Me & My Little Brain by John D. Fitzgerald
Uncle Mark and Deputy Stevens ran around the house after Roberts. They searched the backyard and alley without finding the outlaw. Cal Roberts had escaped on foot. Uncle Mark ordered Deputy Stevens to get the wounded Judge and deputy into the house and send for Dr. LeRoy. Then he mounted his horse. Once again he was faced with a terrible decision. Cal Roberts alone might be a coward but he still might be vain enough to try to kill the District Attorney or my father. Uncle Mark rode to the home of the District Attorney because he knew that was where his sworn duty as a lawman belonged first.
When the shooting first started, it woke Frankie and me. I knew what it was all about right away. We put on our robes and ran downstairs. The noise of gunfire had awakened Papa, Mamma, and Aunt Bertha, who were in the parlor with robes thrown over their nightgowns.
"It sounds as if they are making a fight of it on the east side of town," Papa said. "As a journalist I should be there."
Papa went into his bedroom and I'll bet he never got dressed so quickly in his life.
"I'll check with Ken and Don before I leave," he said.
When Papa went to the front porch and then the back porch and discovered both deputies missing, he went to the gun rack and got a double-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun. He put shells in it and handed it to Mamma.
"Ken and Don must have heard the shooting on the east side and gone there," Papa said. "But we can't afford to take any chances. You take the front porch, Tena, and shoot any man coming into the front yard who doesn't identify himself. I'll get the rifle and take the back porch. Bertha, you take the boys and go down into the cellar. And keep quiet no matter what you hear up here. Let us move quickly now."
I started to protest that I was big enough to use a rifle but didn't get a chance. Aunt Bertha grabbed Frankie and me by the hands and ran with us into the dark, cold cellar.
I could hear the sound of pistol shots, rifle shots, and shotguns but none near enough to be Papa or Mamma shooting. It seemed like we were in the cellar a long time before I heard Brownie barking. It was an alarm bark.
"There is somebody out in back," I told Aunt Bertha. "I must warn Papa."
I knew she'd try to stop me so I ducked around her and ran up to the kitchen. I opened the back door.
"There is somebody out there, Papa," I called to him. "Brownie wouldn't bark that way if there wasn't."
"You get back in the cellar and stay there," he ordered me. "It is just the noise of the shooting that is making your dog bark."
Papa could be right. On the Fourth of July when the kids were setting off firecrackers, all the dogs in town barked like crazy. When I returned to the cellar, Frankie found my hand in the darkness and held it tight.
"Are the bad mans going to kill Mamma and Papa?" he asked and it sounded as if he was crying.
"Heck, no," I said. "If Cal Roberts or any of his gang come around here they will get their heads shot off. Mamma can handle a gun as well as any man and Papa is a crack shot."
We remained in the cellar for about half an hour before we heard doors opening and footsteps upstairs. Then Mamma called to us that we could come up.
Uncle Mark was with Papa in the parlor and he looked both worried and angry. "I'm putting two men in back and two in front," he said. "And this time I'm giving them strict orders not to leave. I've got men covering the Judge's and District Attorney's homes."
"Then it is all right if I go with you," Papa said.
"Your family will be safe enough now," Uncle Mark said. "I believe Cal Roberts left four men to create a diversion while he and Austin carried out the murders. Those four men can hold off an army coming down Main Street. And there is no way to get at them from the rear because it is open country. Anyone trying it would make a wide open target and be cut down. The plan as I see it was for Roberts and Austin to commit the murders and then circle the town and join up with the others. They would then all ride out to the east. I'd need a troop of cavalry to stop them, especially at night."
"The men left to create the diversion will know something is wrong when Roberts and Austin don't return," Papa said.
Uncle Mark's face became thoughtful for a moment. "You've given me an idea," he said. "If I ride Roberts' pinto horse and Hal Benson rides Austin's gray horse the outlaws will recognize the horses. Hal can wear the hat and jacket Austin had on when killed. I've got a black hat and buckskin jacket at home like Roberts was wearing. If Hal and I keep our heads down, the outlaws will think we are Roberts and Austin. This will give us a chance to take them from the rear and catch them in a cross fire."
"What if Roberts has circled the town on foot and joined his gang?" Papa asked. "You and Hal are certain to be killed."
"It is a risk we will have to take," Uncle Mark said, "but a small risk. If Roberts did join his gang, he would leave with them immediately, stealing a horse from the livery stable. There would be no sense in remaining after his plan failed."
Papa left the house with Uncle Mark. Mamma made Frankie and me go to bed. I could still hear shooting when I fell asleep.
The next morning Frankie and I put on our robes and ran downstairs to the kitchen. Papa was drinking coffee. He looked tired, as if he's been up all night.
"What happened?" I shouted.
"Your Uncle Mark's plan worked," Papa said. "Three of the outlaws are dead and one seriously wounded. But Cal Roberts escaped."
I felt the hair on my head get stiff as a hairbrush. "That means he will organize another gang and come back again," I said.
"We don't know if he managed to steal a horse last night and leave town or not," Papa said. "We will know in a few hours."
"How?" I asked.
"Mark and the deputies are checking everybody in town who owns horses," Papa answered.
"What about Dusty?" I asked, remembering Brownie's alarm bark of the night before.
"I've looked in the barn," Papa said. "Dusty and our team are there."
"What if no horse is found missing?" I asked.
"It could mean any one of several things," Papa said. "Cal Roberts knows this country well. He might have made it on foot to a nearby farm or ranch and stolen a horse last night. He might have made it on foot out of town and stolen a horse from some lone rider coming into town. However, there is also the possibility that Cal Roberts might still be hiding out right in town. Mark and the deputies will search every barn and shack that a man might possibly use for a hideout. If Cal Roberts isn't located in Adenville, the search will continue in the ghost town of Silverlode. A man could easily hide in all those old mine tunnels."
"Boy, oh, boy," I said. "I'm glad today is Saturday and no school. I'd hate to miss out on all the excitement. The first thing I want to see is where the desperadoes met their death at the livery stable and blacksmith shop."
"I'm afraid you are due for a disappointment," Papa said. "Your Uncle Mark has given orders that all persons under sixteen years of age are to remain in their own homes until the search is over. He doesn't want to have a couple hundred kids under foot during the search."
Papa was sure right. I'd never been so disappointed in my life.
Mamma was helping Aunt Bertha get breakfast ready. "You and Frankie wash up and get dressed now," she said.
The deputies guarding our house had left by the time Frankie and I finished eating breakfast. I did the morning chores with Frankie helping me. Every time I went into the barn, Brownie began barking his alarm bark. I figured he was still just excited from hearing all the shooting the night before. I couldn't leave our backyard, so I played with Frankie and Brownie and Prince until Mamma called that lunch was ready.
Papa told us during lunch that nobody in Adenville was missing a horse. Uncle Mark and a hundred men had begun searching every barn and shack in town. They had started on the east side of town and were working their way westward. After lunch Papa went back to the Advocate office to begin setting type for the news story about the Cal Roberts gang so it would be ready for Tuesday's weekly edition of the newspaper.
"Weren't you told to stay home?" I asked.
"Sure," he said as he sat down beside me on the back porch steps. "But Ma is talking to Mrs. Smith over the back fence and they will be jawing for at least an hour. I knew that with your uncle being the marshal you'd know all about what happened last night."
It turned out that Howard didn't know beans about what had happened. I knew a lot of things he didn't know. I got so interested in telling him all about it that I didn't miss Frankie until Howard left about an hour later. I went looking for Frankie. He wasn't in the woodshed or icehouse or corral. Brownie was sitting by the barn door. When he began barking, I knew Frankie must be in the barn.
The first thing I noticed when I entered the barn was that the rope ladder had been pulled up into the loft.
"I know you are up there, Frankie," I called. "Throw down the ladder so I can come up."
The rope ladder came tumbling down. I climbed up, telling myself I had a right to be angry with Frankie. He was too little to be climbing up and down the rope ladder. If he had hurt himself it would be my fault for not keeping an eye on him. I forgot all about it when my head came up to where I could see into the loft. I became so frightened I almost lost my hold and fell.
Frankie was in the loft, all right, but not alone. He had a gag in his mouth made from a red bandana handkerchief. His hands were tied behind his back and his legs were trussed up with some pieces of rope Tom had left in the loft.
A man with a blond mustache and a scar on his cheek was holding a bowie knife about an inch from Frankie's throat. The left shoulder of his shirt and buckskin jacket were red with blood. His right pant leg was torn and bloody. I knew I was looking at Cal Roberts.
"Just keep comin', boy," he said, "unless you want me to slit this kid's throat."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hostage
I CLIMBED INTO THE LOFT. My knees were so wobbly I couldn't stand up. I just remained on all fours staring at the outlaw.
"Know who I am, boy?" he asked as he put the bowie knife back in a scabbard on his belt.
"You are Cal Roberts," I said. "The man who swore he would kill my father."
"I came here fixin' to do just that last night while the Marshal was busy at the Judge's house," Roberts said. "But I saw the shine of a rifle barrel on your back porch, and I reckoned as how the deputy guardin' your house hadn't been fooled by the ruckus my boys were makin' on the other side of town. So I figured I'd steal a horse, but that damn dog bit my leg when I tried. I knew if I shot the dog it would attract the attention of the deputy."
I knew Cal Roberts had seen Papa on the back porch but hadn't recognized him in the darkness.
"My father was only doing his duty as a citizen serving on the jury," I said. "Why do you want to kill him for that?"
"If I just wanted to kill your pa," he said, "I could have killed him this morning when he came into the barn. But I knew the sound of the shot would attract attention and I'd never make it out of town. Anyway, when I saw this rope ladder last night it gave me an idea. I knew kids must use it and it was a good way for me to get a hostage."
"Please let Frankie go and make me your hostage," I pleaded.
"Nope," he said. "I need an older kid like you to take messages for me. Now you tell your pa and the Marshal I ain't makin' the same mistake I made with the Judge. I'm holdin' this kid as a hostage and if they try to flush me out of this barn I'll kill the kid first. You got that, boy?"
"Yes, sir," I answered.
"Next you tell them how I'm goin' to leave town," the outlaw said. "I'm ridin' out of here on that mustang you've got. And I'm goin' to be holdin' this kid on the saddle in front of me. And I'll be holding my cocked .45 against the back of this kid's head. I've got a hair trigger on my gun. Even if somebody shot me in the back or head, the hair trigger would blow this kid's brains out. The Marshal knows that is what would happen. You got that, boy?"
"Yes, sir," I said weakly, feeling a cold sweat break out all over my body. Papa was right. Cal Roberts was a low-down enough skunk to kill a little kid.
"The first thing I want is a doc to fix this arm," the outlaw said. "I got winged at the Judge's house last night. Then I want some vittles to eat and water to drink. And if anybody but you and the doc come into this barn, I'll shoot them first and then the kid. And you tell your pa that seein' as how I ain't goin' to kill him, I want one thousand dollars."
"But the bank is closed," I protested.
"Let them open it," he said.
"They can't open the vault until Monday morning," I said. "Mr. Whitlock put a time lock on it after the bank was robbed."
"That will give my shoulder an extra day to heal," Cal Roberts said. "I ain't in no hurry now I've got myself a hostage."
Just then we heard several dogs barking and the sound of men's voices.
"What's goin' on?" Roberts demanded.
"They are searching all the buildings in town looking for you," I answered.
Roberts removed his bowie knife from the scabbard and held it an inch from Frankie's throat. "You know what to tell them when they come in here," he said.
I put my head over the side of the loft. In a few minutes Jerry Stout came into the barn carrying a shotgun, and right behind him was Don Huddle with a rifle.
"There is nobody up here but me," I shouted.
They looked up at me.
"All right, John," Mr. Stout said.
I watched them look in the manger and behind bales of hay and every place a man might hide.
"I think this is a waste of time," Mr. Stout said. "Cal Roberts is long gone from this town."
"Only one way to make sure," Mr. Huddle said, "and that is to do exactly what we are doing."
Then the two men left the barn.
Roberts put his bowie knife back. "Get goin', boy," he ordered. "The doc first and then something to eat and drink. And if anything goes wrong, this kid gets his throat cut."
I looked at Frankie. I knew he'd been crying because his eyes were all red. But he hadn't cried one tear since I came into the loft.
"Don't worry, Frankie," I said. "Papa and Mamma aren't going to let anything happen to you." Then I turned to the outlaw. "Can't you take the gag out of his mouth for a while?" I asked.
"Maybe later," he said. "I put it in not only to shut him up but to stop him from bitin' me."
My legs were trembling as I climbed down the ladder. I held back the tears until I was out of the barn. I couldn't help feeling it was all my fault. If I'd been watching Frankie instead of talking to Howard Kay, he would never have climbed up to the loft by himself. Brownie was waiting for me. I patted him on the head. If only Papa had listened to me when I told him my dog was giving an alarm bark. If. If. If. All the ifs in the world couldn't change things now. I ran to the house and into the kitchen. Mamma and Aunt Bertha were baking pies. Mamma wiped her hands on her apron.
"What is the matter, John D.?" she cried.
"Get Papa and Uncle Mark and Dr. LeRoy quick!" I said. "But don't tell anybody else. Cal Roberts is hiding in the loft in our barn. He is holding Frankie as a hostage and will kill him if we don't do as he says."
Mamma reacted quickly, as she always did in a crisis. She ran to the telephone. Aunt Bertha staggered to a chair and sat down. She didn't say anything. She just sat there, crying softly.
It seemed like hours but could only have been about fifteen or twenty minutes before Papa arrived with Uncle Mark and Dr. LeRoy. We were waiting for them in the parlor.
"What is it, Tena?" Papa asked. "You said it was urgent and to bring Mark and the doctor."
"I didn't want to tell you over the phone because the operator usually listens in," Mamma said. "Cal Roberts is in our barn and he's holding Frankie as a hostage. John D., tell them all you know."
I told them what I thought was everything. But when Uncle Mark began questioning me, I re
Papa sat down in his rocking chair. "We must do exactly what Cal Roberts says."
"For the time being, at least," Uncle Mark said.
Dr. LeRoy was still standing, his doctor's bag in his hand. "Better take me to the barn now, John," he said.