PLAYING INDIANS
Wally's first impulse had been to get to the scene of excitement at the
earliest possible moment, in order to lose nothing of the spectacle.
Like most boys, he regarded himself as unfairly treated if fun was
going on in which he had no share. But here he had met an obstacle.
He was alone--and, as everybody knows, a boy can have no fun alone.
Moreover, when he came to think of it, he had really done nothing and
seen nothing. He had no tale to tell the boys the next morning that
would not be met with "Then what did you do?" Close on the heels of
these impressions followed the reflection that it was a dirty trick
to play on the captain of the nine in the baseball season, that Poole
was a friend of his, and that the kidnappers belonged to a class to
which by all rules of tradition and custom his own class was to be
antagonistic. Poole's predicament appealed to his sympathy. When he
imagined the insolent delight of the captors at the success of their
raid, they seemed in some way his own enemies, striking at him. Would
the seniors find their president and bring him back? He sincerely hoped
they might.
Wally mounted his bicycle and rode homeward. As he went a great purpose
gradually swelled his heart and put force into his pedal strokes. He
left the bicycle at the usual place, but avoided the front door as too
perilous and crept in through the kitchen and up the backstairs to his
room. There he pulled on a dark jersey, slipped into his pocket the
flash lamp which Uncle Joe had given him at Christmas, and crept out by
the kitchen door again to his faithful wheel.
Ten minutes later Wally sat in his canoe, paddling vigorously up the
river. Dusk had faded into darkness, but the stars gave appreciable
light, and the river was familiar to him. He knew every turn and
shallow in the stream, every clump of bushes on the banks, every group
of trees, every leaning stump. He passed the wide mouth of Little
River, lying silent at the foot of the new Playing Field, and entered
the straight stretch beside the Park, where the tall, overhanging trees
on either side and the sluggish, murky water beneath formed a gloomy
tunnel through which the wind blew, chill and dispiriting. But Wally
was not one to be frightened by the bugaboo of darkness; the mysterious
depths had no terrors for him. His work kept him warm, despite the
wind, while the strip of stars above his head cheered with their
friendly presence. He could see, too, on the water, not clearly but
well enough to make his course; and his thoughts, set eagerly on his
destination, were unaffected by the perils of the way.
So the little craft pushed its nose steadily upward against wind and
current, while the gurgle of water from the paddle was hardly audible
above the sighing of the wind through the naked branches.
And now he was abreast of the entrance to the cove, a broad inlet
stretching deep into the woods, and crossed midway by a causeway and
bridge. Over the bridge led the forest road along which the kidnappers
had taken their victim. It came out close to the river again beyond the
next point, and Wally, fearful that hostile eyes might peer at him from
the darkness, put into practice the trick of silent paddling he had
learned the summer before,--dipping the blade vertically into the water
and lifting it cautiously at the end of the stroke. Another bend would
bring him in sight of his goal!
The sound of voices and of laughter reached his ears and set his
heart beating hard. Some one was thrashing about in the undergrowth,
sticks were being broken; as he advanced the glint of fire flashed
occasionally past the tree trunks. They were there! As he rounded the
last point, the scene was partially revealed. He worked his way still
farther along the bank to a tree which sagged over the river, affording
a protecting shadow. From here he had a satisfactory view.
They had built a fire near the bank. Some one--it looked like
Barclay--was piling fuel on. Around were standing or moving a dozen
fellows, while against a big oak in the background, standing as if
his hands were tied behind him, was Poole. The flames, flaring up
through a fresh armful of brush, threw a bright light on the faces of
those beyond, behind whose moving figures Poole's form was alternately
eclipsed and revealed. The whole scene reminded Wally of an incident in
one of his favorite Indian tales, in which young braves dance around
their camp-fire and jeer at their captive bound to a tree.
When Wally played Indians with his boy friends he always chose the
part of the white man taken captive rather than of the Indian captors.
He chose the same part now. Over behind Poole's tree was a clump of
spruces in which he and another boy had once hidden for an hour, while
the Indians vainly searched the woods all about them. A big rock was
there, with side sloping outward in an overhang and a group of young
spruces growing close against the edge. If Poole could escape like the
white captive in the story, what an elegant hiding-place lay ready at
hand! Wally slipped his moorings and let his canoe drift back around
the point. Then he made fast the painter to a root, and went cautiously
ashore.
Poole had obeyed the false summons to the telephone office without a
suspicion. Even when the elderly stranger in the hack had beckoned
to him, he had hesitated only from reluctance to waste time already
pledged to other uses, not from any fear of treachery. When, therefore,
he felt himself precipitated into the carriage, he was for the moment
too much surprised by the sudden attack to reason about the situation.
Instinctively he turned to strike back at the fellows who were amusing
themselves in this cheap way by shoving him into a carriage. As he
fell, he brought down the old man's beard, and the old man's very
muscular arms folded about him, while Milliken and Barclay came diving
in upon them both. Then when it was too late the true explanation
flashed upon him.
They held him securely pinioned, with Milliken's big hand covering
his mouth, and all three urging continuously their great regret at
being compelled to use such rough measures, the folly of any attempt
to escape or make outcry, and the wisdom of submitting calmly to the
inevitable, during the rapid but somewhat roundabout drive to the
Gilman barn. Once out of hearing of the street they stopped the hack,
got out with their burden, and took the remainder of the way on foot,
the exulting company surrounding the captive in a mock bodyguard and
paying sarcastic homage. Puzzle his brains as he would, Poole could see
no chance of escape. His only hope was that his classmates would not
wait long for his appearance.
Among the pines, while some prepared material for the fire, others
argued with the prisoner. If he would give his word not to escape,
they would leave him unbound. But Poole was not to be persuaded. He
was there by force, and force alone should keep him. He would make
no promises; they must take full responsibility for their action.
So they tied his hands behind him and fastened him to the oak tree
by a stout rope. After this they danced about the fire, and made
sarcastic comments on the course which the dinner was probably taking,
and facetiously invited him to partake of certain dishes which were
presumably being served. Soon, however, chilled by Poole's silence and
show of dignity, the kidnappers abandoned this form of baiting also,
and devoted themselves to keeping up the fire, to smoking and lively
chatter.
[Illustration: He felt the bonds that held him to the tree loosen.
_Page 231._]
A half-hour may have passed when Poole heard a low, softly repeated
hiss behind the tree, which evidently was not made by the wind. He
turned his head slightly and hissed in return. Then a low, boyish voice
which Poole did not recognize whispered: "I'm going to cut the rope;
sneak round the tree and come with me. Don't say anything."
Poole's heart leaped with joy at this sudden offer of aid, unknown
though the source; but he tried hard to make no movement and show no
change of expression. He felt the bonds that held him to the tree
loosen. He did not start, because Barclay's eyes were resting on him
from across the fire, and he wanted the advantage of the second or two
which he should gain by slipping away when the attention was elsewhere.
Presently Duncan Peck offered an impersonation of Reddy McGuffy
speaking from the floor in a debate at the Laurel Leaf. This drew all
eyes, and was accompanied by such running fire of laughter and comment
that no one noticed the slight rustle made by their prisoner as he
detached himself from the tree and crept around it.
A small boy rose before him and led the way straight through the shadow
of the tree into the deeper darkness of the woods. Poole followed
blindly, hampered by his tied hands, fearing to run lest he fall and
flounder, expecting at every step to hear behind the shout and plunge
of swift pursuers.
"We're almost there!" whispered the guide. "Hurry!"
Where _there_ was Poole had no idea, but he found out a dozen steps
farther on, for just as a frightful yell rose from the camp, his guide
suddenly whispered, "Wait a second!" and disappeared, apparently
swallowed by the earth.
But before Poole could move, a momentary flash of the pocket light
behind a rock showed him a hole toward which he threw himself and
wriggled in.
"Turn over and I'll cut the rope," the boy breathed in his ear. Poole
obeyed. "Gee, here they come!" whispered the unknown with a giggle of
joyful excitement.
The pursuers had at first flocked to the oak, hoping to find their
victim close at hand. Then for a moment they stood dazed.
"Perhaps he's up the tree," suggested Robins.
"Why, his hands are tied, you fool," retorted Milliken. "He can't climb
and he can't run; he's lying somewhere on the ground. Spread out and
find him!"
So they spread out, yelling, scolding, groping, stumbling. The
fugitives heard them brushing by. One fellow tripped over the edge of
their sheltering rock and picked himself up, muttering imprecations.
Wally strove to suppress a giggle, but Poole nerved himself for a dash
in case he was discovered. His hands were free now and he felt ready to
take any chance.
"Let's sneak for the cove bridge," whispered Poole. "We can get by them
in the woods."
"Not on your life! They've got two guys watching down there. Wait a
little longer. I've got a canoe here on the river."
"Come back! Come back!" shouted in unison a trio of wiser heads who
perceived that their search in the darkness was both useless and
dangerous. The rest came scrambling back, each demanding eagerly as he
came: "Have you got him?" "Where is he?" "Who found him?"
"Nobody's found him," said Milliken, "but we don't want to lose the
rest of you. Let him stay in the woods all night if he wants to. As
long as he don't get to the dinner, what do we care? What we've got to
do is to watch the bridge and the road from here to High Street, and
see that he doesn't sneak round us and get out."
"Why, he couldn't do it if he tried all night," said Brown. "It's a
mile round the cove, through the worst kind of woods and swamp, and
high-water too. He never could do it."
"That's what I say," replied Milliken. "If we guard the cove bridge and
the two bridges in town we've got him anyway."
The squad took the one lantern they had brought with them and marched
off to guard duty, making their first halt at the cove bridge. The
fire had died down; silence reigned under the pines. Wally crept out
to reconnoitre, and returned with the news that the coast was clear.
He thought with some uneasiness of the anxiety his absence might be
producing at home. He devoutly hoped they wouldn't worry; perhaps they
supposed he was at the library. At any rate, he was eager to get away.
Poole, of course, was no less eager.
They reached the canoe without mishap. Each took a paddle and, with the
spring current to help them, pushed rapidly down. As they slid past the
entrance to the cove they looked across and chuckled to see the gleam
of the lantern at the cove bridge.
"Let 'em stay there all night," said Poole. "I shan't trouble 'em."
A few minutes later Wally swung the bow in toward his landing and
together they carried the canoe up, turned it over, and left it for
the night. Wally took his bicycle and started for home, divided in
his mind between delight at the adventure and fear of the parental
reception which he was to face. Poole ran beside him until they reached
the Squamscott, and, when they parted, showered upon his head such
expressions of gratitude as no little townie had ever received from a
baseball captain since ever baseball captains existed.
Wally's account of his adventures was the only excuse he had to
offer for his absence to his reproachful parents. He had been over
the whole narrative once, and was explaining more in detail about
his hiding-place beside the rock, when a committee from the dining
seniors appeared and craved the pleasure of Master Wally's company at
the banquet. Mamma, of course, demurred, but Mr. Sedgwick opined that
he might as well make a night of it, and the seniors bore him away
in triumph. They planted him beside the recovered president, fed him
royally on ice cream and cake, mentioned him in their speeches, and
sent him home with a cheer at ten o'clock.
On the morrow Wally had no great appetite for breakfast, and he found
his legs somewhat heavy as he trotted down to school--but he had great
things to tell the boys!