THE PIRATES RETURN
They made surprisingly good time to the mouth of Fox River and then
covered six of the seven miles that lay between that point and
Livermore in an hour and twenty minutes. It certainly seemed as though
the launch knew it was going home and wanted to get there! It was
still only a little past four o’clock, and they might have got back
to Millville that night if it had not been for their promise to call
on the sheriff. Of course, they would have had to finish the voyage
in early darkness, but Pud had done so much night navigation that the
thought brought no dismay. But there was the agreement with Sheriff
Bowker to be considered, and so, instead of keeping on past the city,
they looked for a place to spend the night.
Tim didn’t think much of the idea of looking up the sheriff, and said
so more than once. ‘What’s he want to see us for?’ he asked. ‘We
told him all we knew, didn’t we? Suppose he wants to put us in jail
as witnesses. They do that sometimes. Or suppose he heard about that
chicken! I say let’s go on home, Pud.’
‘No, sir, we can’t do that. We promised. Besides, that Mr. Casey said
it would be to our――our advantage, didn’t he?’
‘Oh, gosh, they’ll say anything to get you in their clutches, the
police will!’
‘The sheriff isn’t the police,’ said Pud. ‘He’s different.’
‘He arrests folks just the same, doesn’t he? I don’t see much
difference!’
‘Well, you will. Anyway, we said we’d do it and we’ve just got to,
haven’t we?’
‘I suppose so,’ replied Tim regretfully.
The best they could discover as a tent-site was the edge of a
brick-yard, an unattractive place littered with old cans and broken
bricks and exposed to the public view on all sides. Indeed, a line of
trolley cars buzzed past only a short block distant. But they could see
nothing better, and they were rapidly approaching the wharves of the
town. So they put the launch as close to the muddy shore as possible
and landed by means of the skiff.
It was not until they had the tent ashore that Tim asked abruptly:
‘Say, Pud, know what day this is?’
Pud had to think a minute, but he finally said it was Saturday; adding,
‘What of it?’
‘Then to-morrow will be Sunday,’ answered Tim triumphantly, ‘and I
guess even sheriffs don’t go to business on Sunday!’
‘Gee, I wonder!’ exclaimed Pud. ‘But he said we could see him either
to-day or to-morrow, didn’t he? Maybe he forgot about it being Sunday,
though.’
‘I’ll bet he did. So what’s the good of stopping here? He wouldn’t
expect us to wait until Monday, Pud.’
‘No, but’――Pud looked at his watch and then at a vanishing trolley
car――‘but it’s only twenty minutes past four. We’ll go and see him now!
It won’t take long to get there by trolley, Tim!’
‘Oh, gosh!’ muttered Tim.
A few minutes later, leaving Harmon in charge of operations, they went.
A ten-minute ride took them to their destination and a friendly but
curious conductor directed them. He had wanted to know, when Pud had
asked for the sheriff’s office, if they were going to give themselves
up! They found the Court-House easily and made their way along a
corridor until a tin sign over a glass-paneled door brought them to a
halt. Pud didn’t know whether to knock or enter without knocking, so he
compromised by rapping his knuckles once and turning the knob at the
same instant. Tim followed inside looking so much like a criminal that
Sheriff Bowker would have been justified in arresting him on suspicion!
‘Well, hello, hello!’ greeted Mr. Bowker. ‘Come in, boys, and make
yourselves at home!’ He removed his legs from a corner of his desk and
arose to pull a couple of chairs forward from the row that stood along
one wall. ‘Well, you got here pretty quick, didn’t you? I just heard
from――Wait a minute, though. I’d better see if I can get Mr. Hosford.
Maybe he’s gone home a’ready, but if he hasn’t――’
The sheriff took up the telephone and, while Pud and Tim stared about
the rather bare and not too clean room, engaged in a brief conversation
with some one. The sheriff’s pleased announcement into the mouthpiece
to the effect that ‘they’re here, if you want to see ’em’ brought no
joy to Tim. The conversation appeared to satisfy the sheriff, though,
for he beamed when he had hung up again.
‘Well, that’s all right,’ he declared, rubbing his big hands together.
‘He’s coming right over. Lucky you didn’t turn up five minutes later,
for he was just going home.’
‘Who, sir?’ asked Pud.
‘Mr. Hosford. He’s president of――never mind now, though. He’ll be here
in a jiffy. I was going to tell you that I just got word from Police
Headquarters that Kinsey nabbed his men about two o’clock, boys! Quick
work, eh?’
‘Really?’ exclaimed Pud. ‘Lank and Cocker and――and the other one?’
‘All three, and a boatload of stuff, too, he says. They were in that
power-boat of Tally Moore’s down near Trowman’s Landing, this side of
Mumford. Reckon they were meaning to go ashore there. I ain’t heard the
particulars yet. Well, I reckon Tally’ll be glad to get his boat back.’
‘Was there――was there any fighting, sir?’ asked Pud.
‘I didn’t hear. Kinsey had three men with him, though, in the police
launch, so I guess those fellows didn’t kick up much. Quick work, I’ll
say!’
‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Pud. ‘Gee, I wish I’d been along! Wouldn’t it have
been great, Tim?’
‘Yes,’ said Tim. But somehow it sounded a lot more like ‘No’!
At that minute the door opened and a man of about forty years entered
briskly.
‘Afternoon, Mister Sheriff! So these are the boys, eh?’
‘Yes, sir, here they are. Boys, this is Mr. Hosford, president of the
Chamber of Commerce. Mr. Hosford, this is Anson Pringle, and this is
Timothy Daley. Anson’s pa runs the _Courant_ up to Millville. Maybe you
know him.’
Mr. Hosford regretted that he hadn’t that honor as he shook hands with
Pud and Tim. Then he took the chair that the sheriff set for him and
smiled at his audience. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I guess we don’t have to make
a ceremony of this, young gentlemen. I’ve brought the check with me and
I’ll just hand it over, with my congratulations.’ He put a hand into an
inner pocket and produced a long, slim oblong of pale-green paper. ‘We
made this out to Anson Pringle?’ He looked inquiringly at the sheriff.
‘That’s what you said, eh?’
‘That’s right, Mr. Hosford. It was him that had the bundle of money,
so――’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Pud faintly.
‘Why, I’m talking about the reward,’ said Mr. Hosford. ‘You knew there
was a reward of five hundred dollars offered, didn’t you?’
‘I reckon he didn’t,’ laughed the sheriff. ‘We didn’t say anything to
him, Mr. Hosford. Thought we’d wait and――’
‘You mean,’ gasped Pud, ‘that my father offered five hundred dollars
for――for me?’
‘Well, hardly,’ answered Mr. Hosford, smiling, ‘although I dare say
you’d be well worth it. No, this reward was offered a week or so ago by
the Livermore Chamber of Commerce and the banks for information leading
to the apprehension of the persons engaged in circulating counterfeit
bank-notes hereabouts. Thought, of course, you knew about it. The
sheriff here and a Mr. Kinsey, sent by the Department of Justice awhile
back, assured us that you had earned it and so――well, here it is, my
boy! And my congratulations go with it!’
Still dazed, Pud accepted the check, looked at it vaguely, and then
turned to Sheriff Bowker. ‘You mean that――that it’s _mine_?’ he asked
incredulously.
‘Sure is, Anson! Earned it, didn’t you? If you hadn’t given the
information you did, they’d still be searching for those fellows, I
reckon.’
‘Well, I must go along.’ Mr. Hosford again shook hands with the boys,
nodded to the sheriff, said ‘Good-afternoon!’ and departed. With the
closing of the door behind him, Tim darted from his seat.
‘Gosh, Pud, let’s see!’ he stammered.
Pud and he both looked then. ‘Livermore Trust Company,’ they read. ‘Pay
to the order of Anson Pringle Five Hundred Dollars.’
‘Gosh!’ said Tim in an awed voice. ‘What are you going to do with it,
Pud?’
Pud shook his head helplessly. Then he brightened as he exclaimed:
‘’Tain’t all mine, you silly chump! It’s half yours!’
‘Mine!’ said Tim. ‘I guess not! What did I have to do with it? You’re
crazy!’
‘I’m not either! I’ll leave it to Mr. Bowker if――’
‘Boys, you’ll have to leave me out of it,’ protested the sheriff,
waving a hand. ‘You’ll have to settle whose it is between you, I
reckon.’
‘Well, it’s half his,’ declared Pud stubbornly, ‘and――say, Tim, we
never even thanked him!’
‘You mean you didn’t,’ Tim corrected. ‘I guess he understood, though,
that you were sort of――of flabbergasted, Pud.’
Somehow in the next five minutes they said good-bye to the sheriff,
promised to call and see him the next time they were in Livermore, and
found their way to the street. The idea of taking a car back to the
launch was utterly repellent. There was too much to be said! So they
started back on foot, and when, at the first corner, a telephone sign
met Pud’s eyes, he dragged Tim inside a store and disappeared himself
into a booth. He was out five minutes later, flushed and triumphant.
‘I got Dad, at the office,’ he proclaimed. ‘He doesn’t believe it about
the reward. He just kept on saying, “Yes, yes, Pud, I know, I know.”
He thinks I’m joking, but when he sees that check――’ Pud broke off to
chuckle enjoyably. ‘I told him we’d be back by one o’clock to-morrow,
Tim, and he said he’d tell your father when he went home.’
They went on, taking up the discussion where they had dropped it.
Tim was very determined not to share the reward and Pud was just as
determined that he should. The argument lasted most of the way back to
where they had left the launch, and Tim’s consent was finally obtained
when Pud threatened to tear the check up. ‘I will,’ he declared firmly;
‘I’ll tear it up right now and stuff the pieces down that hole, Tim!
Why, gee, we were all in it! Why, it was you who heard those fellows
first that time up on Cypress Lake. You said, “I hear a boat, Pud,” and
I said “Let’s shout,” and――’
‘Oh, all right,’ said Tim, ‘only it doesn’t seem fair. And as to me
hearing that boat first, I didn’t, Pud. It was Harmon.’
‘Was it? Well, anyway――’ Then Pud stopped abruptly. ‘Say, Tim, what
about him, eh? Harmon, I mean.’
‘Gosh, that’s so!’
They went on in thoughtful silence for a short distance. Then, ‘He’s
a pretty good guy, that Harmon,’ muttered Pud. ‘He――he’s been mighty
handy, the way he’s cooked and――and all!’
‘Sure,’ said Tim. ‘Of course, in a way――’
‘Yes, I know that, but when you think of it――’
‘Sure! That’s what I meant!’
‘Well, then, if we each give him twenty-five――’
‘Yes, seems to me that would be fair,’ agreed Tim readily. ‘Gosh, fifty
dollars would be a lot of money to Harmon!’
‘You think we ought to give him more?’ asked Pud anxiously.
‘No, I don’t, Pud. I think fifty’s fair, don’t you?’
‘Yes, _I_ do, but I thought maybe you thought it wasn’t. He’s a pretty
good fellow and I wouldn’t like to feel that――that we weren’t doing the
right thing. There he is now. He’s got the tent up, too! And I believe
he’s started getting supper! Say, won’t he be tickled when――’
‘Won’t he!’
They started running.
* * * * *
It was well short of one o’clock the next day when the launch poked its
nose under the bridge at Millville and chugged on toward Andy Tremble’s
boat-yard. Pud stood proudly at the wheel, Tim officiated at the
throttle, and Harmon sat on the stern planking with his bare feet on
the seat below and observed the passing world with haughty grandeur, a
grandeur befitting a colored gentleman recently come into a fortune!
Behind the launch came the skiff, the only visible trophy of the
pirates’ expedition, since, doubtless to Harmon’s disappointment, not
one town had been sacked. And yet, as Pud had observed farther down
the river that forenoon, they hadn’t done so badly for pirates new to
the business, for they were returning with five hundred dollars and a
perfectly good rowboat, and without the loss of a man!
As the launch turned the bend above the island and the landing came
into sight, Pud blinked his eyes. For a moment it looked as if all
Millville had gathered to welcome them home, but a second look showed
that the group ahead numbered no more than ten persons; a dozen at the
outside. There were Pud’s father and mother, and Tim’s father, and
Harmon’s father and mother and two small sisters, and Andy Tremble and
Mr. Ephraim Billings and Marshal Bud Garvey and――oh, gee――Mr. Tully,
the minister! Pud wished then that he had taken the new names from
the bow. Here it was a Sunday and there was that lettering down there
staring right at everybody and spelling _Jolly Rodger_! They were
waving now, and Pud waved back, and so did Tim. And there was Andy
Tremble pointing at something and laughing fit to kill himself, and
Bud Garvey laughing too. And they weren’t looking at the name on the
bow, either. They were looking farther astern. Pud looked, too. Then he
wilted.
Harmon, stiff with dignity, solemn as a judge, sat with folded arms
upon the after deck, while, behind him, placed there unknown to Pud and
Tim, the disreputable white flag adorned with the skull-and-cross-bones
spread itself to the breeze!
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Printer’s, punctuation, and spelling inaccuracies were silently
corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Inconsistent hyphenation and compound words were made consistent
only when a predominant form was found.