Freddy Rides Again
Page 13
“If anyone dares so much as to mention any kind of pie—apple, mince, peach, apricot—even the lowly squash pie—will we scare him into the jiggles, the squealing squirms, and the Horrible scrabblings (which last is the worst of all fits)?”
“We will, Your Dreadfulness,” they replied.
So No. 23 bowed to Arthur and said: “Well then, would your honor care to accompany us down to the farm, where a festival of general rejoicing is now in progress?”
“Very happy to,” said Arthur getting up. “I see now that my fears were groundless. You are indeed my friends.” And they all marched off down to the farm.
The party that night, celebrating the final defeat of Mr. Margarine, was one of the noisiest ever held on the Bean farm. Everybody was there. Charles was the only one that was late. He had been told about it, of course, but sitting up in his spruce tree, he had got so interested in preparing a lecture which was to be called I was a Fugitive from Justice, that he didn’t start down to the farm until nearly nine. He made up for that later, however, by doing a very graceful exhibition waltz with Henrietta.
Usually Mr. Bean came out at nine-thirty and sent them off to bed. But that night he didn’t come out till midnight, and even then he didn’t send them to bed. He sat on a box, smoking his pipe, and watching the dancing, for nearly an hour; and when he went in finally, he only said: “Don’t keep it up too late.” From Mr. Bean, that was equal to telling them to keep it up all night.
They got to bed at two. And at seven somebody banged on the pig pen door.
It was no good pulling the covers over his head; they just kept on banging. At last he got up, but before going to the door, he looked out of the window to see who was there. And he got the surprise of his life. It was Cy banging on the door with his hoof. But behind him on their tall sleek horses were Billy and Mrs. Margarine, and both of them had on cowboy outfits, and Mrs. Margarine even had a gun belt around her waist, and in it were two of the largest revolvers Freddy had ever seen. As Freddy looked, she pulled one of them out. “This’ll get the old hoss thief out of the hay,” she said, and fired two shots into the air.
“Golly-O-golly!” said Freddy. “Be right with you,” he shouted, and grabbed for his thunder and lightning shirt.
“Good morning,” they said when he came out; and Billy said: “Mother’s got something for you, Freddy.”
Mrs. Margarine got down from the saddle. She took the pistol she had just fired by the barrel and handed it to Freddy. “This is for you,” she said. “In recognition of great services rendered the Margarine family.”
Freddy took the gun. “Why that’s wonderful,” he said. “But I don’t—I haven’t done anything for—”
Mrs. Margarine held up her hand to stop him. “Let’s just say that instead of driving us away, as I think you could have done, you helped us to live here in peace. Mr. Bean is our neighbor now, not our enemy. Are you staying here, Billy? I want to go down and see Mrs. Wiggins.” And she mounted and rode off.
“I don’t get it,” said Freddy. “I just defended myself.”
“Mother never did like fox hunting,” Billy said. “She’s from Wyoming, you know. I guess Dad had the wrong idea. Maybe he’s still got it; but anyway he won’t try to run the whole neighborhood any more.”
“So that’s it!” said Freddy. “How about you, then?”
“I don’t want to run things,” said the boy. “First place, I can’t; second place it wouldn’t be any fun if I could.”
“O.K.,” said Freddy. His two holsters of course were filled, so he tucked the new gun inside his shirt. “Three-gun Freddy and Injun Bill. Come on, let’s lie in wait for the stagecoach.” He mounted Cy, and they rode off down the road.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1951 by Walter R. Brooks
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9225-1
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