THE RUNAWAY HORSE
“Pull out yourselves, consarn ye!” shouted Jim Boolus, his face purple
with rage. Then, seeing that Lee made no move, he suddenly snatched his
whip from its socket, and made a savage cut at Lee’s horse.
Old Jerry reared and would have bolted forward, had not Lee held him
quiet with all the strength he possessed. Bobby was infuriated by
Boolus’ cruel action, and in a second he was out of the buggy and was
leading the old miser’s horse off the road. With a yelp of rage Boolus
made a cut at him with his whip, but Bobby dodged just in time, and the
stinging lash landed on Boolus’ horse instead. The unfortunate animal,
already greatly excited by the altercation, gave a leap to one side,
cramping the front wheels against the buggy. The light rig careened
over, and then, as the horse started forward at top speed, it turned
over completely, rolling Boolus out into the deep sand at the roadside.
The frightened horse dragged the overturned buggy a short distance, but
then his harness broke, and he streaked down the road in a cloud of dust
and sand, leaving the wrecked buggy lying on its side.
Jim Boolus staggered to his feet and gazed after his fast disappearing
horse for an instant, then turned toward the boys. For a moment they
were bewildered at the sudden development of events, but when they saw
that Boolus was unhurt the comic side of it struck them both at the same
time, and they shouted with laughter. But their discomfitted enemy
failed to see any humor in the situation.
“I’ll sue ye for this, see if I don’t!” he yelled, dancing about in his
rage. “You’ll pay for that buggy, or I’ll know the reason why.”
“I don’t see where I come in,” said Lee. “You hit your own horse and he
ran away. Both of us saw you do it, and we could swear to it in court.
You don’t suppose any one around here would believe you if you tried to
tell them anything else, do you?”
Boolus glared at the boys, but the truth of what Lee said was so evident
that he could think of no suitable retort.
“And now,” continued Lee, “I and my friend here wish you a very pleasant
walk to wherever it is you were going,” and with these words he spoke to
Jerry, who started off. As they looked back the boys could see the old
skinflint still standing in the road shaking his fists at them, until a
sudden turn hid him from view.
“Well, that’s one time Mr. Jim Boolus got the worst of it,” said Bobby,
wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes. “The look on his face as he
picked himself out of that sand heap was worth going a long way to see.”
“It surely was,” agreed Lee, “but I’m rather sorry it happened just the
same. He’ll hate us worse than ever now, and he won’t stop at anything
to get even.”
“Well, don’t worry about it,” advised Bobby. “Anyway, he got the worst
of it this time, so maybe he will again.”
“Well, I hope so,” said Lee. “He always does the meanest thing he can
think of, anyway, so probably this won’t make much difference.”
They reached the village without further adventure. Lee carried out the
commission his mother had given him, and they started back immediately.
“We’re late as it is, on account of that ruction with Boolus,” said Lee.
“Fred will think we’ve gotten lost, sure.”
“I guess when we tell him what delayed us he won’t mind very much,” said
Bobby, with a twinkle in his eye. “He’ll never get over being sorry that
he wasn’t with us when it happened.”
They passed the wrecked buggy lying in the same position, but there was
no sign of its owner, and the boys concluded that some one had probably
come along and given him a lift. When they reached the plantation, they
found Fred waiting for them at the gate.
“I thought you would be here an hour ago,” he exclaimed impatiently.
“What’s been keeping you?”
“Jump in, and we’ll tell you while we’re going up to the house,” said
Lee, and then he and Bobby told him all about their encounter with
Boolus. As Bobby had predicted, Fred was greatly disappointed at having
missed the adventure.
“But I’ll have to admit you made good use of that extra hour,” he
conceded. “I was getting mad as a hornet when you didn’t show up on
time, because I’ve got the motor boat all provisioned and ready to
start. And it’s a peach of a boat, too,” he added.
“Well, that’s the kind we want,” said Bobby. “I’m all ready to start at
a moment’s notice.”
“We’ll have to go to the house first,” said Lee, “but that won’t take us
long.”
To save time, Lee told Mose to go to the boat landing and wait for them
there, so that he could take the horse and buggy back when they got
there.
“We Southerners just hate to walk when we can ride,” he explained.
“Besides, it will save time.”
Mrs. Cartier insisted that they have lunch, although if left to
themselves the boys would have preferred to start their trip and eat in
the boat. They told her about the encounter with Jim Boolus, and when
they saw how anxious she became they felt sorry for the first time that
it had happened. However, there was nothing to be done about it, and
after a hasty meal they said good-by to her, jumped into the buggy, and
in a short time were at the tiny boathouse.
This was situated in a small creek or inlet, and was built right over
the water, so that one had only to open the doors and guide the boat
out. The boat itself was a staunch little twenty-foot craft with a
dependable two-cylinder motor to drive it, and Fred had seen to it that
Mose should have the brass work shining. The negro had been far from
enthusiastic over this job.
“Whut’s de use to scrub up all dat brass,” he had argued, “when it won’t
be no time at all before de mist from de ribber has it green ag’in.
Seems t’me it would be more sensible like to spend de time restin’ out
in de nice warm sun.”
“You might as well say it’s no use eating because you’ll only get hungry
again,” Fred had told him. “I’ll bet you don’t believe that though, do
you?”
“Nossuh,” said Mose, with a broad grin, “dat’s a diff’rent breed o’
cats, suh.”
Apparently convinced by Fred’s argument, he had fallen to with a will,
with such good results that the motor boat now looked spick and span
enough to go in some water festival.
“It sho looks nifty,” admitted Mose, “but mah elbow aches yet when Ah
reflects how hard Ah had to dig befo’ Ah got it dat way.”
“Never mind,” said Lee, as he gave the flywheel a twist that set the
motor to chugging in a business-like manner. “When we come back we’ll
bring you some swamp chickens for supper, Mose.”
“Whut’s dem swamp chickums?” inquired the negro. “Cain’t seem to
rec’lect no sech fowl no-how.”
“Oh, certainly,” said Lee, with every appearance of conviction. “They
have black combs, red tail feathers, and blue eyes. You must have seen
one, haven’t you?”
“Nossuh, an’ whut’s more, Ah don’ believe dey never was no sech a kind
of a chickum,” said Mose.
“All right, then, just you wait till we bring you one back,” said Lee,
and guided the boat out into the sluggish river, leaving Mose scratching
his woolly head on the bank.
The river was perhaps a hundred feet wide at this point, and flowed so
slowly that it was hard to believe that there was any current at all.
The banks were covered with trees that grew right down to the water’s
edge at this point, but as the little craft chugged its way upstream,
the trees gave way to high, rank grass, with here and there a lofty
cypress tree shooting up out of the rank vegetation.
“We’re on the edge of the swamp country now,” explained Lee. “In another
hour we’ll be right in the heart of it.”