NODDY NIXON’S THREAT
Bill Cromley, the old gold miner, abruptly ceased his narration. The
scene was rather quieter about the farmhouse now, though the neighbors
were still at the farm helping Mrs. Gordon to move out of the kitchen
some things that had been saved. The Motor Boys were much interested in
what they had heard.
“What do you mean--it was the end of everything?” asked Jerry.
“Just what I say. It was the end,” replied Cromley. “The horses, stage,
chest of gold, and everything went over the cliff. According to what
you tell me, it can’t have been far from where you’re going--to Thunder
Mountain.”
“Didn’t they save anything?” asked Bob, a little awed by the tragic
ending of the story.
“Nary a thing.”
“Wasn’t there any trace of the men or the horses or the stage?”
inquired Ned.
“Oh, yes, they found the bodies--some of ’em,” said the miner. “And
the horses, too. But there wasn’t much left of the coach. It was a
rickety old thing to start with, and about all they picked up was some
splinters that would do for toothpicks.”
“But the chest of gold?” exclaimed Bob.
“They never found a trace of it,” answered the miner. “It was never
located, though I had more than one look for it, and so did lots of
others. There was a fortune of pure gold in that chest, and it was a
pity to lose it. But we never found it.”
“But what could have become of it?” demanded Jerry. “A big chest having
rolled down the side of a mountain, must have landed somewhere.”
“It very likely did,” answered Mr. Cromley. “Landed down in some hole
or gully. But there are so many of them in that part of the country you
might hunt for five years and never strike the right one. It’s a wild
bit of territory out there near Blue Rock. Thunder Mountain is another
wild region. Let’s see, what did you say the name of your mining friend
was out there--Brassy Madison?”
“No, Tinny Mallison,” replied Jerry. “His real name is Tinnith, but we
call him Tinny.”
“Um! Good name for a gold miner,” commented the lame man. “He’ll very
likely strike tin instead of gold nine times out of ten. No, I never
heard of him.”
“He hasn’t been mining very long,” explained Ned. “He just got back
from the war--same as we did.”
“Do you think you’ll ever go back West to the mines?” asked Bob, as
the boys moved on toward their car, for there was little now that they
could do. On all sides could be heard murmurs of admiration over their
promptness in saving the lives of the imperiled ones.
“Oh, yes, I reckon so,” was the answer. “Once you get to be as old as I
am it’s hard to give up the gold-mining craze. I reckon I’ll go back.
In fact, my sister and I were talking about my going back when this
fire happened. Of course I’m going to stay now until I see if I can
help them. But I’ll go back before the summer’s over.”
“Maybe we’ll see you when we get to Thunder Mountain,” suggested Jerry.
“And if the place where that chest of gold was lost is anywhere near
Tinny’s mine, we might have a look for it,” remarked Bob.
“Better not count on that! You’ll only be disappointed. Of course I can
show you the spot where the coach went over the cliff, but there’s no
use looking for the gold. It was just the end of everything!”
The boys let it go at that for the time being. And, truth to tell,
they did not have a chance to consider it any further just then, for
there came a sudden interruption to their thoughts in the shape of
a small but very excited lad who had driven to the scene of the fire
in a rattling little car. Out he sprang, jumping over the fence, and,
approaching the Motor Boys, he gasped:
“Say--why didn’t you stop for me--I like fires--I could help put ’em
out--good on ladder work--anybody killed--say there’ll be a piece in
the paper about this--how’d it start--were any of you burned--somebody
said a woman jumped from a window--has the engine stopped----”
“Yes, and you’d better stop, Andy Rush, if you don’t want to blow up!”
laughed Jerry, as he gently placed a hand over the small lad’s mouth,
thereby preventing the further outflow of words that came bubbling out,
fairly tripping each other up, so excited was Andy.
He was an old friend of the trio of lads who had had so many adventures
together, and more than once Andy had accompanied them. He was a good
little chap, true and stanch, but he had a habit of getting excited
easily, and, when he did, he talked so fast and so brokenly that his
conversation was all dots and dashes--mostly dashes.
“Oh--fire’s all out, is it--too bad--wish I’d gotten here sooner!”
exclaimed Andy, in disappointed tones. “I hurried all I could--after I
heard about it--jumped into Bachman’s flivver--had a puncture--didn’t
stop--came right along--here I am--whoop!”
“Do you mean to say you took the butcher’s auto?” asked Ned, as he
noted what car the small lad had.
“Sure! It was standing in front of his shop. He wasn’t using it--so I
hopped in--he won’t care--we get our meat of him, anyhow. I’ll have
the puncture fixed--maybe I can do it myself--you’ve got your dad’s
new car, haven’t you, Bob? Maybe you have a tire repair outfit--come
on--give me a hand--gee, but I’m sorry the fire’s out!”
“Guess you’re the only one that’s sorry,” remarked Bob. “Come on,
fellows, we’ll help Andy mend his puncture,” he added good-naturedly.
“Bachman will put a flea in his ear if he doesn’t come back with the
flivver in time for afternoon deliveries.”
“Thanks--do as much for you some day--I’ll get the tire off!”
spluttered Andy, leaping back over the fence. “You don’t think the
fire’ll start up again, do you?” he asked. “If it does I’d like to
climb a ladder--jump in a window--slide down a rope--run----”
“Oh, cut it out!” laughed Ned. “You’ll have us doing it next.”
From his tool box Bob got an emergency tire repair kit, and after the
little car belonging to the town butcher had been jacked up, Andy
began the not too-easy task of taking off the punctured tire. He had
run on it flat to the fire.
“Say, jufellers hear about Noddy Nixon?” asked Andy, while he was
waiting for the cement to dry somewhat before putting a patch on the
inner tube.
“No, what about that--rat?” asked Ned.
“He’s back in town--that’s all,” was Andy’s information. “Just saw him
and Jack Pender get off the train.”
“So Jack’s with him, is he?” asked Jerry.
“Guess Noddy didn’t dare come back alone,” commented Bob. “He needs
some one to back him up.”
“I should think he would after what he did in France,” said Jerry
bitterly. “Shooting himself to make believe he was wounded in action,
so he could be sent to the rear! There isn’t any place too hot for such
rats!”
“Did Noddy say anything to you, Andy?” asked Ned, as the tire was being
put back on the wheel.
“Nope! Never talks to me--guess he doesn’t like me--thinks I’m too much
of a runt, I guess. He’s laying for you fellers.”
“What do you mean--laying for us?” demanded Jerry.
“Oh, nothing special, but I mean he was always picking on you, wasn’t
he?”
“That’s right,” admitted Bob Baker. “But he’d better not try it any
more. I’ll tell him where he gets off.”
“The same here,” echoed Ned.
The puncture having been repaired, Andy hastened back in the small car
he had so unceremoniously borrowed to go to the fire.
“See you later,” he called. “Watch out for Noddy--bad egg--Jack
Pender, too--don’t tell Bachman I had a puncture--what he doesn’t
know won’t hurt him--anyhow, it’s mended--maybe there’ll be another
fire this afternoon--give me a ride in your new car, Bob--see you
later--good-by--whoop!”
“Thank goodness, he’s gone!” murmured Jerry, as he and his chums
entered the big machine, having said good-by to those whom they had
helped.
Bill Cromley waved to the boys as he limped about helping his sister
salvage things from the burned kitchen.
“Come and see me again before you start for Thunder Mountain,” he
urged, and the boys promised.
The three rode about a bit and then started for town. It was just their
luck, as Ned said later, to meet Noddy Nixon and his crony.
Jerry was trying his hand on the new car when, as he swung around
a corner, he had to jam on quickly the four-wheel brakes to avoid
running down two young men who suddenly, and without looking to see if
the way was clear, stepped from the curb.
“Say, you boob, what’s the idea?” angrily demanded one of the
pedestrians. It was Noddy Nixon.
“Think you own the whole street just because you have a new car?”
sneered Jack Pender.
When the two cronies saw who it was that had so nearly run them down,
Noddy’s face grew red with anger.
“Say you--you!” he spluttered, unable, for rage, to proceed.
“Why don’t you look where you’re going when you start to cross a
street?” demanded Jerry.
“Don’t give me any of your talk!” fairly shouted Noddy, shaking his
fist at the Motor Boys. “I’m going to have a settlement with you
fellows--that’s what I’m going to do!”
“A settlement? You don’t owe us anything, Noddy,” said Ned easily and
with a mocking smile.
“Yes, I do!” stormed the bully. “You’ve gone about telling everybody I
shot myself on purpose in France. I didn’t at all. It’s untrue.”
“Is it?” asked Jerry coolly. “Then you’d better take it up with the war
department. They put S.I.W., meaning self-inflicted wound, up over
your cot--we didn’t!”
“It’s not so! It’s untrue!” shouted Noddy. “I’ll fix you for it, too!
And for trying to run me down just because you have a new car!”
“Drive on, Jerry,” advised Ned, in a low voice.
“There’s a crowd collecting,” added Bob.
Jerry let in the clutch, having shifted to first, and the auto drew
away.
Back on the street corner stood Noddy Nixon and his crony.
“They think they’re mighty smart!” murmured Jack.
“Smart! I’ll show ’em!” muttered Noddy. “I’ll get square for all the
things the Motor Boys have done to me if it takes ten years! I’ll get
square with them, all right!”
Noddy had it firmly fixed in his mind that the Motor Boys had done
their best to spread the news that he had shot himself to keep from
being sent to the front during the war. He felt terribly humiliated
when confronted by the facts and he was ready to do almost anything to
“get square” with the boys, and especially with Jerry.