CATCHING A TARTAR
"Now!" exclaimed Paul, suddenly.
At the word a number of dark figures sprang erect, coming out of the
denser shadows alongside the gate in the high fence back of the Kenwood
grounds.
Ward was of course startled. The whistle came to an abrupt termination.
Perhaps he may even have recognized the voice that called out this one
word in such a tone of authority; for while he did not make any outcry
he turned as if to flee.
It was already too late, for Bobolink, as if forseeing some such clever
move on the part of the slippery customer, had so placed himself that he
was able to cut off all retreat.
Then many hands were clutching the garments of the banker's son, and
despite his vigorous struggles he found himself held. While it was far
from light back there, he seemed to be able to divine who his captors
were, judging from the way he immediately broke out in a tirade of
abuse.
"Better keep your hands off me, Paul Morrison," was the way he ranted;
"and you too, Bobolink and Jud! What d'ye mean holding me up like this,
right at our own gate too? I'll tell Chief Billings about it, and
perhaps you'll find yourselves pulled in. Let go of me, I tell you! How
dare you grab me this way?"
It need hardly be said that not one of the boys addressed showed the
least intention of carrying out the wishes of the speaker. In fact, to
tell the truth, each one of the scouts seemed to tighten his grip.
One thing Paul noticed, and this was the fact that Ward did not raise
his voice above an ordinary tone. He was angry, possibly alarmed, too;
but somehow he did not seem to care about shouting so as to arouse his
folks.
From this it was easy for Paul to guess that Ward must have been ordered
to remain indoors on this night; and did not wish his father to know he
had been roaming the streets with Ted Slavin and his cronies. Of late
Ted had been getting into unusually bad odor with the town people, and
perhaps Mr. Kenwood was trying to break off the intimacy known to exist
between his son and the prime prank player of Stanhope.
"See, his hat's gone, Paul!" exclaimed Nuthin.
"Huh! what of that?" echoed the ever ready Ward, "guess I loaned it to
another fellow who lost his, and had the toothache."
It may have seemed an ingenious excuse to him, and one calculated to
cast doubts on any accusation that might be made, with the idea of
connecting him with the boy who rang the big bell. Paul, however,
believed he could afford to laugh at such a clumsy effort to crawl out
of the responsibility.
"Peter," he said, briskly, "you look him over, and see if you can find a
black mask in any of his pockets. You know I told you the fellow who ran
out through the church after dropping the bell rope had his face hidden
back of such a disguise."
Ward gave utterance to an exclamation of surprise. Evidently this was
the very first that he knew about the presence of the sexton.
"Don't you dare do it, Peter," he said, struggling violently to break
the hold of his captors, but without success; "don't you put a hand in
my pocket, you old fool, or I'll get you bounced from your job so quick
you won't know what struck you! Leave me alone, I tell you!"
That was the customary cowardly threat Ward made when he found himself
caught in any of his madcap pranks. His rich father was a man of
considerable influence in Stanhope, and many a man dared not treat the
banker's son to the whipping he so richly deserved simply because it
might be that his bread and butter depended in a measure on the good
will or the whim of the magnate.
But the sexton did not seem to be disturbed. Perhaps he had little
reason to believe Mr. Kenwood could influence the trustees of the church
to dispose of his services. Then again, it might be that he received so
small a sum for taking charge of the property, that he cared little
whether he kept his job or not.
At any rate, be that as it might, Peter lost no time in starting to
search the pockets of the squirming prisoner. Ward tried in every way he
could devise to render this task difficult; but then Peter had half a
dozen lads of his own over in the little white cottage near the church,
and was doubtless accustomed to handling obstreperous boys.
"Vat is dis, poys?" he asked, as he drew something into view.
There was an immediate craning of necks, and then from several came the
significant cry:
"It is the black mask, all right! He's the guilty bell-ringer, Peter!"
"What's all this you're talking about, you sillies? I never saw that
thing before. Somebody must have stuck it in my pocket for a joke!" and
Ward stopped struggling, as if he knew it would no longer be to his
advantage.
When caught in a hole he could whip around like a flash, and change his
tactics almost in an instant.
"Oh! is that so?" remarked Paul, with a laugh; "well, I happened to
remember just now I saw a mask that looked very much like this, down in
the corner of Chromo's news-store a few days ago. Now, I'm going to ask
Peter to take it to him, in my company, and find out who bought it. At
this time of year there isn't such a sale for these things but what Mr.
Chromo will remember."
"Huh! think you're smart, don't you, Morrison? Even supposing I did buy
it, you can't prove I ever wore it. I defy you to," Ward gritted his
teeth; and somehow his manner reminded Paul of a wolf at bay.
"Snap!"
The match which Paul struck flared up. Ward was staring at his captor, a
sneer on his handsome face.
"Hold up his hands, fellows," said the young scout leader, suddenly; and
almost before the prisoner realized what this move might mean, the
burning match hovered over his blackened hands.
Peter uttered a snort of delight.
"Dot fix it mit you, mine friendt," he said, nodding his grizzled head
as if pleased to find that Paul's prediction had come true. "Dey dells
me dot poy vat rings de pell undt runs drough de church, he have his
hand placked like he vas a negro. Dot pe you, Misder Ward Kenvood. I
schnaps mine fingers at your vader's influenza. I shall dell de drustees
of de church who rings dot pell. Den it pe up to dem to say vat shall pe
done. Let him go, poys!"
Of course Bobolink, Jud and Nuthin immediately released their hold on
Ward. The last flicker of the expiring match showed that the recent
prisoner was scowling most hatefully, as if angry at the way he had been
trapped.
"This isn't the last of this, you fellows!" he said, trying to keep up
his customary threatening tactics, even in defeat. "Perhaps you think it
smart to set up a game on me, just because you're afraid I'll organize a
hike of my friends that'll walk all around that punk expedition of
yours! But just wait; I'll show you that you're barking up the wrong
tree. Bah!"
He turned his back on them with this last exclamation, intended to show
his utter contempt. Passing through the gate he vanished from their
sight. But Paul, who knew the fellow so well, felt quite sure that he
would never venture to complain to his father, as he had threatened, for
that course would disclose the fact that he was out, and bring trouble
down on his own head.
"Back to your meeting place, fellows," said Paul; "and you keep that
mask, Peter. To-morrow I'll drop in on you, and we'll see Mr. Chromo. I
don't suppose anything will ever be done to Ward about it; but anyhow we
can convince the trustees who were so kind as to let us use the
gymnasium once a week, that we didn't abuse their confidence. And that's
worth while."
Accordingly the scouts trooped back to the place from which they had
started, where they found that Jack had carefully carried out the orders
given by his superior.
Peter was taken inside to notice the rope fastened across the aisle;
together with half a dozen seat cushions distributed around, doubtless
intended to trip any pursuers who might not be wise enough to follow in
the footsteps of the fleeing culprit.
After that the boys scattered, heading toward their homes in groups. As
they went they divided their chatter between the recent happening, and
the important news concerning the Summer "hike" that had been announced
that night.
Paul and his closest chum, Jack Stormways, walked together, as they
usually did. They had much to confer about, and Jack now and then
laughed as he listened to what the other was saying about the hold-up of
Ward.
"I tell you that was mighty bright of you, showing old Peter the smudge
of black on the bell rope, which proved that Ward was the fellow who
jerked it," he said, giving his chum a whack of genuine boyish approval
on his back.
"Well," chuckled Paul, himself pleased over his little method of proving
the guilt of his rival, "Peter got the charcoal all over his hands when
he ran them up and down the rope, so he knows there could be no mistake.
I gave him Ward's hat to keep for the present too. But it's too much to
hope that anything will be done. Even if Mr. Kenwood doesn't attend this
church, some of the trustees are connected with him in business, either
in his bank, or the real estate end."
"Oh! the same old story," groaned Jack. "That fellow makes me tired!
When Ward gets caught, instead of putting up a bold face, he just
crawls, and threatens every one with the power of his governor. I'd just
like to see him get his, some day!"
"Hold on. Don't forget you are a scout, and that you've got to look for
the good that is in every fellow, they say," laughed his companion.
"All right," admitted Jack, slowly, "but I just guess you'd need a
magnifying glass to find the speck of good in that cur. He's a sure
enough slick one. All I want him to do is to keep away from me. His room
is better than his company, any day."
"I'm ready to back you up in that last remark, Jack," said Paul, "for
if any fellow in Stanhope has reason to despise Ward Kenwood and his
sneaky ways, I ought. You know he's been my rival in most things ever
since we were knee high to grasshoppers."
"But in nearly every case he's come out of the little end of the horn,"
declared Jack, warmly; "I'm ready to count on my chum getting there!"
"Oh! well," said Paul, hastily, "that's because he's nearly always in
the wrong, you know. If Ward would only turn over a new leaf, and act
decently, I'm sure he'd make a rival to be respected, if not feared."
But his chum only scoffed at such a thing, exclaiming:
"Oh! splash! you know the Bushkill will be running uphill before either
Ward or Ted act on the square. Hasn't Slavin promised to reform more
than a few times; and look at what he's doing still! Get that idea out
of your head, Paul."
"Well, they did give us a run for our money to-night, to be sure,"
laughed his team-mate, as in fancy he once more saw the struggling heap
of boys sprawling in the aisle of the church, when they struck the rope
that had been slily stretched to trip unwary feet.
"You're right there," returned Jack, warmly, "and I can take a joke as
well as the next one; only these fellows have no respect for anything.
Think of that big bell booming out at such an hour of the night, will
you? Why, it must have startled some sleepers almost out of their seven
senses."
"Let's forget it then," continued the scout leader; "for we'll have our
hands full in getting ready for that great hike up to Rattlesnake
Mountain. Every time I think of it I seem to have a thrill. You see I've
had a sneaking notion I'd like to prowl around that lonesome district,
and learn for myself what it looks like; and now we've made up our minds
to do it, I just can't hardly realize it."
"A bully good plan, and I know we're going to have the time of our
lives. Look, who's coming over there, Paul?" and Jack allowed his voice
to sink as he spoke, just as though he wished to avoid being heard by
the party he indicated.
"Why, that was Mr. Clausin," said Paul, in a shocked voice, as the other
walked past them, giving both a keen glance as he did so, while his face
took on an expression of disappointment.
"Yes," murmured Jack, in a disturbed tone, "and how changed he looks!
There must have been something about those stolen papers more than any
of us know. He's been to the feed store again to make another search.
Perhaps he can't get it out of his head that he didn't hide them
somewhere. Poor man, I wish we could help him get them back. Joe's a
good fellow, and a true scout. I'd be mighty glad to see him look happy
again."
"So would I," said Paul, earnestly; "but hold on--don't show that you're
interested, only step aside into this shadow. There's some one following
Mr. Clausin, and when he passes that electric light over there I just
must get a peep at his face. Whoever he is, Jack, I believe the fellow
is a stranger in Stanhope! 'Sh!"
"Oh!" gurgled Jack, clutching his chum's arm convulsively.