“THROW UP YOUR HANDS!”
The four boys drew together and held a conference in order to decide
two things: first, whether there were interlopers in the camp house
and, second, how to handle the situation in the event these people did
not belong there.
“If they belong there--if Mrs. Parsons sent them up here without our
knowing it,” said Frank, “we must be careful to do nothing which is
wrong. And----”
“And,” interrupted Lanky Wallace, “if they do not belong here, then we
must get rid of them in some way. It looks this way, Frank--if some one
is in there that don’t belong, and it surely seems so right now, we’ve
got to get them out and they’re not going to want to go out.”
This was putting the matter fairly.
“I’ll tell you what we can do,” suggested Frank when the boys had
canvassed all the facts as they existed. “We can walk up to the place
and look through the windows to see what is going on within. If
there to a chance to hear anything we might get some idea from the
conversation whether they belong there or not.”
With this the boys started forward, quite naturally keeping their guns
to their arms, ready for action.
But there was no need to use stealth or secretiveness. No one made
any attempt to call out to them as they approached, and, getting near
the lodge, they scattered out, Frank and Lanky choosing places at the
front, while the other boys went to the rear of the house.
Stooping beneath one of the windows at the front, Frank brought his
head up to the level of the sill very slowly, peeping to see what was
within.
There, stretched at their full length in two of the large lounging
chairs in the spacious living room at the front of the house, toasting
their toes before the roaring fire, were two tramps!
The position of the two boys, Frank and Lanky, was a poor one, because
the tramps were facing them. Therefore, the boys slipped around to
another window, in order that they might not be so easily seen.
“I guess this is pretty soft,” one of the tramps was saying to the
other.
“Yes, you’re right, Blinky, pretty soft. And there’s enough stuff in
the kitchen to run us some time, too.”
Frank and Lanky looked at each other, smiling.
“Wonder who is the guy that owns this shack, Snadder,” said the first
tramp. “Let’s get another drink.”
With this the two tramps got out of their chairs, showing a bit more
alacrity than their comfort would seem to have justified.
One of them, the one addressed as Snadder, was a tall, very thin
man, so tall that he stooped at the waist and a little more at the
shoulders, as if constantly bending down to hear some one smaller than
himself. The side view of his face showed him to have a long, beak nose
and a growth of beard which might have been a week old.
The other was almost his opposite. As he staggered rather than walked
toward the dining room, the two boys saw a low-sized man, very fat,
with a pudgy round face and a nose that fitted perfectly with the
general rotundity, and, as he turned to look back at Snadder, for he
was leading the way, they saw that his eyelids squinted down very
closely and that a moustache adorned his upper lip, looking like the
stub end of a broom.
Lanky and Frank slipped along the side of the house toward the dining
room to watch the next act in the performance.
The two tramps wobbled over to the heavy oak sideboard in the dining
room, opened the door at the bottom, and lifted from there a bottle.
Instead of pouring the liquor into glasses they lifted the bottle to
their lips and drank long and heartily.
As one finished and handed the bottle to the other he smacked his lips
and wiped them with his shirt sleeve, the other drinking and doing
likewise. To all appearances they drained the bottle to the last drop.
“Well,” said Snadder, the tall one, “if they left that bottle here for
medicinal purposes, it sure has done the trick! I feel just as well as
can be. How about it?”
“I feel better’n you do,” said Blinky.
“What you mean you feel better’n I do?”
“Jesh whosh I shay,” Blinky stammered back at the other. “That’s right
kind liquor. Makes me feel like the time I trained with Fighting Bob.”
Frank and Lanky exchanged glances. It was plain these two fellows had
imbibed enough of the liquor to make them drunk.
Smash! As the two boys turned their eyes again to the room, they saw
Snadder reach for the bottle and hurl it at Blinky--missing him by a
small margin, but striking the opposite wall of the room where the
bottle fell in bits.
Blinky made a rush for the huge mantel over the fireplace of the front
room, and grabbed down a knife that hung there. Then he turned on the
slim one.
For a moment they stood glaring at each other, neither making any
further move toward combat.
Just at this moment Paul and Buster came from their vantage points and
reported what they had seen--a kitchen messed up as if hogs had been
turned loose, empty cans strewn about the floor, dishes lying on the
table, all drawers of the pantry being pulled out and dumped on the
floor.
Inside there were no sounds to indicate either the continuance of the
fight or a peace contract. Frank lifted his head and looked through
the window. Blinky was yet standing at the mantel with the knife in
his hand, defensively glaring at Snadder, while the long, thin one had
reached in the meanwhile for a carving knife that lay on the dining
table. As they watched, Snadder started stealthily forward, intent on
getting to Blinky on his tiptoes.
“Better stay ’way from me,” whimpered Blinky. “You come near me and
I’ll stick this knife in you.”
But Snadder was undaunted by this, and four youthful pairs of eyes
watched the coming of the fray with boyish interest.
Snadder’s hand was upraised, and Frank saw that he held the knife by
its point, with the handle downward.
Having gone around the dining table, where the full swing of his arm
would not be hindered, they saw a quick movement on the part of the
tall man, and the knife swished through the air toward Blinky!
It seemed to be going true to its aim, but Blinky slouched forward
a trifle, it seemed an accident, and the point of the carving knife
struck squarely in the top plank of the mantel, swaying to and fro!
With that Snadder started to rush forward.
But Blinky had sobered somewhat in that moment, and his right hand
moving upward, he hurled the knife at the head of his advancing
antagonist.
With a quick dodging motion Snadder got out of the way and the hunting
knife came hurtling straight at the head of Frank Allen outside the
window!
Crash! There was the sound of splintering glass as the knife shot over
the head of the stooping boy, who had ducked lower, and fine particles
of glass flew on top of the heads of all four of them.
Frank’s head came up instantly and he looked to see what would happen
next. He realized that if they got into a fight the command of the
situation would be in their hands.
Frank saw that Blinky, the undersized one, having hurled the knife
without success, had grasped a chair in his hands and was just swinging
it about his head, ready to brain Snadder if he approached.
“Quick, Lanky!” whispered Frank, getting his head down from the window.
“You and Paul go to the front door, and Buster, you go to the rear
door and see if you can get inside. When I think you’re there, or when
I see the front door open, I’ll stick a rifle through this window. Get
around there right away and we’ll get these fellows.”
The three boys ran quickly to do their part of the work.
In the meanwhile Frank looked again and saw Snadder hesitate before
attempting to close in on his muscular adversary.
“Come on, Blinky, I ain’t mad any more. What’s the use of us fighting?”
he said.
“Well, they ain’t no use of fighting,” answered the fat one. “But I’m
mad yet, and you ain’t telling the truth. If you come near me I’ll
brain you with this chair.”
Much of the drunkenness had disappeared in this sharp interchange, and
Blinky’s words were not spoken as thickly as several minutes before.
“Come on, Blinky, can’t you believe me? We’ve been pals a long time and
they ain’t no use fighting,” argued Snadder.
But Blinky was not ready just yet to relinquish the defensive situation
of which he had command.
Just then Frank saw the front door open very slightly and knew that
he had two boys there, with their guns, ready to close in. He rose
immediately from the stooped position, poked his rifle through the
broken pane of the window, and called out:
“Throw up your hands, both of you!”
Snadder and Blinky turned to the window from which the words came and
saw a young man standing behind a rifle that was leveled at both of
them.
Snadder, lithe and quick, turned in a flash toward the front door.
It opened wide, and Lanky and Paul stood in the opening, each with a
firearm pointing directly at the tall fellow.
“Throw up your hands, fellows!” again came the command from Frank
Allen. “Lanky, if he makes a move, shoot him!”
Both of the tramps lifted their hands very slowly above their heads,
Blinky putting the chair down carefully before he obeyed the command.
Buster Billings walked into the dining room at this juncture, his
shotgun ready for use.
“Buster, go over there and search them, while we keep them covered,”
said Frank.