Pursuit
“Well!” said the tramp unpleasantly. “Visitors, I see!”
Dan gripped the tin box, standing close beside Brad.
The shack had but one exit, the door which was blocked by the tramp. Dan
and Brad knew they were in a spot. Their best bet was to stall for time,
hoping that the other Cubs would circle in from the rear and come to
their aid.
“Hand over that box!” the tramp ordered.
“No!” Dan defied him.
“You’ll give it up or I’ll break every bone in your body!”
“You stole the money from the church—or rather from Mr. Hatfield’s
place!” Dan accused. “It’s not your box!”
“Hand it over!” the tramp ordered again, moving a step closer. He reached
his hand into his pocket as if for a weapon.
“Better do it, Dan,” Brad advised quietly.
Even then the boy was reluctant to relinquish the box.
Appraising his chances, he gazed beyond the tramp. Through the open door
he could see Chips and Midge moving in closer.
A daring plan flashed into his mind. But should he risk trying it? The
chances were about even that he would fail.
Chips was a star baseball player and his reactions were fast. But would
they be speedy enough?
“Listen, you!” the tramp ordered again. “Give me that box!”
Dan no longer dared stall. Chips and Midge were quite close to the door
now, though not near enough to attack the tramp from the rear. Behind the
two, almost in line were Fred and Jack who had hastened up from the
direction of the creek.
For Dan’s purpose, the line-up was very nearly perfect. The moment had
come. He had to take the chance and hope that the other Cubs didn’t muff
it.
“Sure, I’ll give you the box,” he said. “CATCH!”
Even before Dan shouted the word, he had tossed the box in a high arch
over the tramp’s head.
Belatedly the man made a leap for it, but he clutched only air.
Behind him, the box was falling almost directly into Chips’ hands.
“Get it!” shouted Dan.
Chips already was closing his hands upon the box. He fumbled, recovered
and held fast.
“Pass it!” shouted Dan. “PASS!”
The command momentarily confused Chips. But as the angry tramp started
toward him, he suddenly realized what Dan meant.
Pivoting, he shoved the box into Midge’s hands.
By now, all the Cubs had caught onto the trick.
Midge ran a few steps and tossed the box to Fred.
“Come back here, you!” shouted the tramp furiously.
Forgetting Dan and Brad, he started in pursuit of Fred and the box.
The two boys ran out of the shack.
“Make for Mrs. Jones’ place!” Dan shouted.
Fred was a fast runner and already had a long start on the tramp.
But to the alarm of the Cubs, the man did not give up the chase.
Determined to recover the box, he kept after him.
Brad rounded up Jack and the other Cubs, heading for the road, by a
shorter route. Anxiously, they looked about for Mr. Hatfield and police
officers, but the highway was entirely deserted.
“Something’s delayed them,” Brad said anxiously, scribbling a note which
he speared on a barb of the wire fence. “I hope he finds this. I’ve told
him to look for us at Mrs. Jones’.”
The Cubs had reached the road a minute or two ahead of Fred. Soon they
saw him rolling under a fence thirty yards farther down the highway.
“Good boy!” Dan exclaimed. “He still has the box!”
The Cubs raced to join Fred. Brad relieved him of the money container.
“We can’t stop to pick any daisies!” Fred panted. “That ape is right on
my heels!”
“Let’s have it out with him!” Chips exclaimed. “We’re seven to one—lots
o’ fun!”
“We’re heading for Mrs. Jones’ place!” Brad ordered firmly. “I think the
fellow has a knife. We’re taking no chances on being carved.”
The Cubs loped off, leaving the tramp farther and farther behind.
“Guess he’s given up the chase now,” Midge said, as they drew near the
Jones’ home. “No, by George! He’s still following!”
“Say, what if Mrs. Jones isn’t at home?” Babe quavered. “What’ll we do
then?”
“Don’t dig up trouble,” Dan advised him. “Wait until it nudges you in the
shoulder.”
He pounded on the door with his fist. The Cubs waited uneasily. The tramp
had turned into the lane and was running faster now.
“Wait, boys!” he shouted. “I got something to tell you!”
“He probably wants to give us a stick of candy!” Dan muttered. “Oh, why
doesn’t Mrs. Jones open the door—”
Just then, the widow did answer the knock.
“Let us in and we’ll explain later,” Dan said breathlessly. “That tramp
is after us!”
Without asking questions, Mrs. Jones hustled the Cubs into the house.
“Better lock the door,” Brad advised, setting the money box on the
kitchen table. “That bird may try to break in.”
“Let him!” said Mrs. Jones. Nevertheless, she locked the kitchen door as
the boy had advised.
The Cubs barely had time to explain where they had obtained the money,
than the man was pounding to be let in.
“Don’t do it,” Brad advised the widow. “He’s a tough customer. Better let
the police handle him.”
Chips and Midge had gone to the window to look out.
“Come back, boys,” Mrs. Jones ordered. “If that tramp is a criminal, he
might take a shot through the glass.”
Alarmed, the two boys moved back out of range.
Outside, a door slammed as if in the wind. Mrs. Jones, hearing the sound,
stiffened.
Then, unmindful of her own warning to the Cubs, she ran to the window.
“Why, that sneak!” she exclaimed. “He’s opened the double doors leading
down into the basement!”
“Then he’ll be up here in another minute!” Babe quavered. “He’ll get us!”
“Oh, no, he won’t,” said Mrs. Jones confidently.
Moving across the kitchen, she locked the inside door which led into the
basement. As a double precaution, she then placed the heavy oak table in
front of the door.
“That should hold him,” she announced. “I have another little idea too!”
The Cubs could not guess what the widow was up to as she darted out of
the house, not even bothering to put on a wrap.
In a moment though, they understood. Mrs. Jones slammed shut the double
doors entering into the cellar, and bolted them.
As Dan and Brad ran out to help, she told them to bring several pieces of
heavy machinery from the shed. These the boys trundled out and placed on
top of the double doors.
“That should hold him!” Mrs. Jones declared, well satisfied with her
work.
From inside the house, they could hear the tramp pounding on the door.
“He may break it down!” Dan said uneasily.
“He could,” the widow admitted. “Dan, run down the road and see if you
can find out what’s keeping Mr. Hatfield and the state troopers.
Meanwhile, the rest of us will hold the fort. Or to be strictly
accurate—the kitchen!”