“I believe you,” I answered, “but you can’t stop Link from trying.”
Just as I said that something whizzed past my head.
“Hi, Hawkins,” says Link, “where’s all the fellas?”
“Swimmin’,” I says.
Link says, “Why didn’t you go along?”
I told Link I had to write. “Link,” I says, “how come you ain’t down on the island helping your pop fish?”
Link grinned. “Pop’s catching a plenty,” says Link. “I had to come up here to watch a fella.”
“I know,” I says. “The fella with the feather in his cap.”
“Yeah,” answers Link, “I been right on his heels for the last two days, but he never knew it, and Hawkins, you ought to see him shoot with that bow and arrow he’s got.”
“A good shooter is he?” I asked.
“You bet your life,” answers Link. “He can shoot a bird better with that bow and arrow than you can with a gun.”
I says, “Aw go away; what you trying to make me believe?”
“A Good Shooter, is He?” I Asked.
Link looked serious. “He can do it, I tell you, Hawkins; I seen him do it,” says Link.
I says, “Did you get to talk to him, Link?”
Link shook his head. “No,” he says, “every time I started to say something to him something happened.”
“What’s he want around here?” I asked.
“Dern if I know,” says Link. “I thought he was with Stoner first, but seems like he ain’t. I ain’t never seen him with Stoner yet.”
“What was that?” asked Dick.
“Sounded like a bird flew past swift,” I says.
We looked around but couldn’t see anybody. Once more we heard something whiz past. “Good night,” whispers Dick to me. “Look!”
He pointed to a tree on our bank. I looked and saw something sticking in the bark of the tree. “It’s an arrow,” whispers Dick, “sure as you live.”
Right away I thought of the fella Robert Hood, the fella Link and I found asleep in our shack one day, the fella who had a bow and a box of arrows with him.
“Come on,” I said, “get the fellas out right away, and get your clothes on. Somebody is libel to get an arrow in his skin if we stay around here.”
Dick called to all the fellas that there would be a meeting in the houseboat right away. We all hustled out and got into our clothes. I kept an eye open to watch for any more arrows that might come our way, but no more came after Dick and the other fellas started up the bank.
“Yep,” I said kinda to myself, “it’s the fella with a feather in his cap. Wonder what he has got against us?”
THURSDAY.—Link came up to the houseboat this morning while we held our meeting, and all the boys were glad to see him. They wanted him to go swimming with them, but he shook his head. “No,” he says, “I ain’t got time. I got to get back to my pop’s houseboat soon.”
After the boys were gone I says, “Link, what’s on your mind?”
“Nothing much,” he says. “I just thought I would kinda spy around this morning, and maybe I might get a chanst to talk to the fella with a feather in his cap.”
“Robert Hood,” I said, “that’s his name.”
“Is it?” asked Link.
“Didn’t you see his name cards when they fell out of his coat pocket down in the shack last week?” I asked.
“Yeah,” says Link, “I saw them cards.”
“Well,” I says, “that’s his name—Robert Hood.”
“Well,” says Link, “it don’t make much difference. I will find out what he is doing here, no matter what name he goes by.”
“Well,” I says, “I got a sneaking notion you will find him in our shack down in the hollow.”
Link started for the shack right away, and I kept on writing in my seckatary book. In a little while Harold, one of the twins, came in. He looked worried. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
He held up his arm. He had a handkachif wrapped around his wrist. “I wish I could find the fella who did this,” he says.
“Good lord,” I says, “what’s happened?”
The white handkachif was spotted with red.
“Got an arrow in it,” says Harold. “Some sneak shot it at me from a hiding place. I wasn’t looking for trouble when it happened.”
Just as luck would have it, Doc Waters come in the door. “Hello, Hawkins,” he says, “haven’t seen you for a long time. How are you getting along with your writing?”
“Never mind my writing, Doc,” I answers, “look at this fella’s wrist.”
Harold wanted to hide his sore arm behind him, but Doc stepped up quick and took hold of his hand. “My land,” he says, “what’s all the blood from?”
Harold didn’t say a word while Doc unwrapped the handkachif. “Looks like a knife cut,” says Doc. “How did it happen, sonny?”
Harold told him.
After Harold finished, Doc looked at me and said, “Hawkins, is that boy Stoner still around here?”
“Yeah,” I says. “We almost had him last week.”
Doc shook his head. “I got a good notion to tell your pop, Hawkins,” he said.
“Doc,” I says, “don’t you think us boys can take care of our own fights?”
“That’s all right,” says Doc, “but when it comes to getting blood out like this it’s time for the sheriff to take a hand. Come along up to my office, sonny, and we will fix this up.”
I went along with Doc and Harold, and stayed till Doc had the cut fixed up. “Harold,” I says, as we parted to go home, “don’t let your mother know about your cut; it might worry her.”
Harold smiled at me. “I know, Hawkins,” he says. “If I let her see this I don’t think she would ever let me or Oliver come down to the houseboat anymore.”
“You won’t let her know?” I asked.
Harold shook his head. “I’ll keep my sleeve down,” he said. “I’ll keep it covered up; don’t worry, Hawkins.”
FRIDAY.—Harold came down to the houseboat with his brother Oliver this morning as if nothing had happened. “How’s your arm?” I asked.
“Oh,” says Harold, “it ain’t much. I wouldn’t have thought about it if you hadn’t asked me.”
I says, “Harold, please stay around the houseboat today; keep with the other fellas. Don’t take any chances.”
Harold looked me straight in the eye. “You’re a good fella, Hawkins,” he says. “You mean well, but I got to go somewhere. I am going to see the fella who shot that pointed stick in my arm. He is a coward to do that from a hiding place.”
“You know who it is?” I asked.
Harold smiled that funny old smile of his. “If I didn’t,” he says, “I wouldn’t go after him.”
He started out down the bank. There was no use trying to talk him out of it. Oliver was worried, and told me so.
“Well, Oliver,” I says, “I got lots of respect for your brother, but he is the stubbornest kid I ever knew.”
“You are right,” says Oliver.
The Skinny Guy showed up right after noon.
“Link,” I says, “Harold is on the trail of Robert Hood, and I pity him if Harold gets his hands on him.”
Then I told Link what happened to Harold. Link looked excited. “I lost track of Robert Hood,” said Link. “He ain’t been around for a couple days. Last time I seen him he was walking up and down the bank and through the wood paths like if he was looking for something.”
“What could be he looking for?” I asked.
“Dern if I know,” says Link. “He must of lost something.”
“Get after him, Link,” I says, “and if you find him, tell him Harold is a tough fella, and scare him away from here before they have a fight.”
“I’ll try,” says Link, “but I don’t think I’ll find him. I think he is gone.”
SATURDAY.—We held our regular meeting this morning, all the fellas paying their dues. After the meeting most
of the boys went to the swimming hole. As I was putting the money in our chees hole the Skinny Guy came in. “I got him, Hawkins,” he says. “He is in the shack in the hollow.”
I shut the chees hole quick. “Come on, then,” I says. “Let’s go down and talk sense to him.”
We hurried down to the hollow and waded through the high weeds over to the shack. I peeped in the window again. Robert Hood was lying on the bunk in the shack, and he was crying.
“What’s ailing him?” I whispered to Link.
But Link didn’t answer.
I walked around and shoved open the door. At the sound the boy inside jumped up from the bunk and stood facing us. “Well?” he says. “Well?”
I didn’t say anything at first. I just stood looking him straight in the eye. He raised his arm and brushed the tears out of his eyes with his sleeve.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “What you crying for?”
He looked at me for a minit; then he said, “Perhaps this house belongs to you. I am sorry; I just wanted to rest.”
I walked over a step and said, “Is your name Robert Hood?”
He smiled. “How did you know?” he asked.
I had to smile at him—dern if I could feel like he was one of Stoner’s gang. “You’re welcome to the shack,” I says. “Stay as long as you like.”
He smiled and said, “Thanks, you’re a regular fella.”
“Now,” I says, “what you crying about?”
“Is your name Robert Hood?” I asked.
His smile disappeared, and he answered, “I lost a fine box; my uncle in Cuba sent it to me. It had ivory and pearl trimming.”
“What was in the box?” I asked.
Robert Hood looked like he didn’t want to answer. “Arrows,” he said finally.
“Ah,” I says, “so you are the fella who’s been shooting arrows at us boys, are you?”
He started back like he was scared. “No,” he whispered, “not me. I didn’t shoot at a thing except sparrows.”
I walked over and put my hand on his shoulder. “Listen, Robert Hood,” I says. “I hope you are telling the truth, because there’s a fella looking for one who shot those arrows at us boys, and if he finds him—”
“Wait,” said Robert Hood, “tell him to look for the fella who wears shoes like this.” He pointed to the soft ground beneath the window. “Those are the tracks of the fella who stole my bow and arrows.”
I stooped to look at the tracks, and so did Link. We both know these footprints. “Stoner’s Boy,” says Link.
“What!” hollered Robert Hood. “That gray sneak.”
But just at that minit as we stood up we caught sight of something moving in the weeds outside about fifty feet from the shack. At the same time a gray hat rose up out of the weeds, followed by a face half covered by a gray handachif, then a gray cape, and we saw Stoner’s Boy staring at us.
“Look out!” hollered Link, as the gray ghost raised his arm. All three of us fellas in that shack dodged down below the window. The next minit an arrow whizzed over our heads and stuck in the opposite wall of the shack.
I ran around to the open door and saw the gray figger of Stoner hurrying away through the weeds.
“Come on,” I hollered, “he’s running.”
We three flew out the door and through the high weeds. We lost sight of Stoner for a while. But when we came out of the weeds, we saw him in front of us, running as fast as he could down the riverbank.
He had the pearl-and-ivory arrow box strapped around one shoulder and the bow on the other. “His launch is there,” hollered Robert Hood.
But as he started for the willows we saw Harold, the twin, shoot out of a hiding place and come toward the gray ghost. Stoner saw him as quick as we did, and he turned sharply and ran for his life. As he reached the water he made one big jump. I wondered what he was jumping for, but I saw the next minit. He was paddling in the Skinny Guy’s longboat. He turned the longboat’s nose as we rushed up and paddled over to the cove under the willows, and as he came aside his launch he left the longboat to float down the river as he leaped into the gray motorboat.
We stood there helpless on the bank. The sound of the motor humming and the mocking laugh of Stoner’s Boy told us that he had escaped once more. We all turned away. We didn’t want to look at his sneering face. Robert Hood went into the bushes and pulled out his red-white-and-yellow striped canoe. “I might as well go back,” he said. And he pushed the canoe in the water and paddled away.
Harold didn’t say a word but walked back up to the houseboat. All of a sudden it struck Link that his longboat was gone.
“Golly Moses,” he says to me, “I’ll have to get another boat to get back home in, Hawkins.”
I laughed. I was tired—tired of all this excitement, and tired of seeing Stoner get away all the time. “All right, Link,” I says, “let’s go up and ask our capt. to give you one of our canoes.”
Which we did.
CHAPTER 24
Rescued by His Pals
MONDAY.—Us boys held our meeting out in front of the houseboat today because it was too hot inside. Some of the boys sat on the houseboat steps and some sat on the ground, while I called the roll and Dick gave orders for the week. “We will all have to be very careful,” said Dick. “Stoner’s Boy is loose again, and he has a bow and arrow that don’t belong to him.”
Harold, the twin, got up and brushed off his pants while he said, “Someday that Gray Ghost is going to try it once too often, and he is going to be put somewhere where he won’t be able to do any harm.”
Harold’s brother Oliver got up quick and said, “Harold, please don’t have anything to do with that Stoner boy; he is going to hurt you yet.”
Harold waved his hand at his brother and smiled. “Don’t worry, Ollie,” he said. “If I don’t get Stoner’s number before very long, I am going to be awful disappointed.”
Harold walked away up to the main road, and Oliver looked like he was ready to cry.
“Cheer up, kid,” I said. “Your brother is made of good stuff. Stoner had better be afraid of him.”
Oliver shook his head. “If he was a fair fighter,” he said, “Stoner wouldn’t have a chanst with my brother, but the Gray Ghost don’t fight fair; he is a sneak.”
Lew Hunter got up and says, “Come on, boys, let’s practice a few songs.”
Jerry Moore laughed. “Sing in the houseboat?” he asks. “Why, Lew, it’s too hot to stay in there a minit; let’s all go swimmin’.”
Lew shook his head. “You boys are getting rusty voices from not practicing enough,” he said. “You all stand outside here by the window, and I’ll go in and play the organ.”
Lew went in the houseboat, and purty soon we heard the music of the old organ.
“Well,” I says to Jerry, “we might as well please Lew once in a while; he is a good fella.”
Jerry didn’t say any more. The other fellas all stood up by the window, and Jerry and me went up, too. When the singing started all the fellas joined in. Seemed like old times again.
TUESDAY.—It turned cooler last night, and this morning we held our meeting in the houseboat. We didn’t have much to talk about, and before I knew it, Lew Hunter had all the fellas standing up by the organ singing. After the first song Lew turned around and said, “Hawkins, what’s that song you used to like so well?”
“Old Kentucky Home,” I answered.
Lew smiled. “Some song,” he says. “You must of been born in Kentucky.”
“I was,” I answered, “and I lived here ever since; there ain’t no place like it.”
Lew chuckled. “Well,” he says, “let’s hear you sing your own way.”
So I went over to the organ, and Lew started playing, and I started “My Old Kentucky Home.” Dick Ferris joined in with his fine tenor voice, and Jerry Moore sang bass. When we come to the chorus all the fellas joined in:
Weep no more for me
—sing one song—
Al
l of a sudden I noticed the other fellas stopped singing, and I turned around. A face was looking in the window, a smiling face, with a cap with a feather sticking in it on his head. It was Robert Hood.
“Ah,” he says, “excuse me I couldn’t help it. I had to come up and listen; that was fine singing.”
Nobody said a word for a minit, but Dick coughed and then said, “Won’t you come in?”
The face disappeared from the window, and the next second Robert Hood walked in the houseboat door. He was dressed in his fancy purple jacket and his pointy toe boots, and he carried a long wooden stick in his hand with a spear on the end of it.
“Sit down,” says Dick. We all moved back to our places and sat down. Robert Hood sat at the end of the table opposite our captain.
“I am sorry I made any trouble for you boys,” he said. “It was me who brought the arrows here, but Stoner stole them while I was sleeping in the shack in the hollow, and he was the one who shot them at you.”
“Yes,” said our captain, “it was bad in the first place to bring those things here, and it ought to of learned you a lesson, but it don’t seem like it did.”
Robert Hood stopped smiling. “Why?” he asked.
“Well,” says Dick, “you come here again with another dangerous thing—what you doing with that frog sticker?”
Dick pointed at the spear Robert Hood was holding.
“Oh,” says Robert Hood, “this is the only thing I’ve got left, and I’ve got to protect myself, you know.”
Dick made a face. “You think you’re going to jab that thing in Stoner’s Boy?” he asked.
Robert Hood laughed. “If Stoner starts for me,” he answered, “I’m going to make him sorry.”
Dick nodded his head. “I see,” he says, “and supposing we take that away from you right now before it does anybody any harm?”
Robert Hood’s face got pale. He didn’t answer for a minit. Then he says, “Listen, you boys think I am Stoner’s pal and that I been helping him, but it ain’t so. Stoner ain’t any friend of mine, and I am on his track because he whipped a little friend of mine up in Watertown, a little kid who ain’t half his size, and I ain’t going to stop till I see him paid back for how he hurt that poor little fella.”
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