Freddy and Simon the Dictator

by Walter R. Brooks

  This line of talk didn’t seem very funny to Freddy, and he said so. Jinx at once became serious and assured him again that there would be no danger. “Garble wants to make the change over from men to animals without any rough stuff, if he can. Even if they found you out, I don’t think they’d eat you. But they’d probably turn you over to Garble. So keep that long nose of yours covered.”

  Freddy didn’t sleep well that night. Giant wolves with the heads of alligators were snuffling on his trail as he ran desperately down endless forest paths. When they caught him, he woke up, and he woke a dozen times during the night. He was pretty tired by morning. But he was up early, and by seven o’clock had breakfasted and told Mrs. Bean where he was going, and was on his way.

  The committee were still in their beds when Freddy and Bannister pushed off in their heavily loaded canoe. Freddy wore the bright checked shirt and the coonskin cap that he had worn on their previous camping trip, but Bannister was still in his butler’s getup of starched shirt and tailcoat. The only concession he made to forest travel was to exchange his black shoes for a pair of moccasins.

  They paddled straight across the lake to Lakeside, the summer hotel run by Mr. Camphor’s friend, Mrs. Filmore. From there, the trail went north to the Indian village. But the Indians had not taken the trail. They had camped on the shore below the hotel, and when Freddy and Bannister climbed out of their canoe, the men of the tribe were sitting on the dock smoking, while the women, whom Freddy had not seen before, were up on the broad porch, spreading out the contents of their packs —hunting shirts and beaded moccasins and sweet-grass baskets—for sale to the guests, who were crowding round them.

  They paddled straight across the lake.

  Bannister went up to the chief and raised his right hand. “How,” he said.

  “How,” the chief replied.

  They talked together for a few minutes in what Freddy supposed was the Otesaraga language, then Bannister said: “The chief says Mr. Camphor has gone fishing with Running Deer. He’ll be back after a while. He says Mr. Camphor ran away because he didn’t want to be governor.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Freddy said. “But he’ll have to come home. It’s too dangerous in the woods. You ought to tell the chief, it may be dangerous for the Indians too. Though maybe the animals won’t bother them.”

  “I told him that. He says Mr. Camphor will be all right with the Indians. They’re going to go farther north and east for the rest of the summer, until the wolves are out of the woods.”

  “Wolf no bad,” said the chief. “But cow in woods, ugh, heap bad medicine!”

  “Oh,” said Freddy, “I didn’t know you talked English.”

  “Sure,” said the chief. “Talk-um good. Paleface talk. Ugh.”

  “You talk-um fine,” said Freddy.

  “Sure,” said the chief. “Grass-on-face, he safe with Injun. Wolf no bite-um, cow no hook-um. He stay with Injun.”

  “Grass-on-face is Mr. Camphor’s Indian name,” Bannister explained. “His mustache, I fancy.”

  “You like buy-um deerskin shirt?” the chief asked. “My squaw she make-um, she sell-um. She come now.” He nodded towards a fat Indian woman, with her black hair hanging in two braids beside her face, who came towards them holding out a fringed buckskin shirt. Freddy felt of it. It was as soft as silk. He wanted it. He thought it would go nicely with the coonskin hat.

  He said: “Me like-um shirt. How much?”

  “Fi’teen dolla’,” said the squaw. “Look nice with cap.” She held it up against him. “Wah!” she exclaimed. “White brother look like Davy Crockett.”

  Freddy said: “I like. I like buy. But—” He slapped his pocket—“me no got much wampum.”

  The chief and his wife looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Wampum!” said the chief. “I’ll bet it’s ten years since I’ve heard that word.” He was speaking perfectly good English. “We must remember to use it on the customers, Ella.”

  Freddy was taken aback. “Hey,” he said, “what’s the idea of making me talk that Injun Joe talk. You speak better English than I do.” He turned to Bannister. “I feel silly,” he said.

  “No need to,” said the squaw. “We just use that kind of talk on the customers. Summer people seem to expect it. Henry and I have both been through high school, but do you think people would buy baskets and stuff from us if we talked good English?”

  “If you really want that shirt,” said the chief, “we’ll trust you. You’re a friend of Mr. Camphor’s. Old Grass-on-face,” he added with a grin, then turned, and said something in Otesaraga to Bannister.

  The butler laughed. “He says your name in Indian is Ham-that-walks.”

  “You mean you knew I was a pig? In this getup? But how …”

  “We’re Indians,” the chief replied. “We’re trained to notice little things that a white man would miss. Like how long your nose is and you haven’t any eyebrows, and your feet don’t fit those moccasins. Anyway, we’ve heard of you from Mr. Camphor. He said you’d probably come after him.”

  The sputter of a gasoline engine which had been audible for some time now grew louder, and an open launch, slowly towing a small houseboat, headed for the hotel dock. Freddy recognized it as the houseboat on which he had spent a summer several years ago as Mr. Camphor’s caretaker. On the upper deck, still sitting in wicker chairs and roaring with laughter, were the committee. Evidently the supply of jokes had not yet been exhausted.

  Just as the houseboat was tying up at the dock, a canoe came around the point and slid up to the pilings. In it were an Indian and Mr. Camphor and a string of fish. But Mr. Camphor was not easy to recognize. He had shaved off his mustache and painted his face in bars of yellow and black. He climbed out of the canoe and walked up to the houseboat, holding up his catch. “You buy-um fish?” he said to Senator Blunder, who with the rest of the committee was leaning over the rail, looking down at him.

  “No, no,” said the Senator, shaking his head. “We no buy-um fish. We look for Mr. Camphor. Man live over there.” He pointed across the lake.

  “You look for Mis’er Camphum—big fat man. Sure, we know.”

  “No, he’s not fat,” said Colonel Buglett. “He little, insignificant-looking feller. Bristly mustache. You know um? You see um today?”

  “Oh, insignifcum, hey?” returned Mr. Camphor. “You call him name. Me no like. Me his friend. Me come when sun gone down. Kerow!” He made a circular movement with one finger over the top of his head. “Take scalp. Camphum hang ’em in tepee.”

  “Isn’t there anybody here that speaks English?” Judge Anguish demanded. “Oh, here you, Bannister. I didn’t see you. What are you doing over here?”

  “The same thing you are, sir,” said the butler. “Looking for Mr. Camphor. Mr. Frederick and I rather thought the Indians might have kidnapped him. But as you see, sir, he’s not with them.”

  “On the other hand,” Freddy put in hastily, “if they intend to scalp him or burn him at the stake or something like that, they might have sent him on to the village under guard. I notice that two Indians are missing.”

  “Good gracious,” said the judge, “you mean they really go in for that sort of thing nowadays —burning and scalping?”

  “Oh, I think only once in a while. They will have their fun, you know.”

  “Fun!” the judge exclaimed. “Really, Mr., -ah, Freddy!”

  “I’m only quoting them, sir,” said the pig.

  “But shouldn’t we go after them—rescue him?” said Mr. Glockenspiel. “At least—well, we could call the state troopers.”

  “That would only seal his fate, I’m afraid. The troopers would find no sign of him at the village. And—well, sir, it wouldn’t be too healthy for you if you did call the troopers. The Indians are very revengeful. They might even vote Democratic.”

  The committee looked alarmed. They discussed the matter for a few minutes among themselves. Presently Colonel Buglett summed up the general feeling. “Well,�
�� he said, “I do not propose to risk my life to rescue Camphor, if the Indians really have got him. All we know for sure is that he has disappeared. I suggest that we go back to his house and await his return. There is no need of questioning the Indians and arousing their enmity.”

  “If you will permit me to say so,” Freddy said, “I think that is the wisest course. If he does not return after say a week—well, the state will have lost a fine governor. But I beg you, don’t attempt to prove anything against the Indians if he doesn’t show up. Eh, Grass-on-face?” he said, turning to Mr. Camphor. “You no likeum police, eh? Somebody send police after you, you heap mad, eh?”

  “Me kill-um.” Mr. Camphor made a ferocious face. “Me scalp-um.” Then he drew himself up and began to make an oration in Otesaragan, or what sounded like it. It was a long oration.

  Freddy pretended to translate, although he had not understood a word, and he doubted if Mr. Camphor had either. “He warns you,” Freddy said, “not to interfere in the affairs of the tribe. He says that if you do, the tribe will hunt you down, burn your wigwams—by which I suppose he means your houses—and take your scalps and those of your families to decorate their lodges. And I really think, gentlemen, that he means it. I strongly advise that you go back and wait.”

  “Is that all he said?” asked Colonel Buglett. “Why, he talked for ten minutes.”

  “I didn’t translate it all,” Freddy said. “He was describing just what he and his friends would do to you, and somehow—well, I didn’t think you’d care to hear it.”

  The committee didn’t hang around after that. Mr. Slurp started the engine of the launch. As the houseboat drew away from the dock, Mr. Camphor turned to Freddy. “I make-um fine speech. Ugh.”

  “I make-um darn good translation, and a couple of ughs,” Freddy replied. “Now you just stay away for a week and they’ll go on home and elect somebody else.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  Freddy tried to persuade Mr. Camphor to get out of the woods. “At least, if you want to duck the committee, come stay at the farm. Or in Centerboro,” he said.

  But Mr. Camphor said he was going to stay with the Indians for a while. “They know how to protect themselves from wolves,” he said. “And as far as danger goes, from what you tell me, there’ll be more danger at the farm than in the Indian village. You’d better stay here with me, Freddy. This business may be dangerous for animals, but I can’t believe it will be for humans.”

  Freddy thought he ought to get back to the farm, but he finally agreed to camp out two days, at Jones’s Bay, where they had camped a couple of summers earlier. The Indians agreed to camp with them, and to accompany Mr. Camphor back to the village.

  Horace was a bumblebee; he was attached to the A.B.I. and was one of Mr. Pomeroy’s ablest investigators. At five the next morning, Horace started out in a beeline—which is what nearly all bees travel in of course—for Mr. Camphor’s house. Arrived there, he went buzzing around the house, investigating the open bedroom windows. He heard a variety of snores from the various committee members, but he found neither Freddy nor Bannister nor Mr. Camphor in any of the beds.

  A less experienced operative might at this point have given up. But Horace had seen a family of swallows perched on the electric-light wire, waiting for some breakfast to fly by, and he went and questioned them. He felt safe in doing this, for very few swallows will try to eat a bumblebee; which is not only a pretty large mouthful, but also has a businesslike sting. He learned about the camping party, and at once set out—in a beeline again—across the lake.

  Freddy and Bannister were sleeping on their backs in the little tent, with their feet sticking out into the early morning sunlight. They appeared to be having a snoring contest. Horace, who in his investigation of the Camphor house, had been much impressed by the volume of sound produced by Senator Blunder, was particularly envious of Freddy’s snore, which was rather musical. There were none of the gasps and whistles and sudden ferocious snorts which the committee had been producing, but a sort of deep buzzing, rather like a giant bumblebee practicing the first bars of America.

  Horace listened admiringly for a time, but he had a message to deliver, so he lit on Freddy’s nose and tickled the inside of his nostril with his left front foot until the pig woke up with a tremendous sneeze. Bannister gave a start and muttered something in his sleep, but didn’t awake.

  “Listen, Freddy,” Horace said, “Jinx told me to tell you that Garble and Simon are coming up into these woods tomorrow to have a talk with the chiefs of the rebels. There’s Lobo, the head of the wolf pack, and an old horse named Chester who is chief of the cows and horses who have escaped from farms. We don’t know just where they are to meet, but I’m to stay with you and try to find out.”

  “What does Jinx want me to do?” Freddy asked. “Go to the meeting and get chewed up by wolves?”

  “I guess that’s up to you. He said you’d know what to do.”

  “Yeah, sure. When they can’t think of anything, they say: ‘Let Freddy do it.’ But they don’t ever say what.”

  “Well, of course, if you don’t know where the meeting is, you can’t do anything. But it’s up at the western end of the lake somewhere. You wait here. I’ll be back this afternoon.” And he buzzed off.

  “The worst of it is, he really will find out where it is,” Freddy thought. And of course he did. Around two o’clock he was back. “It was a cinch, Freddy,” he said. “The woods are full of animals, and they were all moving one way. I picked up a little here and a little there, and the meeting is at a cave under a cliff—I can take you right there. He’ll be there at nine o’clock—with Simon, the Leader, they call him. Some call him the Dictator. Garble is the Prime Minister. Sort of the power behind the throne, I gather.”

  Freddy thought for a minute. “He’ll come in a car,” he said. “Up the road that goes north past the west end of the lake. What’s the nearest point on the road to the cave?”

  “There’s a little beach where the road swings closest to the lake,” said Horace. “A couple of hundred yards in from the beach is the cliff. He’ll park by the beach.”

  “Fine,” said the pig. “I’ll need you later, Horace, but right now I wish you’d go back to the farm and—you know that wasp, Jacob? Bring him back with you, and all his family and friends. Tell him I need him badly. Make it as strong as you want to—matter of life and death.”

  Horace returned with the wasps before noon. “You got me just in time, Freddy,” Jacob said. “We were just starting off to the convention of the A.O.F.I.W., the Ancient Order of Free and Independent Wasps. It’s in Elmira this year. We always have a lot of fun, but to tell you the truth I won’t be sorry to miss it. We used to leave the kids at home, but now they’re bigger we have to take ’em, and it’s just too much, Freddy, I’m telling you. If you need help, I figure we’d better stay home and help you. What’s the pitch?”

  Freddy told them his plan, which he had already talked over with Mr. Camphor and Bannister, and then with the Indians, who had agreed to help—indeed, had refused to be left out.

  Right after lunch, Freddy and Bannister carried their canoe up and hid it in the bushes, then hid the paddles at some distance. This was good woods practice: anyone finding the canoe, if they really needed to use it, could cut a young spruce and make paddles from it; otherwise, they wouldn’t take the trouble. Then they packed up and, led by the Indians, started for the Indian village. Jacob and his family—there were about thirty of them—rode on Freddy’s coonskin hat. They yelled and laughed and sang songs all the way; it was pretty trying for Freddy, who never knew when some young smart aleck of a wasp might not slide down onto his nose and sting him, just out of sheer high spirits.

  They had supper at the village, and then all piled into two old cars and jounced west for several miles over a wood road that presently turned south, acquired a black top, and ran down past the west end of the lake. After half a mile, they saw on their left a beach of fine yellow sa
nd. At the south end of the beach, they drove the cars off the road and hid them. Then they sat quietly and waited.

  Freddy did not plan to go up to the cave. It was too dangerous, for he was sure to be discovered. However, the Indians, who knew the cave, told him that it consisted of several rooms, from the largest of which a sort of natural chimney went up to an opening on the hillside above. Two of the best trackers volunteered to go up to that opening and listen to the meeting. They were sure they could hear nearly everything that was said.

  After they had left, the others settled down to wait. The light gradually drained out of the sky, and as it grew darker, they were aware of movement all about them in the forest—unusual movement: the clumsy thump and smash of iron-shod hoofs, the swish of branches pushed aside by some large animal, the click of horns striking low-lying limbs. Several beavers came swimming down the lake, got out on the sand beach, and crossed the road into the woods. Two bears sauntered up the road, and after them came a long tan shape—it was getting dark now under the western wall of woods —but Freddy was sure it was a panther.

  Gradually the sounds died away. Freddy was sure that by now the audience was all assembled in the cave. And then up the road came a car. It pulled off on to the beach and Mr. Garble got out with a loud-speaker box under his arm, and half a dozen rats hopped out after him, and followed him up into the woods.

  It was nearly two hours later when Jacob, who had gone to the meeting with the two Indians, came back. “Meeting’s breaking up,” he said. “Garble’ll be along any minute.”

  Freddy’s first plan had been to hide in the back seat of the Garble car, and to rise up, and fall upon Mr. Garble when they were a safe distance down the road. But if the rats climbed into the back seat, he would certainly be discovered. So he had one of the Indian cars drive a couple of hundred yards up the road, and the other car the same distance down the road; then they turned around. And when Mr. Garble came out of the woods, carrying the loudspeaker, and got into his car, and started to drive home, both cars turned on their headlights and came slowly towards him up the middle of the road. And when Garble, cut off both front and rear, stopped and tooted his horn impatiently, Freddy stepped up to the side of the car.