THE SPRING-HOUSE
“Wally! What are you doing here?”
Wally Rawn relaxed his iron grip and helped Blackie to his feet. In the
glow of the flashlight the boy could see that Wally was fully-dressed in
corduroy trousers, blue flannel shirt, and high woodsman’s boots with
laces dangling. The councilor must have thrown his clothes on in a
hurry.
“I might ask the same of you, Blackie,” he said with a slight grin.
“Have you become a burglar all of a sudden?”
The words recalled Blackie to his mission in the farmhouse. “Shh! Not so
loud—they’re still outside!”
“Who’s outside?”
“The two tramps! They’re the ones that killed poor old Rattlesnake Joe,
and they made me climb in the window to steal some food for them. The
older one stabbed the dog outside so he wouldn’t wake the house, and——”
Wally pursed his lips in a low whistle. “So that’s who shut up the dog
so suddenly! The barking woke me up, and I thought I’d prowl around here
and see what was happening. You say these men are—murderers?”
“Yes—the sheriff is after them! Don’t let them catch me again, Wally!
They kicked and beat me all the time, and wouldn’t let me have anything
to eat, and I’m scared of them!”
“Don’t worry—they can’t get in here. But if the sheriff wants these men,
we might have a try at capturing them. You say they’re waiting for you
outside? Well, you might be able to get them to bite on the hook. Are
you game to take a chance on locking them up where they belong?”
Blackie’s face fell. “Why, sure, I’ll try if you help me. But how can I
catch them? They’d kill me in a minute if they thought I was giving them
away.”
Wally considered. “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed softly. “Listen—out there
in the orchard there’s a spring-house where the farmer’s wife keeps
butter and meat and stuff to cool. I remember it has a strong lock on
the door. If you could get them in there, and snap the bolt on them, we
could hold them there until Kingdom Come. It’ll be touch-and-go with you
if you can’t get them inside, but a pair like that should be under lock
and key as soon as possible. Will you try?”
Blackie nodded. “If you think that’s the best way——”
“Good. I’ll wake up the old man, and we’ll be on the lookout at an
upstairs window to protect you in case the scheme doesn’t work. We can’t
show ourselves or they’ll get suspicious and we’ll never have the chance
again. Now, skip back to the kitchen—they’ll be wondering where you
went. Good luck!”
Wally began to tiptoe silently up the stairs, and Blackie hastened back
down the hallway to the kitchen. On his way to the pantry window he
grabbed two or three jars of preserved vegetables and a loaf of bread.
He found Reno at the window, almost crazy at the delay.
“What took ya so long, ya little fool?” he raged under his breath. “I
thought I heard noises inside, and thought ya were bagged for sure.”
Blackie handed out the jars. “I was just looking around for grub, Mister
Reno,” he said. “There isn’t very much here—at least I can’t find it in
the dark. This is all I saw.”
Reno grew ferocious with anger. “Well, that’s better than nothin’—but
after all our trouble, all ya could get was a mouthful! I’ll fix you for
this later! Come on, climb out—don’t stand here jabberin’ all night!”
He helped the boy out through the narrow window, and together they crept
back to where Lew was standing guard.
“Any trouble?” he asked.
“Aw, the brat couldn’t find enough to make a lunch for a flea.” Reno
held out the jars and the bread. “We’ll have to try this game somewheres
else.”
Disgruntled, he led the way back through the orchard toward the road.
Blackie could barely make out the white-washed side of the spring-house
to their left. He plucked Reno’s ragged sleeve.
“Say, I bet that place is full of grub! Let’s have a look!”
Reno turned with a sneer. “Go and see.”
Blackie knew that if he argued, it might breed suspicion. He waded
through the tall grass to the low door and felt its rough face with his
hand. Sure enough; the outside bore a strong bolt. As he opened the
door, a draft of chill, damp air came forth, mingled with the smell of
fresh cream and cheese. He stumbled in.
It was the usual type of country spring-house. In the center bubbled up
a rill of icy water that was contained in a deep stone basin, filled
with tall cans of milk. The two men, attracted by Blackie’s easy
entrance into the place, followed him quickly, and found him busily
gobbling a generous chunk of apple pie, washing it down with milk from a
pitcher at his elbow. Hungry as he was, however, Blackie had not lost
sight of the deed he had to do; it was part of his plan to entice the
men inside. Lew rose to the bait, and began seizing foodstuffs with both
hands; but Reno cautiously stood square in the doorway, covering the
retreat. His mouth full, Blackie pushed past him, stuffing cookies into
his pockets.
“Pass the stuff out, Lew,” Reno was saying “I’ll stick it all in our bag
here.”
Blackie had meanwhile gained the outside, and stood facing the back of
the man in the doorway. “Why don’t you go in too, Mister Reno?” he
asked. “You might miss something if you don’t.”
Something in his tone made the man whirl about suspiciously. “What do
you mean, you little roach? If you think you can——”
Blackie saw his only chance, and took it. With a sturdy rush, he butted
against Reno’s legs. The tramp, caught off balance, grabbed at the
doorway to right himself, and Blackie, with all the force of his body
behind it, plunged his doubled fist into the man’s stomach. It was a
lucky blow that landed right on the solar plexus, and for a moment Reno
was paralyzed. He gave a pained grunt and keeled backwards into Lew, who
fell over a tall milk-can and tumbled sidewise into the pool of icy
water. Before either of them could flounder to their feet, Blackie had
slammed the strong door and shot the bolt upon his prisoners.
He sat down in the trampled, dewy grass, overcome with the reaction that
sets in after a trying period of strain and excitement. And suddenly,
without knowing why, he began to laugh, laugh until his sides hurt,
unable to stop.
Wally Rawn came to him on the run from the house, carrying a
long-barreled shotgun in his hands. He tested the soundness of the lock
on the spring-house door, and then clapped Blackie on the shoulder.
“Neat work, son! You’ve got them shut up in there like a couple of
sardines in a can. Say, what’s the matter with your funny bone?”
“He—he looked so crazy!” gurgled the boy. “I knocked the wind out of
Reno, and he fell over and pushed Lew into the water!”
From within the spring-house came an angry racket. Reno must have
scrambled to his feet again and was shouting at the door; both men were
cursing a blue streak, and Reno was making the most terrifying threats
as to what he should do if Blackie did not release the bolt on the
instant.
Wally patted Blackie’s arm soothingly. “Don’t you worry your head about
that.” He stepped to the door and called commandingly, “Listen, you
inside there! I’ve got a gun here, and if you make one more sound I’ll
wing you both! You’re here to stay, and don’t forget it!”
The serious depth of his voice must have impressed them, for they
maintained a puzzled silence while Wally strolled back to Blackie with a
cheerful smile.
“Guess that’ll stop their howling for a while. Now, as I was telling
you, I woke up the old farmer—he was snoring away as peaceful as a
sheep—and now he’s telephoning to Sheriff Manders at the Center. The
sheriff will be along in his car as soon as he can make it, and until
then I guess these birds will stay in their cage. They’d better!” he
finished grimly. “Now tell me how you happened to be housebreaking here
in the dead of night in such bad company.”
Growing more calm, Blackie began his tale, relating how on the night of
the snipe hunt he had overheard the two hoboes planning to rob the old
hermit, and how he had followed them and heard the scuffle in the house
and the scream which had driven him to fly in horror.
“You should have told me or the Chief about that,” was Wally’s only
comment. “It would have saved a lot of trouble.”
“I was too scared,” confessed Blackie, “and besides it all seemed like a
dream that couldn’t be true.”
He told briefly how he had fallen in with the tramps again at Black
Pond, and how they had later forced him to enter the house to plunder
it. When he had finished, Wally said nothing for a while, but shook his
head once or twice in somber amusement.
“Well,” he said finally, “guess after all these adventures you won’t
mind going back to old Lenape for a rest. I’ve come to take you back to
Tent Four.”
“But—how did you know where I was? Why are you here?”
“I didn’t know where you were, but I had a pretty good guess. You
slipped away from camp, and I figured it was up to me to catch you
again. The Chief sent Mr. Lane in the car toward Elmville to look out
for you along the road to the railway, and there were quite a number of
fellows scouting around for your tracks on the campus. I wasted some
time after supper down at the south end of the lake, thinking you might
have headed that way toward home, and it wasn’t until this morning that
I got the brilliant idea that you would head right into the big timber
for a while. I found your trail up on the ridge, and believe me, you hit
some pretty rough going in spots! Right in the middle of a swamp I found
a hat with your name on it, stuck in some bushes; and then I knew my
guess was right. But after clawing my way through a regular jungle of
rhododendrons I lost your track, and naturally thinking you would make
for Newmiln, I raced over to the Center. I had no idea you would swing
down into Black Pond.”
“What did you do then? Gee, you must have been a wizard to follow me
that far!”
“I spent the rest of the day sweeping the Flatstone valley for traces of
you; I knew that if you had passed this way somebody must have seen you.
When I got no news, I came back over this side and the old farmer—his
name’s Jacob Woods, and he’s a friend of mine; I brought a group of
bikers over here last year—he offered to let me stay here to-night and
to go back into the mountain with me in the morning to look for you. He
was telling me tales of lost hunters and mysterious accidents back in
these hills until I almost went out to look for you with a lantern. It
was just a crazy coincidence that your hobo friends decided to pick this
house for their midnight robbery—but I’m glad I was the one that hopped
on you in the dark; somebody else might have been rough.”
Blackie had been drinking in every word. “Say, Wally,” he said, “those
tramps are awful quiet. I wonder if they’re up to anything?”
“We’ll see.” Wally, with his gun held at ready, circled about the little
stone building warily, and was just in time to see Lew, the weak-chinned
younger tramp, sticking his head through an aperture he had made by
removing a stone where the overflow from the spring found its way out.
“Get back there, you!” shouted Wally. He pretended to aim a kick, and
the startled hobo, who had counted on tearing away the stones and
escaping by the back way, withdrew his head so speedily that he bumped
it. Wally closed the opening with several rocks.
The sound of an auto horn from the road made Blackie jump. “That must be
the sheriff!” cried Wally. “Hi! Over this way, Mr. Manders! Over here in
the orchard!”
Three men came tramping across through the grass, two of them carrying
rifles. The taller of them Blackie recognized as the man who had been
conferring with the Chief on that fateful rainy Tuesday when he had
fought with Chink and smoked with Gallegher. It was Sheriff Manders, and
he pulled out two pairs of handcuffs while Wally was explaining things
to him. Another man he introduced as his deputy, a rugged farmer with
red chin-whiskers showing in the light of the lantern he carried. The
third, garbed in a pair of overalls hastily donned over his
night-clothing, proved to be Mr. Woods, owner of the farm, who since
telephoning had been watching at the roadside to direct the officers of
the law as soon as they arrived.
The sheriff heard Wally to the end, and then turned to Blackie. “You’re
a real smart boy, if what Mr. Rawn says is true. I’ll be over to your
camp-ground later and get your affidavit on all you’ve told him; and
likely you’ll be wanted at the trial.”
He stamped over to the door and knocked upon it loudly. “In the name of
the law, I call upon you to submit to arrest!”
When the door was flung open, two cowed and shaken vagabonds shambled
out to face the weapons of Wally and the officers. Their short
imprisonment had broken what spirit of bravado they possessed, and under
the watchful eyes of the law they appeared as a brace of craven and
revolting blackguards caught in the midst of crime. They submitted to
being handcuffed, and were bundled off toward the car in short order.
“I’ll go with you and see these fellows safe in jail,” volunteered
Wally. “No—you won’t be needed, Blackie; you’ve done more than your
share this night. You just trot off to bed with Mr. Woods here, and
forget all about everything.”
He disappeared after the two prisoners and their guards, leaving Blackie
with the aged farmer. The latter led Blackie back to the house, where
his wife was fussing about the kitchen in a faded red wrapper, stirring
up the fire and raising a most tantalizing smell of cooking. Mr. Woods,
with rare forbearance, did not bother Blackie with questions, but every
now and then he caught the farmer looking at him with a puzzled frown,
shaking his head and muttering to himself, “Wal, who would have thought
it?” His wife mothered Blackie, making him wash his face and hands and
seating him at the table, where she piled hot food before him and
watched him gorge himself on sausage and fried potatoes, pressing him to
eat more pie and cookies until he felt as though his eyes must be
bulging with repletion. When he could eat no more, she packed him off
upstairs to bed, and left him with a gentle good-night. He undressed,
almost dozing off once or twice in the process, climbed into a high
four-poster bed, and lay snugly stretched out under a
brilliantly-colored old-fashioned crazy quilt. He fell asleep as soon as
his head touched the pillow.
A short time later Wally returned and woke him to say that he had seen
the tramps safely under lock and key in the jail at Newmiln Center, and
that he need not worry any more. Blackie hardly heard the words before
he was asleep again. Wally blew out the lamp and crawled in beside the
sleeping boy, and once more all was peaceful in the farmhouse at the
foot of the mountain.