your only son with a great brain."
"I know I haven't a great brain like Tom," I said. "But I'm satisfied with my own little brain. I prayed for a miracle and it happened when the swinging light chain gave me the idea of how to get up to the loft. Then I put my little brain to work and it worked just peachy dandy."
