Stoner's Boy

by Robert F. Schulkers

  In the evening we fired a lot of fancy fireworks and sent up some red-white-and-blue balloons. We had a regular party, lemonade and everything. We had a fine time. When we were leaving, I says to Harold, “It was nice of you twins to treat us like this; we want to thank you for it.”

  “Say no more,” says Harold. “It was a pleasure for us, I am sure.”

  Those twins have learned a lot up at their fancy school in Massachusetts. They sure are fine kids. I can remember when they first came to our town; they both wore long curls and were mama’s boys. Some of the fellas thought they wouldn’t do, but after they were with us a week every fella in the bunch was glad to have them around. Harold did make some trouble for us once in a while, but his twin brother, Oliver, always got us out of it again. Dear old twins! Seems like old times to have them back again. They never were much like us boys. They never had a chanst to get out in the open like we did; they never got used to the rough life, but they were fine fellas anyhow. They liked our ways, and they liked our old camping place, and our fights were always their fights, and they never acted like they were better than us fellas just because their pop was rich and lived in a fine house. We went to the little old school in town, while they went away to a fancy school in Massachusetts, but that didn’t make any difference. They were fellas like you don’t meet often, and we were glad to have them back again.

  TUESDAY.—We held our meeting in the houseboat this morning, the first meeting the twins attended since they were home last Christmas time. We all paid up our dues and then started a game of ball in the hollow. Oh boy, how those twins can play ball! Harold nearly split Bill Darby’s good bat when he slammed the first one clean out of the hollow. We lost the ball, but none of the fellas cared; they were glad to have a fella like that to play ball with. I guess they learn baseball up at the fancy school too. A fella can learn everything at a good school.

  WEDNESDAY.—Oliver came down alone this morning, and I asked him where his brother Harold was. “I don’t know,” answered Oliver. “He is a funny fella. He likes to take hikes, and go fishing, and all that; he often goes away by himself.”

  “I’m sorry,” I says. “Us fellas would like to have him in another game of ball today.” Dick Ferris called us inside to hold our meeting, and while it was going on, I told Oliver about Stoner’s Boy. After I finished telling him most of the things Stoner did, Oliver says, “What an awful boy he must be!”

  “Yeah,” I says. “You wouldn’t believe there was such a boy, would you?”

  “No,” answered Oliver, “and I won’t believe till I see for myself.”

  “All right,” I says, “I hope you never see him.”

  But that hope was too good to be true. The Skinny Guy came up to me about noon and reported that Stoner was again in his hiding place in the cliffs.

  “What’s he up to now?” I asked.

  “Nothing that I know of,” says Link, “but I wouldn’t be supprised if he ain’t got something up his sleeve.”

  “Keep your eye on him, Link,” I says. “You know his cave better than any fella, and you can spy around.”

  Link was off to do what I told him—I knew that Link could keep track of Stoner better than anyone.

  I told Dick Ferris that Stoner was back, and Dick says, “Hawkins, you keep your eye on the Pelhams. Don’t let that crazy Briggen start another fuss with the Gray Ghost.”

  I laughed. “That’s a hard job you’re giving me, Dick,” I says.

  “Sure,” he says, “if you wasn’t Hawkins, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

  I thought that compliment was worth the trouble I would be put to, so I said all right.

  THURSDAY.—Link came up to the houseboat this morning as I was unlocking the door. “I ain’t done no good, Hawkins,” he says. “Stoner’s gone again, left last night in his gray launch.”

  “Very well,” I says, “that shows he ain’t up to any tricks this time.”

  “Well,” says Link, “I hope not, because I got to leave.”

  “Leave?” I says. “Where you going?”

  “Down to Seven Willows Island,” answered Link. “My pop says it’s better fishing down there in summertime. The houseboat goes down this evening; the Hudson Lee is going to tow us down.”

  “Well, Link,” I says, “we hate to see you move away again, but us fellas will be down to see you once in a while.”

  “Sure,” says Link, “that’s what I expected you to do.”

  “All right,” I said, “we will miss you here, because there ain’t anybody who can spy on Stoner like you.”

  Link smiled. “We ought to be clear of him for a while,” he says. “We ain’t done anything to him, and when we got Briggen out of his way we made him feel friendly toward us.”

  I laughed. “I hardly think so, Link,” I says. “Stoner ain’t ever going to forget that we turned his daddy and that gang over to the sheriff for sheep stealing.”

  But Link didn’t say anything about that. This afternoon all us fellas waited down by the river to see the Hudson Lee come down. The houseboat belonging to the Skinny Guy’s pop was hitched on, and away they went to Seven Willows Island. Link stood on the back porch of the houseboat and waved at us until the boat disappeared around the lower bend.

  “What a peculiar boy,” says Oliver to me. “I am sorry we lost that Skinny Guy’s company so soon.”

  “Don’t worry, Oliver,” says Bill Darby. “Link will be around here more than you think.”

  FRIDAY.—Harold and Oliver came down this morning with a new set of fishing tackle, some of the finest I ever saw. “We want to go fishing,” says Harold. “Do you know a good spot, Hawkins, where they bite good?”

  “Sure,” I says, “right under the willows, near the place where the creek enters the river.”

  So we went down. It was a beautiful day. The twins put their steel rods together and threw in their bait. It wasn’t five minutes before Harold had a strike.

  He had some kind of a fancy artificial bait that skimmed over the water like a little red bug. A silvery fish come up and slapped against the bait. Bang! away went the line. The reel began to whir like a motor, and Harold stood up to hold the rod.

  “Hold him,” I hollered. “Let him take his time; don’t lose him.”

  “Great guns,” says Oliver, “what kind of a fish can that be?”

  Harold was too busy with his line to listen to any talk. The reel began to slow up. “Wind in slow,” I says.

  “I’ll get him,” says Harold quietly.

  And he did. It took him ten minutes, but at the end of that time Oliver had the net ready, and the way those twins handled the business I knew that they must of learned fishing, too, up at their fancy school in Massachusetts.

  When I opened up the houseboat this morning, Briggen and Ham Gardner were standing on the riverbank. They came up when I unlocked the door.

  “Hello, Pelhams,” I says, “what brings you over so early this morning?”

  Briggen didn’t smile; he just stood in front of the houseboat with his hands in his pockets. Ham Gardner was the first to speak. “I want to ask you a question, Hawkins,” says Ham. “Me and Briggen are good pals; you know that.”

  “Yes, I think I do,” I answered. “What’s on your mind?”

  Ham coughed and hesitated before answering. Then he said: “That gray ghost in the gray launch has been passing down the river every day.”

  “Just so he passes,” I says. “We don’t want him to stop.”

  “Well,” says Ham, “I want to keep peace with you fellas, but I ain’t gonna be able to hold Briggen in no longer; he is bound to get even with that gray sneak.”

  “Ham,” I says, “you did a whole lot for Briggen, and Briggen ought to keep out of trouble now, for what you did for him.”

  Briggen sneered at me. “Yeah,” he says, “after what Stoner did to me, you expect me to take all that without hitting back?”

  “Briggen,” I says, “you ain’t no match for Stoner’s Boy.
He can put it all over you, and the best advice I can give you is to keep away from that gray-coated sneak; whenever you see him coming, turn and go the other way.”

  “Never!” hollered Briggen. “I ain’t made that way, Hawkins. I’m going to keep on his trail till he says he is sorry he ever met me.”

  I waved my hand. “All right,” I says, “but don’t look for any help from us fellas; we did all that we are going to do for you Pelhams, Briggen.”

  Ham Gardner looked like he was sorry I said that. “Hawkins,” says Ham, “it ain’t no use to argafy with Briggen. He’s set on doing it, and I don’t want to get in bad with you boys, and this is what I ask: if we keep away from your side of the river, and fight Stoner somewhere else, you boys won’t butt in, will you?”

  I looked at poor old Ham and felt bad when he said that, and I felt sorry for him. Poor Ham never had much in his life neither, and he wasn’t much of a guy to brag about, but the way he stuck up for pals was what made me think a lot of him.

  “Ham,” I says, “I put the whole thing up to you, and you do as you like. If Briggen keeps his fights away from our side of the river, us boys won’t bother him nor Stoner’s Boy either.”

  “That’s all I want,” says Ham. “Thanks.”

  Both Pelhams walked down the bank and got into a flatboat and rowed acrost. I felt kinda sorry for Ham.

  When the other fellas came down, I told them what the Pelhams said.

  We held our meeting, and Dick gave orders that none of us fellas should take a hand in any quarrels or fights between the Pelhams and Stoner’s Boy unless it happened on our side of the river.

  Oliver went with the other boys to have a game of ball in the hollow. Harold came over to me and asked if I wanted to go fishing again.

  “I’ll lend you a fine rod and line,” he said, “and we ought to have some great sport.”

  “Sure,” I said, “we will take a canoe and go down to Seven Willows Island, where the Skinny Guy and his pop are staying; there is good fishing down there.”

  We arrived at the island in about an hour. We went right up to the Skinny Guy’s houseboat, but there wasn’t anybody home. So we searched for a spot on the far side of the island, a beautiful bushy place where the water looked like it was calling us to come and pull some shining beauties out of it.

  We sat down and got the tackle ready, and soon were ready for business. I enjoy fishing, and Harold seems to be a regular nut over this kind of sport. We had good luck, and after an hour we had a good string of fish tied to a stick that Harold stuck in the mud of the bank.

  “Let’s go up and get some lunch,” I says. “The Skinny Guy’s pop will have something good to eat.”

  We went up to the houseboat. Link was there, and so was his pop, and they were glad to see us. We had lunch, and I asked Link to come along with us and fish, but he said no, he had something to do, and we went back alone.

  Link struck out for the woods in the middle of the island. It is a very wild place, thick with trees, bushes, and high grass.

  When we got back to our place, Harold hollered, “Somebody’s been here.”

  I looked but couldn’t see our rods; the string of fish was gone also.

  “Well, if that don’t beat the dickens,” I says.

  Harold looked sore. “Are them two the only ones on this island?” he asked, jerking his thumb back toward the houseboat.

  I whistled, as I noticed something on the ground. “No,” I says, “no, by jiminy. I thought they were, but now I know they ain’t—look here.”

  I pointed to some marks in the mud of the bank.

  “Yes, I see,” says Harold, “but what do these marks mean?”

  “Footprints,” I says, “footprints made by shoes with lots of hard nails in them—Stoner’s Boy is here.”

  SATURDAY.—We went back home without any fish, and what’s worse, without our fishing tackle. Harold came down to the houseboat early this morning. “Hawkins,” he says, “I’m going back to that island and get my fishing outfit.”

  “I wish you could get it back, Harold,” I says, “but how can you? You don’t know where the fella is that stole it.”

  Harold wouldn’t listen to any arguments, but had his mind made up to go.

  Dick Ferris came up and said, “Hawkins, what kind of a picnic are the Pelhams having today?”

  I looked and saw six Pelham flatboats pushing off the Pelham bank, heading down the river.

  “We better follow them, Dick,” I said.

  “That’s just what I thought,” says Dick, “but I told all the fellas to let the Pelhams alone unless they came over on our side.”

  “We better go by ourself,” I says. “We can take Harold along.”

  So we got out a canoe, and just as soon as the Pelham boats disappeared around the bend, we started down the river. We followed them slowly, until they landed at Seven Willows Island.

  “Briggen is on Stoner’s trail,” I says. “They got wind of him being on the island.”

  We curved around a different part of the island and landed. Dick looked at the mud on the bank. “It’s him, sure enough,” he says. “Those are Stoner’s footprints.”

  We walked up to the houseboat, and the Skinny Guy’s pop met us. “Where’s Link?” asked Dick.

  The Skinny Guy’s pop shook his head. “Don’t know,” he says, “somewhere in the woods I reckon.”

  We started through the woods, but it was hard going; there were so many briars, and the bushes were thick. There wasn’t a sign of a path. We wandered through and through until we came to a clearing and sat down to rest. There was no sound but the birds in the trees, and there were plenty of them. Suddenly we heard a shout from somewhere nearby.

  The next minit we heard several voices yelling, and the sound of pattering footsteps. We got up to go, but just then through the thicket came the gray figger of Stoner’s Boy, running like the wind. He shot acrost the clearing where we stood, and then out of the same thicket came the Skinny Guy with Briggen at his heels. They tore after Stoner. Stoner stopped when he reached the bushes acrost the clearing, as if hunting a place to get through. He must of thought there was no opening, for he suddenly turned, and although he hadn’t seen us, he came straight for the place where we stood.

  “HE SHOT ACROSS THE CLEARING WHERE WE STOOD.”

  Harold leaped to meet him, and swung his fist. It caught Stoner in the jaw, and he fell back a step, but was on his toes the next minit and grabbed Harold around the waist and threw him hard on the ground.

  Briggen came up as we picked up Harold. “Which way did he go?” hollered Briggen.

  “Shut up,” says Dick, “our friend is hurt.”

  Harold limped. We helped him to a shady place and sat him on the grass. “Holy smoke,” he says, “what kind of a fella was that?”

  Briggen laughed. “The Gray Ghost,” he says. “You will learn enough about him if you stay around here. Come on, Link; come on fellas. He won’t get away from us.”

  And with a yelling that sounded like a pack of Indians, they shot through the bushes again, after Stoner. But Stoner had a good lead on them.

  I felt sure the Pelham gang could never catch him. It seemed to me, too, that Briggen always chased, but never cared to get in close touch with the Gray Ghost. The way he threw Harold to the ground showed what kind of a fighter he was. He was strong as a bull, and didn’t care what he did to win his fight. Anything unfair went with him, so long as it got him what he was after. Harold shook his head and says, “That’s a poor way of fighting; we don’t do those things where I come from.”

  Dick and me felt sorry for the twin. “You got to expect rough things from him,” says Dick. “Are you hurt much?”

  Harold held his hand to his side and says, “No, I don’t think I’m hurt, just shaken up some. I feel dizzy.”

  We sat there for ten minits, and then Harold said he would be able to walk, so we picked our way back to the houseboat.

  The Skinny Guy was standing there
talking to the bunch of Pelhams.

  “Well, Briggen,” I asked, “did you get him?”

  Briggen growled. Link grinned. “We give him a good chase though, didn’t we, Hawkins?”

  But I didn’t feel like talking. We got Harold inside the houseboat, and the Skinny Guy’s pop made us some coffee and sandwiches, and in a little while Link came in.

  “The Pelhams went back,” says Link. “They lost track of the Gray Ghost.”

  We ate our lunch and talked about the matter, and after a while I says, “Harold, the fella who threw you down is the one who’s got your fishing tackle.”

  Harold smiled. “He won’t have it long,” he says. “I’ll get it back in my own time, but just now I don’t feel like doing any more; let’s go back home.”

  Which we did.

  CHAPTER 21

  Harold Bluffs Stoner

  MONDAY.—Us boys held our meeting in the stranded houseboat this morning, and our captain, Dick Ferris, told us all to stay around the houseboat, and not to go near the caves in the cliff unless he told us to. After the meeting was over the twins, Oliver and Harold, came over to me. “Our captain seems to be a funny chap, Hawkins,” says Harold, smiling.

  “How so, Harold?” I asked.

  “Why,” answers Harold, “to tell us where to go and where not to go.”

  “Well,” I says, “it’s up to our captain to give orders, else it wouldn’t be any use to have a captain.”

  “Hawkins is right,” says Oliver, “and you better keep the rules, Harold.”

  Harold smiled. “I am going to hunt for the party who stole my fishing tackle,” he says, “and don’t want anybody to tell me that I can’t do that.”

  Just then Dick Ferris came out of the houseboat. I went up to him. “Dick,” I says, “we are going to have some trouble with this Harold unless you give him leave to go where he pleases.”

  Then I told Dick what Harold said.

  Dick thought for a minit; then he said, “Well, Hawkins, we can’t do anything about it. He has got a right to get his fishing rod back if he has the chanst.”