Dick Ferris laid his hand on Harold’s shoulder. “You can’t do it, boy,” says Dick, “but it ain’t going to hurt to try. And if you make good, and have him tied up a prisoner for us, we will tend to him the rest of the way.”
Harold took off his cap and made a bow. “Good-bye, then,” he says, “get ready and make up your mind what you are going to do with him; for Stoner’s Boy is as good as caught right now.”
Harold continued to chew upon the long piece of grass as he walked away up the bank. Oliver watched him go with a sad look. “Poor Harold,” he says, “he always is putting his foot in danger.”
I slapped Oliver on the back. “Cheer up, Oliver,” I says, “that kid is able to take care of himself.”
TUESDAY.—There’s no use fooling ourself about it; Stoner has brought a gang of fellas with him from his hometown. Link Lambert showed me the footprints on the bank under the willows, where they landed in their boats. I don’t know what to do about it yet. It may be that we won’t have any trouble with them if we let them alone. But you can’t tell what that twin Harold is going to do. He never asks anybody’s advice; he just goes ahead and does as he dern pleases, and then we can do as we like about it, even though we got to run like the dickens to keep out of trouble he gets us in. I kinda thought Harold was going to be a different boy this year, but I guess it’s in his blood. I don’t think he will ever change; he is bound to get us into trouble one way or another.
We had our meeting this afternoon, but it wasn’t much of a meeting, just paid our dues, and Lew Hunter made us sing a couple songs; then we went to the swimming hole and had a good hour there. Nothing happened, and nobody saw anything of Stoner’s Boy; neither did we have the pleasure of Harold’s company all day. Some life, ain’t it?
WEDNESDAY.—I got down to the houseboat first this morning. It was a beautiful morning; the songbirds in the trees made it sound like paradise around that old houseboat. Golly, but a fella gets to like a place like that after he gets to know it. I am so used to this old houseboat, and this old riverbank and the woods around it, that I wouldn’t trade my place with any fella in the big city. I like to go to the city once in a while, but I am always glad to get back to the boys and our old houseboat again.
Just as I finished opening up, and walked back out to the front steps of the houseboat, the Skinny Guy came up. When he heard my step he was going to turn around, but he said, “Oh, it’s you, Hawkins?”
“Yes,” I answered, “who’d you think it was?”
Link grinned. “You gave me a scare,” he said. “I thought it was the other fella who was around here this morning.”
“What other fella?” I asked.
“The fella with a feather in his cap,” answered Link. “I never seen him before till this morning; he was coming down the river in a birch canoe. He was dressed funny, and he had a funny cap with a feather in it.”
“Yes,” I says, “and what did he do?”
“He landed under the willows,” continued Link, “and then snuck up to the houseboat and peeped in. Look here, see what funny kinda shoes he wore; here’s his footprints in the mud.”
I looked at the footprints under the houseboat window. They were made by a long shoe with a very pointy toe.
“He had a bow and arrow,” said Link, “and he had red stockings, and his pants was tucked in at the knees, and he had a leather belt.”
“For goodness sake,” I says. “Link, you sure do look at a fella hard to remember all those things about his clothes.”
“Sure,” said Link, “you would have looked hard too if you had seen him; no fellas round here dress like that.”
I says, “I would like to see him.”
Link shook his head. “He ain’t no good, I bet,” says Link. “I bet he is one of Stoner’s gang.”
“Maybe so,” I says. “Link, you just scout around and see if his canoe is still here, and if it is, see if you can track him down and find out what his game is.”
Link was off at once, to get on the trail of this strange fella.
We had our meeting when the fellas came down a short time later, but I didn’t mention a word to anyone about what Link said. Link didn’t come back.
THURSDAY.—Oliver met me today after our meeting and said, “Hawkins, I wish you could get Harold to quit looking for Stoner’s Boy.”
“Oliver,” I says, “can you make him do anything?”
“No,” says Oliver, “I never could.”
“Well,” I says, “if his own brother can’t, how do you expect me to?”
“Well,” says Oliver, “he is worrying about it, and I know he just wants to make good his boast. Why, last night he was talking in his sleep about it; I heard him say he would catch Stoner if it took him a month.”
“It might take him longer,” I says, “but if he does it will be better for all of us; we will turn him over to the sheriff sure. We won’t take chances on letting him get away again.”
The Skinny Guy came up to the houseboat after noon. “Got time to come along, Hawkins?” he asked.
“Sure,” I says.
He walked with me down to the river, and we strolled up to the willows. “I haven’t been able to find the fella with a feather in his cap,” he says, “but his canoe is still here. That’s it.”
He pointed under the willows. A nice birch canoe was on the bank; it was painted with red, white, and yellow stripes lengthwise.
“That’s it,” repeated Link.
“It’s a beauty,” I said. “I wish I owned it.”
I went over and looked at it close. It had “R.H.” painted on the front sides. I says to Link, “You didn’t see him going back last night, did you?”
Link shook his head. “No,” he answered, “if he went back, it was after dark.”
“Well,” I says, “I bet he went back last night and came down again this morning; the canoe is still wet, you see.”
Link looked. “Doggone,” he says, “I never noticed that.”
“Well,” I says, “watch for him tonight.”
Link said he would.
FRIDAY.—Us fellas had our meeting early this morning, and then most of the boys went to take a swim. I waited for Link, and it wasn’t long until he came. He looked tired. But he smiled when he saw me.
“I been the worst fooled fella on earth, Hawkins,” he says. “Old feather-cap must of been close all day yesterday, and I couldn’t catch him.”
“Well,” I says, “do you know where he goes?”
Link nodded. “I know where he goes, and I know where he is, right now.”
“Fine,” I says, “first tell me what you saw last night.”
Link sat down on the houseboat steps. “I watched the canoe,” he said, “and just when the moon came up I saw Stoner’s Boy.”
“What!” I hollered. “The fella with the feather-cap wasn’t Stoner?”
“No,” says Link, “but he went away with Stoner. I saw Stoner come down the cliffs when the moon came up, and he had five fellas with him. They went down to where Cave River goes under the cliff. They brought out the gray launch and got in it, and as they was gitting in it I saw the fella with a feather in his cap come down the cliff path too, and after the gray ghost and his pals started up the river, the feather-cap fella got in his canoe and went up too. I got in my longboat and followed.
“The moon was so bright I was afraid they would see me. But they dodged me, and I come back feeling blue. I went home, and Pop scolded me for being out so late. But I couldn’t sleep. I got up early this morning, and came up here and sat by the willows, and thought and thought. Just when it got good and bright daylight, I saw the red-and-yellow striped canoe coming back down the river. I waited till it landed under the willows and saw feather-cap get out and walk up the bank.
“I followed him. Where do you think he went?”
Link stopped and looked up when he asked the question.
“How should I know Link?” I answered. “I guess he went back up to Stone
r’s hiding place?”
Link smiled and shook his head. “No,” he said, “come along. I’ll show you.”
He got up and started for the hollow. I followed. We didn’t say a word, till we come to our old shack in the hollow. We hardly ever go near the old shack anymore, and the weeds are growing high around it. “Good night,” I says, “we don’t have to wade through all those weeds, do we, Link?”
“He did,” said Link. “I guess we can do the same.”
I followed Link up to the old shack. The dust was thick on the windowpane. Link rubbed his hand over the glass and peeped in. “Look, Hawkins,” he said.
I peeped through the glass. A nice-looking boy was sleeping soundly on our bunk in the shack. On one of our old rickety chairs hung a purty purple coat, and a fancy black silk cap with a peacock feather stuck in it, and a fancy bow made with a sapling stick, and a long box full of arrows.
“He’s dead to the world,” whispered Link. “He’s tired out.”
“I’m going in,” I said.
Link didn’t reply to me, and I walked around to the front and softly opened the door. The sleepy fella just turned over and kept on sleeping. I picked up the bow and arrows and looked at them. They were nicely made; the arrows had fine points and feather shafts. As I hung it back on the chair the purty jacket fell to the floor. I picked it up, and a card case fell out. I opened it. It was filled with little white cards, with the name “Robert Hood” printed on them. I put everything back in place as quietly as I could; then I backed out. Link was waiting for me.
I PEEPED THROUGH THE GLASS.
“What will we do with him, Hawkins?” asked Link.
“Let him sleep,” I says. “The boy has a good-looking face; I kinda like him, and he’s tired. Nobody is going to bother him till he gets his sleep.”
Link didn’t say anything to me as we walked back up to our houseboat. Then he says, “Hawkins, why are you going to let that guy git away?”
I looked Link straight in the eye. “What’s the matter with you, Link?” I asked. “He didn’t do anything to us.”
“But he is one of Stoner’s gang,” said Link.
“Prove it,” I says, “and then I’ll believe it. No fella with a face like Robert Hood would do any harm to anybody.”
Link looked at me a second without a word. Then he turned and ran down the bank, leaving me standing there alone.
SATURDAY.—Harold was down at the houseboat this morning. It was the first meeting he came to since he promised to get Stoner for us. He didn’t say a word during the meeting, but after it was over he came over to where Dick and me were talking. “I want to tell you fellas to be ready,” he said. “I will have Stoner tied up in his cave for you about three o’clock this afternoon.”
“Goodness,” says Dick. “You got your timetable fixed out fine, haven’t you, Harold?”
Harold couldn’t see a joke in that. “I’ve told you,” he said, “I won’t hold him long; if you ain’t there after I get him tied, I’ll turn him loose again.”
He turned and walked quickly up the bank.
“Hawkins,” says Dick, “we will have to be ready at three o’clock.”
“Better do it,” I says. “You can almost bet Harold will do what he says.”
“But I can’t see how he is going to do it,” says Dick.
“Neither can I,” I answered, “but we better be there.”
I sent Frankie Kane down to the island to get Link Lambert, but the Skinny Guy’s pop said that Link was out hunting for a fella with a feather in his cap. So I knew right away we needn’t depend on Link’s help this afternoon.
At two o’clock we called Jerry Moore and Bill Darby, and the four of us started up the cliffs. None of us said a word. But I know each fella was wondering whether or not Harold was going to make good. I for one hoped he would, and end our troubles with Stoner’s Boy. But I couldn’t see for the life of me how he expected to turn the trick. Anyhow, we went up the path, although we didn’t hurry any. When we came to the entrance to Stoner’s hiding place, we all stopped.
“Suppose Stoner’s gang is in there,” says Jerry Moore, “and suppose they got Harold tied up instead.”
Dick Ferris grinned. “Then there’s only one thing to do,” said Dick, “and that is to go in and save Harold.”
We started to go in, but just then we heard a low whistle. We looked up. Harold stood on the path above us. “Come up,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
We turned and scrambled up the path. When we got on top, we saw a sight we never expected to see. Stoner’s Boy, with his old gray cape and coat, and his handkachif covering his chin, was sitting on the path, with his hands tied behind him, and his feet tied together with ropes.
Harold stood with his hands in his pockets. “There you are,” he says. “I had to wait for a time when his pals wasn’t with him, or I would have got him for you sooner. Take him; I’m through.”
Harold didn’t say another word; he turned and walked down the back path. We stood like statues watching him go, and none of us made a move till Harold was out of sight.
“He did it, by golly,” said Jerry Moore.
“Come on,” says Dick, “let’s get this gray ghost up to the sheriff.” There came a sound of rolling stones as Dick said that.
“THERE YOU ARE,” HE SAYS.
The next minit when we looked, we saw the gray figger of Stoner’s Boy rolling over and over like a log, going down the path at a fast clip.
“Good night,” I hollered, “he’ll break his bones.”
We started down the path after him, but he rolled fast. We had to make a curve in the path, but Stoner rolled straight over the rough stones. When we came around the curve, we saw him sitting down below on the bank. His hands were loose, and he was working fast at the ropes around his ankles. Before we could make ten steps, he flung the rope high in the air, and we heard his mocking laugh as he darted for the willows.
“Hurry,” hollered Jerry, “don’t let him get to his launch.”
But the rattle of the motor told us he beat us to it.
The launch shot out into the river. “Ho-ho,” hollered Stoner, “that one fella you got is smart, but you guys can’t ever catch me.”
At the same time we heard running feet, and down the bank sped a fella with a feather in his cap. He pulled a red, white, and yellow canoe into the water, and jumping in, started paddling hard after Stoner.
“There goes one of his gang,” says Dick. “We missed both of ’em.”
The Skinny Guy was standing on the bank as we walked up. “Where did he come from?” asked Link, pointing at the fella with a feather in his cap. But nobody answered him.
We all felt then as if Stoner’s Boy was smarter than we were, and he was sure game, or he would never have rolled down that stony path, but it got his hands free, and that’s what saved him.
“We might as well go and tell Harold,” said Dick.
Which we did.
CHAPTER 23
The Arrow Mystery
MONDAY.—Us boys felt purty cheap when we let Stoner’s Boy get away again after Harold went to so much trouble to catch him and tie him up for us. When we told Harold about it he shook his head. “Well, you poor fish,” he said. “I really didn’t expect you could keep him long enough to turn him over to the sheriff.”
“We couldn’t help it,” says Dick Ferris. “He rolled down the cliff path before we had time to get hold of him.”
Harold sniffed. “All right,” he says, “don’t bother me anymore about it. I kept my word with you fellas.”
And he turned and walked away from us. Oliver, his twin brother, said, after Harold was gone, “You boys must excuse my brother; he don’t mean to make you feel bad. He is just sore because you didn’t hold Stoner’s Boy.”
“How could we hold him?” hollered Jerry Moore. “That gray ghost has got an awful nerve. He could have broken his neck when he started to roll down the cliff.”
“Well
,” says Dick, “he’s gone; there ain’t no use fussing about it. Let’s get busy, and the next time we get our hands on him we will hold him, you can bet, and then to the sheriff he goes.”
I know the fellas all started out with a good mind made up to hold Stoner the next time they had a chanst to lay their hands on him.
TUESDAY.—We held a meeting early this morning. After the meeting the boys all went down to the old swimming hole in Banklick Creek. But I had to write in my seckatary book, and I stayed up in the houseboat all by myself. I was there about an hour when in come the Skinny Guy. “Hello, Link,” I says.
“Who have you seen him with?” I asked.
“Only one fella,” says Link, “and that was a Pelham, Dave Burns.”
I whistled. “Gee whiz,” I says, “if he is helping the Pelhams.”
“Hawkins, you are libel to get a pointy arrow in your pants some of these days.”
I laughed. “I ain’t afraid of arrows, Link,” I says.
“Maybe you ain’t,” says Link, “but I am. Those pointy arrows go right through anything they hit.”
Link stayed with me all morning telling me how he followed the fella with a feather in his cap, who I thought was “Robert Hood.” Afterward he got in his long boat and paddled back down to the island to help his pop fish.
WEDNESDAY.—I went down to the old swimming hole today to join in the fun. Bill Darby has a big rubber ball, bigger than a football, and after we got in the water we had a fine game of snatch the ball. You wouldn’t believe you could have so much fun with a big ball like that in the water. I never laughed so much in my life as I did at the way some of the boys grabbed at the ball, and lost their balance and went under, but they always came right up and spit out a mouthful of yella creek water, and then went after the ball again.
While the other fellas played with the ball, Dick Ferris swum over to me and says, “Hawkins, why don’t Link ever come down to swim?”
“He’s too busy,” I says. “He ain’t got time for nothing but to catch Stoner’s Boy.”
Dick laughed. “He might as well give that up,” says Dick. “There ain’t a fella in this gang who is smart enough to get the gray ghost and hold him.”
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