THE VIGILANTES
“Hey, Joe! Joe Kenton!”
Joe swung dextrously between a big red truck and a light delivery wagon
and slowed down at the curb, where, transferring one foot from pedal to
sidewalk, he balanced his bicycle beside the boy who had hailed him.
“Hello, Sam,” he responded. “What’s it?”
Sam Sawyer, a likable-looking boy whose manner, and attire, suggested
a leisure not enjoyed by his friend, smiled back. “Just wanted to see
you,” he answered. “Have some?” He proffered a bag of peanuts. Joe
dipped into it, but he frowned slightly as he did so.
“I’ve got to hurry,” he said a trifle importantly.
“Where are you going?” Sam glanced at the wire carrier affixed to the
front of the bicycle which was piled with bundles.
“Temple Street,” replied Joe. “Mrs. Madden’s. She wants these things
for supper――I mean dinner.”
“I should think she’d order them earlier then,” said Sam. “Say, did you
hear about Warren Scott?”
Joe shook his head. “No. What’s it?”
“‘What’s it!’” mimicked the other. “They got his wheel yesterday.”
“Stole it, you mean?” asked Joe interestedly. “Who?”
“I don’t know, you idiot. The folks who’ve been stealing all of them,
I suppose. He left it in front of Guyers’, and when he came out it was
gone.”
“What time was it?” asked Joe.
“I don’t know. Some time after school. Why?”
Joe frowned in a puzzled fashion for a moment.
“Isn’t Warren’s bicycle a Malden?” he asked then. “Purple, with white
lines?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I saw a fellow riding along Bennett Street yesterday about a
quarter to five on a wheel that looked a lot like Warren’s. I thought,
of course, it was his, because his is the only brand-new one I’ve seen
in town, but I guess maybe it wasn’t.”
“I’ll bet it was!” exclaimed Sam excitedly. “What sort of a looking
fellow was he? Did you know him?”
Joe shook his head. “I never saw him before, I guess. He was about your
build, only maybe a year older, and wore dark clothes and a slouch hat.
Sort of countrified fellow, I’d say. I’d been out to Grant Avenue with
a crown roast for the Meyers, and it was about a quarter to five when
I came into Bennett Street. I was through at the store and was going
home. Bennett Street’s asphalted all the way to Ramsey, and so I turned
in there instead――――”
“Did he look as though he was――was stealing it?” demanded Sam eagerly.
“N-no, I just thought maybe Warren had loaned it to him. I didn’t think
it belonged to him, somehow. He――he didn’t quite look like a fellow
who’d own an expensive bicycle.”
“Why didn’t you ask him where he got it?” asked Sam impatiently. “You
might have known it was Warren’s!”
“Well, I did think it was, but I didn’t know it had been stolen, did
I?” replied Joe slightly indignant.
“You might have thought of it,” said Sam, “seeing there’s been about
twenty bicycles stolen in Central City in the last two weeks! I’ll bet
I’d have asked him mighty quick! Where do you suppose he was going to
with it? Bennett Street’s more than two miles from Guyers’ place.”
Joe shook his head. “He was riding along south when I passed him. Going
sort of fast, but not like he was in much of a hurry.”
“Well, say, you’d better come along to Warren’s and tell him about it,”
said Sam. “Maybe the police can find it if we hurry.”
But Joe shook his head as his alarmed glance swept from his bundles in
the carrier back over his shoulder to the City Hall clock. “I can’t
now, Sam,” he said firmly. “I’ve got to hurry like the dickens. I’ll go
around there after I get through at the store.”
“Maybe I’d better tell him right now,” said Sam, “and you can see him
later. He ought to know as soon as possible, I guess. What time do you
get through at the store?”
“Five, generally. Sometimes there’s a delivery after that.”
“Well, say, Joe, I’ll beat it over to Warren’s and come back to the
store for you at five.”
Joe nodded. “All right,” he agreed. “Maybe you’d better. I’m not sure
just which house Warren lives in. We don’t exchange visits very often,”
he added dryly. He pedaled out into the crowded traffic of Central
City’s principal business thoroughfare, the brown-papered parcels
joggling about in the carrier, wormed his way between the two lines of
westward-bound trucks and autos, cut under the nodding head of a big
gray dray horse and turned into Cotting Avenue. From there he could
make better time, and, since he was late, he pedaled fast. His steed
was not a very speedy one at best and it was only by straining his leg
muscles to the utmost that he could attain a celerity that approached
his desire. The Madden cook was a formidable woman with an eloquent
flow of language, and Joe had no wish to start the flow!
Although it was well after four when he hurried along the Madden side
yard and thrust open the kitchen door, grumbles instead of scolding
awaited him. He kept a still tongue while he placed the parcels on top
of the refrigerator and dodged quickly out again. Ten minutes later,
by following the streets of poorer paving and scanty traffic, he was
back at the “Central City Market, Donaldson and Burns, Proprietors,”
had leaned his bicycle against the wall beside the rear entrance and
reported back in the shipping room. On Saturdays he was on duty until
nine o’clock at night. As to-day, however, was only Tuesday he could
be measurably sure of getting away at five or a few minutes after. To
make it more certain he kept a sharp eye on the orders for the final
delivery, with the result that when the last box of spinach and crate
of grapefruit had been brought in from the sidewalk and the big green
curtains were down he was free to leave.
He found Sam Sawyer awaiting him outside. Sam had brought his own
bicycle and as Joe wheeled his to the street Sam said: “We’re to go
right to the police station, Joe. Warren’s going to meet us there. He’s
certain sure that was his wheel you saw.”
“Yes, I guess it was,” Joe agreed. “I’ve been thinking about it. It was
new and shiny, just like his. I guess we’d better foot it, Sam. We’ll
get there faster this time of night.”
Sam, who was already astride, viewed the congested traffic of Main
Street and agreed. Together, their wheel beside them, they made a
slow and difficult passage along the sidewalk, audibly censured by
home-hurrying pedestrians. Sam, however, managed to keep conversation
going in spite of frequent interruptions. “I guess there won’t be many
more wheels stolen after this,” he announced confidently.
“Why?” asked Joe.
“Haven’t you heard about the Vigilantes?”
Joe shook his head. “What’s it?” he inquired.
“It’s a society,” replied Sam. “Sort of a secret society. Warren got it
up. Just fellows who own wheels belong. It’s to help the police stop
bicycle thieves here in Central City, just like in some of the bigger
cities. Over in Hammon there’s been more than two thousand dollars’
worth of bicycles stolen since the first of the year! And I guess
there’ll be that many swiped here, too, if it isn’t stopped pretty
quick. There’s been about twenty stolen already!”
“When was this society started?”
“Last night, at Warren’s. He got a lot of the fellows together by
telephone and we put it right through in about twenty minutes. Chief
Connell was mighty tickled when we told him about it.”
“I suppose Warren’s president?”
“Yes, that is, he’s chief. I’m second chief and ‘Tilly’ Cross is――――”
“Of course he had to have a fancy name for it,” commented Joe.
“What’s the matter with the name?” asked Sam indignantly. “If you knew
your history――――”
“Oh, it’s all right, I suppose. Only Warren’s always starting societies
with funny names. Like during the war when he got up the Junior Secret
Service and he and Talbot Fraser got pinched for looking in someone’s
window one night――――”
“That’s all right! The fellow was a German, wasn’t he? And even if he
wasn’t a spy, he acted mighty queer. Every one said so!”
“How much does it cost to get into it?”
“The Vigilantes? It doesn’t cost a cent. It――it’s a patriotic
organization.”
“Well, if it doesn’t cost anything I guess I might go in.”
“We-ell――” Sam’s tones were rather flat. “Well, you see, we’ve had to
make a rule that only fellows who owned their own wheels could join. If
we didn’t there’d be a lot of――of riff-raff want to come in; fellows
who’d want to join just for fun or curiosity.”
“I see,” nodded Joe. “Fellows like me, you mean.”
“No, I don’t and you know it,” answered Sam indignantly. “You’re all
right, of course. But you don’t own a wheel, and so――you see――――”
“I don’t see what difference it makes whether I own this wheel or
whether Donaldson and Burns own it. It’s just the same as if it was
mine. I use it all the time. Besides, for that matter, it mighty near
is mine now. There isn’t much left of the original affair. I put on a
new fork and new chain and new saddle and handlebars and had the thing
mended half a dozen times because I thought that, seeing they let me
use it away from the store, it was only fair I should keep it in shape.
Gee, it was just an old second-hand wheel when Mr. Burns bought it.
Anyway....”
“That’s right,” said Sam soothingly, “but you see how it is, old man.
Rules are rules, eh?”
“Sure,” agreed Joe. Then he chuckled. “Funny, though, isn’t it, that
the first fellow to do any vigilanting should be me?”
“We-ell,” replied Sam, “of course we don’t know yet that anything will
come of it. That might not have been Warren’s wheel, you see, after
all.”
“Thought you seemed pretty certain about it awhile back,” remarked Joe
dryly. “Well, I guess I can worry along without being a Vigilante,
Sam. At that I dare say I’ll nab as many bicycle thieves as any of the
rest of you!”
“Of course,” agreed Sam heartily. He didn’t really think so, but he
was glad that Joe wasn’t offended. He liked Joe, and if it hadn’t been
for that rule he would have gladly seen him become a member of the new
society.
They reached the central police station just then and wheeling
their bicycles up the steps――for nowadays there was no certainty
that even the precincts of the police station would be sacred to
the thieves――they left them in the hall and turned into the room
on the left. Warren Scott was awaiting them. He was a tall, very
good-looking fellow of eighteen, a senior in high school and a person
of prominence there. Secretly, Joe thought Warren rather a “pill,”
but he might have been prejudiced. Their walks of life seldom met and
their acquaintance was extremely casual. Perhaps it wouldn’t be fair
to term Warren a snob, but his father held a responsible position with
the largest industrial plant in Central City, was a man of means and
lived accordingly, and naturally Warren found little to connect him
with a boy who, however estimable his character might be, spent his
vacation delivering roasts of beef and bags of potatoes. This evening,
however, Warren’s manner was far more friendly. He seemed to meet the
younger boy on a footing of social equality. Guided by a sergeant,
they went into an inner room and into the august presence of Chief of
Police Connell. The chief was corpulent, ruddy-faced, jovial, and he
accorded the chief of the Vigilantes a most cordial welcome. To Joe it
seemed that Chief Connell was rather more amused than impressed with
the new society, but perhaps he just imagined it. Their business was
soon over with. Joe gave his evidence clearly and, having recalled the
incident carefully during the afternoon, was able to give a fairly good
description of the presumed bicycle thief. The chief, however, was not
very hopeful of recovering the stolen property.
“You see, boys,” he said, “whoever’s working the game is pretty foxy.
No one ever sees ’em at it. Probably there’s two or three operating
together. Likely they send them off to Chicago or somewhere like that
and sell them. They don’t get back on the market here, that’s sure.
It’s easy to change a bicycle over so’s the owner would never know it,
too. A little enamel is all they need. We haven’t had much luck so far,
boys, and that’s the truth. Only recovered one and that was left in an
alley. Had a broken frame, and the thieves probably didn’t want it. But
now that you boys are going to help us I guess we’ll do better.” And
the chief smiled broadly.
Going out, Warren thanked Joe quite nicely for his help. “It’s too
bad, though, you couldn’t remember the fellow’s face better,” he added.
“He had his hat pulled down, you see,” replied Joe. “But I guess I’d
know him if I ever saw him again.”
As Warren and Sam lived northward and Joe west, the three parted
outside the station.