Pee-Wee Harris on the Trail, Page 2

  CHAPTER V

  R-R-R-ROBBERS!

  Scout Harris never knew exactly when he passed out of the realm ofdreams into the realm of wakefulness, for in both conditions pistolsplayed a leading part. He was aware of a boy scout holding SecretaryHoover at bay with two pistols and Mr. Ellsworth, his scoutmaster,rescuing the statesman with several more pistols. And then he was verydistinctly aware of someone saying,

  "How many pistols have you got?"

  "Twenty-seven," another voice answered.

  "I've got forty-three and two blackjacks," said the first voice.

  "You're wrong," said the other.

  "I jotted them down," the first voice replied.

  "We should worry," the other one laughed.

  At this appalling revelation of seventy pistols between them, to saynothing of two blackjacks, there seemed indeed very little for thespeakers to worry about. But for Scout Harris, whose whole stock ofammunition consisted of a remnant of sandwich and the almost naked coreof an apple, there seemed much to worry about.

  Pee-wee realized now that he was awake and being borne along at anexcessive rate of speed. He knew that he was in Bartlett's big Hunkajunkcar and that the dark figures with all the firearms on the front seatwere not Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett.

  Trembling, he spread the robe so as the more completely to cover hissmall form including his head. For a moment he had a wild impulse tocast this covering off and scream, or at least, to jump from thespeeding car. But a peek from underneath the robe convinced him of thefolly of this. To jump would be to lose his life; to scream--well, whatchance would he have with two bloodthirsty robbers armed with seventypistols and two blackjacks? There were few boy scouts who could despatchan apple core with such accuracy of aim as W. Harris, but of what availis an apple core against seventy pistols?

  He could not hear all that was said on the front seat but the fragmentsof talk that he did hear were alarming in the last degree.

  "--best way to handle them," said one of those dark figures.

  "I've got a couple of dead ones to worry about," said the other.

  Pee-wee curled up smaller under the robe and hardly breathed. Indeed twodead ones was something to worry about. Suppose--suppose _he_ should bethe third!

  "One for me, but I'm not worrying about him," said the other.

  "We'll get away with it," his companion commented.

  Then followed some talk which Pee-wee could not hear, but he feltcertain that it was on their favorite topic of murder. Then he overheardthese dreadful, yet comparatively consoling words:

  "Trouble with him is he always wants to kill; he's gun crazy. Take themif you want to, but what's the use killing? That's what I said to him."

  "Steal--"

  "Oh sure, that's just what I told him," the speaker continued; "stealup--"

  "Step on it," the other interrupted, "we're out in the country now."

  The big super six Hunkajunk car darted forward and Scout Harris couldhear the purring of the big engine as the machine sped along through thesolemn darkness. A momentary, cautious glimpse from under the big robeshowed him that they were already far from the familiar environs ofBridgeboro, speeding along a lonely country road.

  Now and then they whizzed past some dark farmhouse, or through somevillage in which the law abiding citizens had gone to their beds.Occasionally Pee-wee, peeking from beneath the robe, saw cheerful lightsshining in houses along the way and in his silent terror andapprehension he fancied these filled with boy scouts in the fullenjoyment of scout freedom; scouts who were in no danger of being addedto some bloody list of dead ones.

  That he, Pee-wee Harris, mascot of the Raven Patrol, First BridgeboroTroop, should have come to this! That he should be carried away by apair of inhuman wretches, to what dreadful fate he shuddered toconjecture. That _he_, Scout Harris, whose reputation for being wideawake had gone far and wide in the world of scouting, should be carriedaway unwittingly by a pair of thieves and find himself in imminent perilof being added to that ghastly galaxy of "dead ones." It was horrible.

  Pee-wee curled up under the robe so as to disarm any suspicion of ahuman form beneath that thick, enveloping concealment and even breathedwith silent caution. Suppose--_suppose_--oh horrors--suppose he shouldhave to sneeze!

  CHAPTER VI

  A MESSAGE IN THE DARK

  Pee-wee seldom had any doubts about anything. What he knew he _knew_.And what is still better, he knew that he knew it. No one ever had toremind Pee-wee that he knew a thing. He not only knew it and knew thathe knew it, but he knew that everybody that he knew, knew that he knewit. As he said himself, he was "absolutely positive."

  Pee-wee knew all about scouting; oh, everything. He knew how and wheretents should be put up and where spring water was to be found. He didnot know all about the different kinds of birds, but he knew all aboutthe different kinds of eats, and there are more kinds of eats than thereare kinds of birds. How the Bridgeboro troop would be able to get alongwithout their little mascot was a question. For he was their "fixer."That was his middle name--"fixer."

  And of all of the things of which Pee-wee was "absolutely positive" thething of which he was the _most_ positive was that two thieves connectedwith the "crime wave" were riding away in Mr. Bartlett's big Hunkajunk"touring model" and carrying him (a little scout model) along with them.

  What should he do? Being a scout, he took council of his wits anddecided to write on a page of his hikebook a sentence saying that he wasbeing carried away by thieves, giving his name and address, and castthis overboard as a shipwrecked sailor puts a message in a bottle. Thensomeone would find the message and come to rescue him.

  But with what should he weight his fluttering message, so that it wouldfall in the road? Pee-wee was a scout of substance and had amassed avast fortune in the way of small possessions. He owned the cap of afountain pen, a knob from a brass bedstead, two paper clips, a horse'stooth, a broken magnifying glass, a device for making noises in theclassroom, a clock key, a glass tube, a piece of chalk for making scoutsigns, and other treasures. But these were in the pockets of his scoutuniform and could be of no service to him in his predicament.

  The only trinket which he had was the fragment of a sandwich. Havingreduced this, by a generous bite, to one-half its size, he wrote hisnote as well as he could without moving too much. One deadly weapon hehad with him and that was a safety pin. With this he now pierced thepiece of sandwich to the heart, linking it forever with that notewritten tremblingly in a moment of forlorn hope and utter darkness,under the kindly concealment of the buffalo robe.

  On the opposite page is the note and how it looked.

  Having cast this last message out upon the road he withdrew his armcautiously back under the robe and lay as nearly motionless as possible,prepared for the worst.

  If he should never be heard of again, it would seem both touching andappropriate, that this memento of him should be a morsel of food (whichhe loved) fastened with a safety pin which was the weapon that he alwayscarried.

  [Handwritten note] I am being kidnapped by thieves whoare stealing Mr. Bartlett's car. I don know where I am. If anybody findthis please take it to my house Bridgeboro Walter Harris Scout Br]

  CHAPTER VII

  LOCKED DOORS

  Like the ground-hog, Pee-wee did not emerge again until the occasion wasmore propitious. For fully an hour the car ran at high speed whichafforded him some hope that the strong arm of the law might intervene.But the strong arm of the law was apparently under its pillow indelicious slumber. Not a snag did those bloody fugitives encounter intheir flight.

  At last the car slowed down and Pee-wee could feel that it was turninginto another road. His unwitting captors were evidently either nervousor sleepy, for they talked but little.

  The car proceeded slowly now, and when our hero ventured to steal aquick glimpse from under his covering he perceived that they were goingalong a road so dark and narrow that it seemed like a leafy tunnel. Thesomber darkness and utter silence of thi
s sequestered region made thedeed of these outlaws seem all the blacker. There was now no doubtwhatever of the criminal nature of their bold enterprise. For surely nolaw-abiding, civilized beings lived in such a remote wilderness as nowclosed them in.

  Soon the car came to a stop, and Pee-wee's thumping heart almost came toa stop at the same time. Suppose they should lift the robe? What wouldthey do? And quite as much to the point, what should _he_ do? A suddenimpulse to throw off his kindly camouflage and run for all he was worth,seized him. But he thought of those seventy pistols and two blackjacksand refrained. Should he face them boldly, like the hero in a story bookand say, "Ha, ha, you are foiled. The eyes of the scout have followedyou in your flight and you are caught!"

  No he would not do that. A scout is supposed to be cautious. He wouldremain under the buffalo robe.

  Presently he heard the unmistakable sound and felt the unmistakablefeeling of the car being run into some sort of a shelter. The voices ofthe thieves sounded different, more hollow, as voices heard in smallquarters indoors. A little suggestion of an echo to them.

  Pee-wee Harris, scout, did not know where he was or what was going on,but he _felt_ that four walls surrounded him. The plot was growingthicker. And it was suffocating under that heavy robe, now that therewas no free air blowing about it.

  "Where's the stuff?" one of the men asked.

  "On the back seat," said the other.

  Pee-wee trembled.

  "Oh, no, I guess it's on the floor," the man added, "I think I put thesilver cup under the back seat--"

  Pee-wee shuddered. So they had been stealing silver cups.

  "Either there or--oh, here it is."

  Pee-wee breathed again.

  Then he heard no more voices. But he heard other sounds. He heard thecreaking of a heavy rolling door. He heard a sound as if it were beingbolted or fastened on the inside. Then he heard the slamming of anotherdoor and a muffled, metallic sound as of someone locking it on theoutside. Then he heard footsteps, fainter, fainter.... Then he heard asound which seemed to him familiar. He could not liken it to anything inparticular, but it sounded familiar, a kind of clanking, metallic sound.Then he heard a voice say, "Let me handle her, give her a shove, holdher down, that's right."

  Pee-wee's blood ran cold. They were killing someone out there; some poorcaptive maiden, perhaps....

  Then he heard no more.

  CHAPTER VIII

  A DISCOVERY

  The ominous sound of doors rolling and of clanking staples and padlockstold Pee-wee all too conclusively that he was a prisoner, and he wasseized with panic terror at the thought of being locked in a dungeonwhere he could hardly see his hand before his face.

  As to where he was, he had no guess more than that he was miles andmiles from home. But along with his fright came a feeling of relief thathe was no longer in company of those two scoundrels who were unwittinglyresponsible for his predicament. They would probably not return beforemorning and he would have at least a little breathing spell in which toconsider what he should do, if indeed he could do anything.

  The departure of his captors gave him courage and some measure of hope.Freedom he did not hope for, but a brief respite from peril was his.Time, time! What the doomed crave and pray for. That, at least was his.

  He had presence of mind enough to refrain from making any sound, for thethieves might still be in the neighborhood for all he knew. The last hehad heard of them they had been talking of "handling her" and "givingher a shove" and he did not want them to come back and "handle" _him_.

  So he sat on the rear seat of the big Hunkajunk car ready to withdrawbeneath the robe at the first sound of approaching footsteps. If he hadbeen free to make a companionable noise, to whistle or to hum, or tolisten to the friendly sound of his own movements he would have feltless frightened. But the need of absolute silence in that dark prisonagitated him, and in the ghostly stillness every creak made the placeseem haunted.

  If he could only have seen where he was! He knew now something of theinsane terrors of dark and solitary confinement. So strongly did thisterror hold him that for a minute or two he dared not stir upon the seatfor fear of causing the least sound which the darkness and strangenessof the place might conjure into spectral voices.

  There is but one way to dispel these horrors and that is by throwingthem off with quick movement and practical resolve.

  He jumped down out of the car, and groping his way through the darknessstumbled against a wall. Moving his hand along this he found it to be ofrough boards. Indeed, he had a more conclusive proof of this by the factthat a large splinter of the dried wood pierced his finger, painingacutely. He pulled it out and sucked the bleeding cut, then wound hishandkerchief around it. One discovery, at least, he had made; thebuilding, whatever it was, was old. The smell of the board sidesinformed him of that much. And there was no flooring.

  He now stood thinking, wondering what he should do next. And as hepaused he heard a sound near him. A sound as of quick, low breathing. Inthe open such a sound would not have been audible, but in the ghostlydarkness of that strange prison he could hear it clearly when helistened. Sometimes he could distinguish the momentary pauses betweenthe breaths and sometimes the faint sound seemed continuous. As helistened in silent, awful terror, the thumping of his heart seemed tointerrupt the steady, low sound.

  It was not normal breathing surely, but it was the sound of breathing.He was certain of that. He thought it was over near the car.

  CHAPTER IX

  THE TENTH CASE

  The thought that there was a living presence in that spooky dungeonstruck terror to Pee-wee's very soul. He could not bring himself tomove, much less to speak. But he could not stand idly where he was, andif he should stumble over a human form in that unknown blackness....What could be more appalling than that? Was this uncanny place a prisonfor poor, injured captives? Was there, lying just a few feet from him,some suffering victim of those scoundrels? What did it mean? Pee-weecould only stand, listening in growing fear and agitation.

  "Who's there?" he finally asked, and his own trembling voice seemedstrange to him.

  There was no answer.

  "Who's there?" he asked again.

  Silence; only the low, steady sound; punctuated, as it seemed by his ownheart beats.

  "Who--is--is anybody there?"

  Then, suddenly, in a kind of abandon, he cast off his fears and gropedhis way with hands before him toward the low sound. Presently his handwas upon something round and small. It had a kind of tube running fromit. He felt about this and touched something else. He felt along it; itwas smooth and continuous.

  And then he knew, and he experienced infinite relief. His hand was uponthe spare tire on the rear of the car. The air was slowly escaping inirregular jerks from the valve of this tire, making that low sound, nowhardly audible, now clearer and steadier, that escaping air willsometimes cause when passing through a leaky valve. The darkness andPee-wee's own thumping heart had contributed to the horrible illusionand he smiled in the utter relief which he experienced by the discovery.

  But one other discovery he had made also which gave him an inspirationand made him feel foolish that he had not had the inspiration before.The little round thing that he had felt in about the center of the tirewas the red tail light of the car; he realized that now. And thisdiscovery reminded him that he could have all the light he wanted by themere touching of a switch.

  "That shows how stupid I am," said Pee-wee. He was so relieved andelated that he could afford to be generous with self accusations. "Onething sure, it shows how when you hunt for a thing you find somethingelse, so if you're mistaken it's a good thing."

  This was logical, surely, and he now proceeded to avail himself of thebenefit of his chance discovery. Presently this dank, mysterious, spookydungeon would be bathed in welcome light. Pee-wee climbed into the frontseat and moved his hand across the array of nickel dials and buttons onthe instrument board. There seemed to be a veritable multitude of littlehandles and
indicators for the control of the Hunkajunk super sixtouring model. Not even a wireless apparatus, with which Pee-wee'sscouting experience had made him familiar, had such a variety of shinylittle odds and ends.

  Having no knowledge of these things he moved his hand among themcautiously, fearful lest some inadvertent touch might cause the car togo careering into the board wall. He bent his head close to theinstrument board in search of printed words indicating the purpose ofthe various buttons, but the darkness was too dense for him to seeanything but the shiny nickel. At the same time his wandering foot,conducting an exploration of its own, came against a little knob.

  Pee-wee never knew precisely what he did to cause the startlingoccurrence which followed. There were two switch buttons, side by side,and in one a small key had been left. Evidently he decided that this wasthe lighting switch. He was just able to decipher the word IGNITIONabove it. But alas, the word ignition means SPARK on an auto.

  Whether he purposely, in curiosity, stepped on the button in the floorhe never knew. In nine cases out of ten it would have required moreeffort to start the Hunkajunk touring model. But this was the tenthcase. In a frantic effort to stop the power, or perhaps in groping withhis hand, he pulled down the spark lever, and the six cylinder brute ofan engine awoke to life!