BRISTLES' SURPRISE PARTY
"That's a queer coincidence, if you'd care to call it by that name,"
remarked Colon, who liked once in a while to make use of some long word.
"It simply shows that we had long heads when we made up our minds to lug
this old tramp dog all the way here, just to prove our story," Fred
observed.
"That was your scheme, Fred, all right," Bristles quickly asserted.
"No more than the rest of you," he was instantly told, for Fred never
liked to be given sole credit for anything unusual, when he had chums
along. "All the same, I guess the old farmer will be tickled half to
death to know the sheep-killing pack has been broken up for good."
"You think our knocking the leader out is going to do that, do you,
Fred?" asked Colon.
"In nine cases out of ten that's the way things go. There's a keystone
to every arch, and when you remove that, the whole thing tumbles down."
"My idea to a dot," asserted Bristles, doggedly. "Chances are the rest
of those curs have started on the run for their old homes before this;
and unless another leader springs up, which isn't likely, we've seen the
last of the sheep-killers. But hold on, fellows, perhaps we can have a
little fun with the old farmer."
"How?" asked Colon, not at all unwilling.
"He doesn't seem to be about his wagon just now, you notice?" ventured
Bristles.
"Knows the toll-gate keeper right well," explained Colon, "because he's
been coming past here, year in and year out, a long time now. Like as
not he's stepped in to sit and talk, or else sample something wet. But I
hope now, Bristles, you don't mean to start the team off on the run, or
something like that, just to see an old man rush after 'em?"
"What d'ye take me for?" demanded the other, indignantly. "I leave all
such mean tricks to Buck Lemington, Clem Shooks, Ben Cushing and that
crowd. Here's where we might play an innocent little joke on the farmer,
and he'll laugh as hard as we do when he catches on. It's the
dog---let's sneak up back of the wagon, and lift the thing in. Then you
leave the rest to me."
Colon waited to hear what Fred said. He was accustomed to depending to
some extent on the opinion of this chum, to whom the boys usually looked
as their leader.
"I should think that was fair enough, Bristles," Fred quickly announced.
"We're intending to give the farmer a pleasant little surprise party,
that's all. Have it your way, then. Here, let's move around a little,
so they won't sight us from the open door of the toll-gate house."
It was a very simple matter to do this, and presently they had deposited
the already stiffening body of the sheep-destroying dog in the bed of the
wagon, where it certainly presented a very gruesome appearance, with its
four feet sticking up in the air.
This done, the boys walked around, and onto the little porch that was
spread out before the door of the cottage.
Voices reached their ears, and it was evident that their presence had
been discovered, for two men immediately came out. Bristles noticed that
the old farmer was even then brushing the back of his hand across his
lips, thus indicating that he had been sampling a glass of hard cider, a
specialty of the toll-gate keeper.
"Hello! Mr. Jenks!" remarked Bristles, who, it seemed, knew the keeper.
"We're up here to look over the ground for the big Marathon race that's
coming off before long."
The farmer had started toward his team, but hearing this, he stopped to
listen.
"I reckoned as much as soon as I see you boys in your running togs," the
tollgate keeper went on to say, affably enough, "because there was a gent
up here only yesterday that said he represented the committee, and that
they expected to have what they called a registering station here at the
toll-gate, though I don't just know what that really means."
"Why, you see, in a long gruelling run of twenty-five miles," explained
Bristles, "it's necessary to have certain places a few miles apart, and
especially at turns in the course, where every contestant enters his name
in his own handwriting, as well as the time he passed there."
"You don't tell me!" exclaimed Mr. Jenks. "But what's all that
tomfoolery for? Strikes me they go to a heap of trouble for next to
nothing."
"Why, you see," continued Bristles, "these races have to be above
suspicion. The committee doesn't want anybody to be able to say there
was any crooked work about the run. The fellow who wins must have beaten
every competitor fairly. And by this system of registering they have a
complete record of the race. No one can cut across lots and cheat,
without its showing in the record."
"Oh! now I understand you, my lad, and I guess it's a good thing. That
gent was a fine one, and he said I had the best---but never mind what he
said. How far have you come this time, boys?"
"This is over half the distance," explained Fred, "and we're on the home
stretch right now. But we're not trying for a record to-day. Fact is,
we're just feeling out the ground. The next time we come we'll stop only
a minute, as if we were registering, and be off, for that's when we'll be
trying it out to see what our time is."
"Oh! excuse me," said Bristles, as he saw the old farmer once more turn
toward his rig, as though he felt he must be going on, "but didn't I hear
you telling someone in the market the other day that you'd lost a number
of sheep lately?"
The old man frowned, and shook his head sadly.
"Three of my best, and I reckons that if things keep on the way they're
goin', I won't have any flock left purty soon, boy," he replied.
"And you said the damage had all been done by a pack of wild dogs, didn't
you?" continued Bristles.
"Anybody with one eye could see that, by the way the sheep was mangled,
and the pad of the prints around. They're gettin' to be a terror up
here. Jenks kin tell you how he's heard the lot carrying on like Cain
over in the woods there nights."
"Did you ever see the pack, mister?" asked Bristles.
"Well, I can't say as I really and truly has, son, but I do believe I
knows what the wust of the lot looks like," the farmer told him.
"How was that, sir?" asked the boy, eagerly. He saw the old man shrug
his broad shoulders, while a whimsical look appeared on his sunburned
face.
"Jest because I set on a limb, and looked down at the critter three whole
hours, till he got so pizen hungry he slunk off, and let me get home. He
come nigh ketchin' me afore I cud git up in a tree; and from the looks of
them ugly fangs, chances are he'd a-tore me right bad."
"Then I should think you'd know that dog again if ever you saw him?"
suggested Bristles, with a wink toward his chums.
"I hopes I'll never have the bad luck to see him alive again!" declared
the old farmer, as he started to climb up to the seat of his wagon.
"Now watch the circus!" hissed Bristles.
The farmer had just about drawn himself up when they heard him give
utterance to a startled exclamation, for he found himself facing the
uninvited passenger in the back of his open wagon bed. Had Bristles been
more inclined to be cruel, he might have fixed the dog so that he would
appear lifelike, and in the attitude of springing.
The farmer remained there as though turned into stone. Then he managed
to recover his wits, and burst out into a shout.
"It's the same pizen critter!" he exclaimed joyously, "and keeled over at
last! But I'd like to know---say, you don't meant to tell me now, boys,
'twas you that done for that turrible beast?"
"Well," said Bristles, trying hard not to look too important, "they
tackled us in the woods, and it was either us or him, so we managed to
pound the leader until he kicked the bucket, and the rest of the pack lit
out. I guess that combine's broken up for good, mister. You won't lose
any more of your sheep, believe me."
The old man got down, and insisted upon shaking hands all around, he felt
so delighted over the new turn affairs had taken.
"And the next time I go to Riverport, I'll tell what a fine thing you
boys did up here," he remarked, as the three runners prepared to start
down the road, heading for the home town.
On the way it was finally decided that they would go to the office of the
Chief of Police and tell him about finding the empty tin box, but not say
a thing in connection with that pin. Afterwards, Fred said, they might
see Mr. Periwinkle, So as to learn whether the tin box was really his
property.
They felt uncertain as to just what their duty might be in a case like
this, for while it seemed only right that the guilty one should suffer,
at the same time both Fred and Bristles remembered what sorrowful faces
that brother and sister had, and they could not find it in their hearts
to do anything likely to add to the burdens the children already had to
bear.
So the case rested as the days passed. Though unknown to the boys, a
time was coming, and near at hand, when the mystery of the tin box was
bound to be explained.