The Black Dog Mystery (21 page)

“No, I came over here,” the boy whispered. “I was hunting for Champ, and they grabbed me. He’s lost! Have you seen him?”

“I hain’t seen him,” answered the old man, wearily. “I heered a moanin’ a while ago, sounded like a dog. I hope it wa’n’t Champ, Djuna, I hope it wa’n’t!”

Djuna could not trust himself to say more about Champ. He gulped, and drew a long breath. Then, “How did they catch you, Mr. Boots?” he whispered.

“I walked right into their hands!” whispered the old man bitterly. “I come over here this afternoon t’ take a look at this house. I didn’t know they was here, never dreamed anybody was here. An’ all three of ’em jumped out and grabbed me ’fore I knowed what it was all about, the devils!”

“You came to look at this house?” whispered Djuna in surprise. “What for?”

He heard the old man groan in the darkness.

“You wouldn’t know, o’ course,” whispered the old man. “But this house is th’ house where I was born!

“An’ mebbe I’ll die here,” he added bitterly, after a pause. “My grandfather built this house, Djuna. This is where I lived till I was a man growed. Then my mother and father died. They left this house to me. But then my sister married Stricker, an’ they was poor, so I told ’em they could live here as long as they had a mind to. I went away, workin’ at my trade, all around th’ country. Then
they
moved away, an’ when I come back, I didn’t have the heart to live here, even though th’ house was still mine. They was too many sorrowful memories here, too many ghosts. I couldn’t bring myself, sort of, to live here alone. Seems to me I’ve always been a coward, Djuna.”

“Oh,
no
, that isn’t true!” protested Djuna indignantly. “That isn’t true one bit, Mr. Boots!”

“You’re a mighty good boy, Djuna,” whispered the old man gratefully. He was silent for. a long moment.

“I guess I never would have come back here,” he resumed. “But something happened.”

“I know what it was,” said Djuna gently. “Your nephew came back.”

“Sh-h-!” whispered the old man warningly. “Don’t talk too loud, boy. But you’re right. I might ha’ knowed you would guess it. They hain’t got
him
, too, have they, Djuna?”

“No, he’s safe,” whispered Djuna reassuringly. “They won’t get him.”

The old man breathed a sigh of relief. “He’s all I’ve got,” he whispered. “He’s th’ only kin I’ve got left. Be ye
sure
they don’t know where he is, Djuna?”

“They don’t know,” Djuna assured him. “They’re going to try to rob the bank again, and they think—well, don’t worry, Mr. Boots,
please
don’t worry!”

“Again?” ejaculated the old man, in a horrified whisper.

“But what did you come here for, Mr. Boots?” whispered Djuna, “when you didn’t know they were here?”

“I thought they was hundreds o’ miles away by this time,” groaned Mr. Boots. “You don’t know th’ whole story, do ye? I’ll tell ye, mebbe you’ll understand, then, why I’ve been almost out o’ my mind with worryin’. I got that letter, you was there when I got it, but I didn’t dast tell anybody. It was from him, from my nevvy. He’d got out o’ jail. He’d been hikin’ back, clear across th’ country, t’ git back here, to th’ only home he knowed. He wanted me to meet him at Riverton, that night, somewheres near th’ railroad station, after it got dark. Well, I was goin’ to start right off. I didn’t want to talk to nobody.”

“That was when Les’ Sedd came to see you, wasn’t it?” whispered Djuna.

“That’s right,” said Mr. Boots. “Him and his friend. I didn’t want to talk to ’em. I was too much excited. I just told ’em I had some business t’ tend to, and wouldn’t be home. I shut th’ door on ’em, and soon’s it got dark I drove over to Riverton, t’ fetch Eddie. Well, he never showed up, all that night! I didn’t dare leave. I stayed there all night. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Clarabelle Smith thought she heard your truck in the middle of the night,” said Djuna. “But of course it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t, when I saw the tracks in the mud the next day. It was Mr. Sedd’s truck. That’s when they stole your paint.”

“That’s it,” whispered Mr. Boots. “But I was still waitin’ there in Riverton. It wa’n’t until nigh on to eleven o’clock the next mornin’ that Eddie come along. When he told me what had happened, I was as scairt as he was. He’d got to Riverton the day before, all right. But he ran into these thugs, these fellers upstairs. They was the same fellers that had got him into trouble before and had got away, while he got sent to jail for what
they
’d done. They grabbed him an’ they kept him locked up with ’em all night, in an empty house they had broke into, ’way out on the edge o’ town. They got drunk an’ said they was goin’ t’ kill him, but they passed out, and th’ next mornin’ they went off an’ left him there, locked up, an’ he’d just got away.

“He was shakin’ like a leaf. I wanted t’ take him home with me, right away, but he didn’t dare risk goin’ anywhere in broad daylight. He said he knew a place where he could hide until it got dark, and for me to come and get him that night. I couldn’t get him to come, no matter what I said, so finally I went home. Then, when you and Tommy told me about the robbery, I was more scairt than ever. I didn’t know but what Eddie was mixed up in it. When you said there was only three of ’em, I felt better, but I was still scairt. All I could think of was to keep Eddie hid good, until the police caught ’em. I went over and got him and brought him home with me, that night, but I was still worried t’ death. I made him stay up in th’ attic, an’ took his meals to him up there. I didn’t dare t’ leave him alone in the shop. I didn’t dare to go an’ ask for that job over to th’ Army camp, an’ leave him alone every day. I had to lie to ye about that, Djuna. I’m mighty sorry. You see how it was, don’t ye?”

“Oh, sure, that doesn’t make any difference, Mr. Boots,” whispered Djuna. “I’m just sorry I bothered you so, when you were so worried.”

“And I didn’t act fair to ye about the paint, too,” said Mr. Boots, contritely. “I didn’t know who stole it, nor nothin’ about it, but I didn’t want ye to go on tryin’ to find out who tuck it. I was awful afraid you’d go and tell th’ police, and then they’d come snoopin’ around my shop t’ ask questions, an’ more’n likely they’d find Eddie there. I didn’t want Eddie t’ get mixed up with the police ever again. I’ve been a turrible fool, Djuna. If I’d a-helped ye go ahead, we wouldn’t be in this fix now, I reckon. But I was so worrited about Eddie, my mind couldn’t seem to work right. I was purty nigh crazy.”

“Gee, I’m sorry!” whispered Djuna.

“Th’ wust of it was this afternoon,” the old man went on. “I got to tellin’ myself there couldn’t be any more danger. I talked myself into thinkin’ that surely th’ robbers wa’n’t around these parts any more, because nothin’ had been heerd of ’em for ’most a week. An’ all of a sudden I says to myself, ‘Say, I’ll go over t’ Lost Pond an’ have a look at th’ old house! Mebbe I can fix it up, make a better place for Eddie ‘n’ me to live in!’ So over here I come. An’ they got me.”

“Sh-h-h-h!” whispered Djuna anxiously. “I heard the floor creak!”

Someone’s footsteps shuffled along the floor overhead. A pencil of light streamed down the steps leading from the kitchen. Feet appeared, picking their way cautiously down. The flashlight beam jumped to their faces, blinding them. They heard Scar-Thumb’s voice.

“Just come down t’ say goodnight, gents,” he said sneeringly. “Th’ boss has went home. We’re all turnin’ in.”

He examined their lashings once more. Neither Djuna nor Mr. Boots spoke a word. It was useless to speak. Scar-Thumb retraced his steps, and once again utter darkness shut them from each other’s sight.

“What time do ye reckon it is, Djuna?” whispered Mr. Boots.

“About twelve, I guess,” answered Djuna wearily.

“I’m awful tired,” sighed the old man. “I been tied t’ this here post since nigh onto four o’clock. You think anybody’ll ever come, Djuna?”

“Why, sure they will!” The boy’s voice rang through the dark. “Don’t worry, Mr. Boots! They aren’t going to hurt us—if they were, they would have killed us right away! They’re afraid to! We’ll get out all right; of course we will!”

“Th’ ropes hurt awful,” murmured the old man fretfully. There was silence then, and for a long time Djuna heard only his heavy breathing.

Mr. Boots slept.

Alone in the midnight blackness, Djuna summoned all his resolution, all his courage, to endure the blind horror of his imprisonment. To keep from thinking of their own desperate situation—that was the only thing that might save him from breaking down! Staring into the blackness that could not be pierced, Djuna forced himself to think of things unseen. He thought of Miss Annie’s cheerful face and loving smile, of Tommy’s jolly friendship, of Mr. Pindler’s never-failing kindnesses. These were friends he could trust! And thinking of them, he was comforted.

Not a sound disturbed the stillness. Little by little, Djuna grew drowsier. His head sagged forward. His body slumped against the ropes that held him up. He drifted into sleep.

Little by little a faint gray light stole into the cellar. Morning was coming. How long it had been since he had fallen asleep, Djuna never knew. He had slept from sheer exhaustion, his weight sagging against the ropes that bound him to the post. Just before he woke, he had been dreaming that Mr. Morrison had crept up from behind him while he was standing in Mr. Pindler’s store and had seized him by the arms in a grip that hurt him. “Mr. Pindler, help!” he muttered in his sleep. “Miss Annie! Oh, help! Champ!” And then he woke. He tried to move, and could not. Pain shot through his arms and wrists. The cords cut into them. And then he remembered.

He turned his head feebly. The faint light showed nothing distinctly. But six feet away, he could just distinguish a darker mass outlined in the gloom, and as recollection came back to him, realized that it was the motionless form of Mr. Boots, a captive like himself.

“Mr. Boots!” he whispered through dry and swollen lips. “Mr. Boots!”

But there was no answer. Was he unconscious? Djuna fought down an impulse to shout for help. It would be useless, he knew. What mercy could they expect from the merciless men who had captured them? If he roused them by a scream, they would come only to torture them the more. He clenched his teeth and kept silent.

Minutes passed. He heard, suddenly, from the tree-tops all around the silent house, the joyous singing of birds, and knew that the sun had risen. He felt a tear trickle down his cheek, then shook his head angrily. He would
not
give in!

There was comfort in the joyful chorus of the birds. As he listened, hope stirred in his heart.

A long-drawn sigh startled him. He turned his head eagerly. He almost laughed aloud, as the sigh was followed by a snore. Mr. Boots was snoring! Djuna was about to call to him again, but checked himself. What good would it do to wake him? He must let the old man sleep as long as he could.

The minutes dragged along, endlessly.

The old man awoke at last, just as a ribbon of sunlight touched the cellar steps. His head came up suddenly, his eyes opened, he groaned as he came back to consciousness.

“Hain’t no one come yet, Djuna?” he muttered.

“Listen!” whispered Djuna. “Someone’s coming!”

Footsteps outside the house. Then the sound of the front door creaking on its hinges as it was pushed open from the outside. Then Morrison’s voice—and hope died again in their hearts!

“Get in there and wake ’em up, Les’,” Morrison was saying. “Make it snappy!”

They heard Les’ Sedd’s footsteps on the floor overhead, and then the voice of the three gangsters, cursing as they got up sleepily.

“Hurry up, boys,” commanded Morrison, from the doorway. “You’ve got a job to do before we go, remember. Just the thing to give you an appetite for breakfast.”

Djuna could imagine the sneering smile on his face as he spoke.

“What’s de idea, boss?” It was Scar-Thumb’s voice, angrily protesting. “It ain’t time to go, yet. Not for two hours!”

“Never mind now,” answered Morrison impatiently. “Come on, hurry up, all of you! You’ve got quite a little digging to do. Mr. Sedd here will provide you with the shovels. Move along, now, all of you!”

Djuna saw a look of horror come over Mr. Boots’s face. “Shovels!” gasped the old man, in a choking whisper. “What’s he fixin’ to do?”

“Sh-h-h!” whispered Djuna. “Listen!”

“How about the old man and the kid?” they heard Joe asking. “Goin’ to leave ’em here, boss?”

“Sure, they’re perfectly all right,” chuckled Morrison. “Let them wait. I’ll cheer them up later. Get going now, boys!”

The sound of their footsteps died away on the path. A dreadful silence settled over the deserted house.

“What are they going to do?” whispered Djuna, his heart beating with a new fear.

Mr. Boots groaned. “God knows!” he whispered wildly. His chin dropped on his breast. “It’s no use thinkin’, Djuna!” he groaned.

An hour passed—an hour that seemed like years—before there came to them any sound except the occasional chirp of a bird in the tree outside the cellar door. Then their tortured nerves jumped again, as they heard men coming toward them through the woods. Again they hoped wildly that rescue was at hand, and again they were disappointed. For the first voice they heard was that of Morrison, and he was standing at the very entrance to the cellar, at the head of the stone steps leading down from outside.

“That will do, boys,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll attend to the rest of it. You take Mr. Sedd along with you and see to it that he hustles breakfast. I’ll be along in a minute.”

They heard the men moving off through the woods, dragging Les’ Sedd with them, and a moment later they heard Morrison moving about near the cellar entrance. They heard the clink of an iron shovel striking against pebbles. For a few minutes they listened in an agony of suspense as the sounds of digging continued. Finally they heard Morrison give a grunt of satisfaction. They heard the thud of the shovel as he tossed it into the bushes. They heard his footsteps coming nearer, then descending the steps into the cellar. An instant more, and he had put down the machine-gun he was carrying, crossed the floor and stood silently before them.