Red Dynamite, Page 3

  CHAPTER III WITH THE AID OF NICODEMUS

  Anyone witnessing the return of little Bexter to his home that morningmight well have supposed that he had made at least two non-stop flightsround the world, instead of one short trip to Louisville.

  "Oh! Bex! Y'er back!" his small brother exclaimed. "You bin way up in theair! You bin all the way to Louisville!"

  "Yes, I reckon," Bex's eyes were on his mother. She said never a word.Her face was a mask. "All the same," Ballard whispered, "she's dabbing ather eyes when we don't look."

  "It's a great moment for Bex's folks," Johnny smiled a happy smile. "I'mglad we got him back safe. They'll never forget."

  "Now you all just draw up chairs and take yourself some pancakes," Bex'smother invited.

  "Sorgum!" Ballard whispered to Johnny. "Sorgum molasses on real buckwheatpancakes. Yum! Yum! You can't beat 'em."

  Nor can you. Johnny Thompson and Donald Day found this out soon enough.This mountain cabin was small. The kitchen was the smallest of its threerooms, but shone upon by the good mountain woman's gleaming face, andwarmed by her glowing hospitality, it became for those four hungry boysthe largest, most gorgeous room in all the world.

  "Sorgum," Ballard murmured blissfully a half hour later. "Sorgum molassesand buckwheat pancakes."

  "Take yourself another helping," said Bex's mother.

  "I couldn't," Ballard's eyes rolled as he patted his stomach. "And I gotto be going. I came away from the mill just to bring Bex home. Now I mustgo back."

  The mill, Johnny thought with a start. Oh yes, that mysterious mill.Perhaps Donald Day will show me its secrets.

  A glorious golden moon hung like a Japanese lantern over the jagged ridgethat is Stone Mountain when Johnny on the evening of that same day wendedhis way toward Cousin Bill's home.

  Although Johnny travelled over a trail that, winding along themountainside, went up and down like a roller coaster, he did not lookdown upon rocks and ridges but upon a broad and fertile field, level as afloor. There are many such farms to be found in the narrow valleys of theCumberland. This particular farm belonged to Colonel Crider. The Colonel,Johnny had been told, was rich. Smart racing horses, sometimes taken tothe Kentucky Derby, contentedly grazed in his rich pastures. He had adaughter. Just about sixteen years old, Johnny guessed she was. Johnnyhad seen her only once and that at a distance, yet even at that distance,there was something about the dancing rhythm of her movement, the tilt ofher head that had suggested a spirit of light gayety no one coulddespise.

  Johnny was not at this moment thinking of Jensie Crider. His thoughtswere gloomy ones. Truth was, he was engaged in one of those mentalbattles that come to every boy, a fight between his own desires and whathe believes to be duty.

  "I promised the coach I'd find him a real half-back and I haven't doneit," he groaned. "But up there on Pounding Mill Creek there's a poolwhere the biggest old black bass is lurking. I've seen him twice. Ialmost had him once. Now I've got just the right bait--"

  At that moment his eye was caught and held by something moving down therein the Colonel's back pasture.

  "It's Nicodemus," he thought. "But what's got into him? He's scootingacross his pen like mad. Just as if he was after something. And--and heis! Or--or something's after him!"

  He came to this decision with a sudden mental jolt. Nicodemus was theColonel's favorite ram. Very highly pedigreed and quite old. Nicodemus,until a short time before when a stout pen with a high board fence hadbeen built for him, was the terror of the community. Three times he hadbroken loose. Each time he had left fear and destruction behind him.

  The first time old Deacon Gibson, a local preacher, had been hiving aswarm of bees when Nicodemus arrived on the scene. Nicodemus had failedto assist in hiving that swarm. Worse than that, he had butted theunfortunate parson into three beehives and released three other swarmsupon him.

  On his second escape, Nicodemus had boldly entered the log school housewhile school was in session. The teacher had climbed on top of the table.Since there were only holes where windows should have been, the childrenswarmed through the window holes leaving Nicodemus with the situationwell in hand. Since it was a warm day and Nicodemus was tired, he hadfallen asleep beneath the table. Needless to say there had been no moreschool that day.

  Johnny laughed aloud as he recalled these stories of the Colonel's prizeram. But now his eyes were glued upon the high walled pen in whichNicodemus was confined. Some living creature beside Nicodemus had enteredthat pen. He and Nicodemus were having it out. Was Nicodemus chasing theintruder about or was the wary old ram at last on the run?

  "Might be that bear we saw yesterday," Johnny told himself. "I--I've justgot to see."

  Johnny knew the Colonel and liked him. A big, bluff, red-cheeked, jovialsouthern gentleman, he was the idol of every boy who came to know him.Nicodemus, despite all his reputation for breaking up beehives anddismissing schools, was a valuable ram. If anything seriously threatenedhis safety, the Colonel should know of it. Besides, there was a chance, abare chance, that Johnny, through this little adventure, might becomebetter acquainted with the Colonel's daughter, Jensie.

  Soon enough Johnny discovered that Nicodemus was not in the slightest bitof danger, unless, like many an aged and crusty human being, he was indanger of bursting a blood vessel because of unsatisfied rage.

  As Johnny climbed the high board fence, to peer with some misgiving intoNicodemus' pen, he barely held back a gasp.

  "Of all things!" he muttered. Then, having lifted himself to a secureposition atop a post, he sat there, mouth open, eyes staring, witnessinga strange performance.

  There were indeed two living creatures in that pen. One was theinvincible Nicodemus. The other, instead of being a bear, was a boy, thefleetest footed boy Johnny had ever seen.

  Johnny wanted to laugh. He longed to shout. He did neither, for thiswould have broken up the show. "And that," he told himself, "would be aburning shame."

  And so it would. The boy and the ram were playing a game of artfuldodging. And the boy, apparently, was a match for the ram. Hugging someroundish, brown object under one arm, he dashed squarely at the ram.Leaning always toward the ram, he came within three paces of him when,like a flash, he bent to the right and, with the speed of a snappingjack-knife, swerved slightly to one side and passed the charging beastlike a breath of air.

  Voicing his disappointment in a low "Ma--maa," Nicodemus shook his headuntil it seemed his massive horns would drop off, then prepared to chargeonce again.

  This time, as the ram came bursting down the field, the boy stood stockstill. With arms outstretched, he appeared to offer his brown, oblongburden to the ram.

  "Now! Now he'll get him!" Johnny breathed.

  But no. As the ram appeared about to strike the boy amidship, withlightning-like speed, he withdrew his offering, pivoted sharply to theright to go dashing away, just in time to avoid the terrific impact.

  "That," Johnny mumbled, "that sure is something!"

  Then, like the whizbang of a fire cracker, a thought struck him. Yes,this WAS something! Something real indeed. Like a flash it had come tohim that the thing this strange boy carried was a football, that this boywas a marvel, that here was the answer to his prayer, the fulfillment ofhis promises and his dreams. Here was the much needed half-back. Hewanted to climb on top of the board fence and let out one wild shout ofjoy.

  But wait. Who was this boy? A mountain boy to be sure. Was he throughhigh school? Probably not. Few mountain boys are. His hopes dropped.

  "But who is he?" he asked himself. "Who can he be?"

  To this question, for the time, he found no answer. The boy wore a longvizored cap, pulled low. The shadows hid his face. Yet there was, Johnnyassured himself, something familiar about that slender form, thosedrooping shoulders.

  For a full quarter of an hour, awed, inspired, entranced, Johnnywitnessed this moonlight duel between a boy and the champion of allbutting rams. Then, with a su
ddenness that was startling, the affair cameto an end. The boy tried a new feature of the game. A dozen swift stepsbackward spelled disaster. He tripped over something behind him,recovered, then straightened up just in time to receive the full impactof the irate ram's headlong plunge.

  The boy shot backward like an empty sack. At the same time there was anexplosion like the bang of a shotgun.

  "Good grief!" Johnny exclaimed, starting to the rescue.

  But there was no need. The boy, still able to travel under his own steam,made his way across the field, to climb atop the fence and to cling therepanting.

  He was now not twenty feet from Johnny. But as yet he appearedunconscious of Johnny's presence. In the final scrimmage, his cap hadbeen knocked from his head. Johnny recognized him on the instant. It wasBallard Ball, the boy from the mystery mill.

  "Well," Johnny spoke before he thought, "he got you. But--"

  He broke off as he caught the gleam of the other boy's deep-set, darkeyes.

  "I--I'm sorry," Johnny apologized instantly. "I didn't mean to spy onyou. I saw you and Nicodemus, thought you might be that bear."

  "That bear," Ballard laughed--his good humor having suddenly returned."No bear'd ever have a chance with old Nicodemus. He'd be knocked outcold in the first round."

  "I believe it," Johnny began sliding along the fence. "But say!" heexclaimed. "Where did you play football?"

  "I never did, not very much, you see," Ballard laughed. "We tried it overat the Gap. It went fine until Squirrel-Head Blevins called BlackieMadden a name he didn't like. Blackie went home and got a gun. If theteacher hadn't caught Blackie with it, Squirrel-Head wouldn't be livingnow. So that's all the football there was."

  "At the Gap?" Johnny breathed a prayer. "Did you go to high schoolthere?"

  "Yes, I--I sort of graduated there last June," Ballard admitted modestly.

  "Thank God," Johnny breathed. Then--

  "Ballard, you're going to college. You're going to play real, big-timefootball."

  "Oh no! I--I can't," Ballard was all but speechless. "I--I've got lessthan fifty dollars. You--you can't go to college on that."

  "Sure you can!" Johnny's tone was one of finality. "My granddad's one ofthe trustees of Hillcrest College. He endowed a scholarship. It's open.That will pay your tuition. You can work for your room and board. Morethan half the boys do that. Yes, you're going to college. And will thecoach be pleased! Ballard, old boy, you're the answer to my prayer."

  "But Johnny," the mountain boy's voice hit a flat note, "I read somewherethat college freshmen are not eligible to play football."

  "That's only in the big colleges and universities," Johnny explained."You'll be eligible in Hillcrest all right."

  "And now," Johnny said more quietly after a moment. "Now I can go fishingwith a good conscience."

  "What's college got to do with fishing?" Ballard asked in surprise.

  Johnny told him.

  "I must go to college so you can go fishing," Ballard laughed. "Well, oneexcuse is better than none. Wait till I get my ball and I'll go up thecreek with you. He busted my ball, the old rascal! But then maybe thatsort of saved my ribs. I'll not try the back-step after this. Wait!" Hesprang into the pen, and before Nicodemus could arrive, was back on thefence with the deflated ball. And that was how Johnny made his first movetoward fulfilling his promise to Coach Dizney of old Hillcrest. He haddone it with the aid of Nicodemus. There was more to come, very muchmore.