The Black Dog Mystery (3 page)

The little black dog wagged his tail and waddled sleepily into his box. He settled down with a sigh of contentment.

All the lights in the village were soon out. In the darkness, over at Mr. Johnson’s farm, a weasel crept toward the chicken-house, to try again.

D
JUNA RUBBED HIS
eyes and came wide awake instantly. June sunshine was flooding through his bedroom window.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, he could hear Miss Annie already moving around, getting breakfast ready. He jumped out of bed and in his bare feet ran to the open window. The whole bright morning smacked him right on the nose. He stuck his head out.

“All right, Champ!” he yelled. “I’m coming!”

Then out into the upstairs hall, to shout down over the banisters:

“Coming, Miss Annie!”

He dived back into his bedroom, finished scrubbing himself in two minutes, slid into his clothes, and was downstairs and into the kitchen in two jumps.

“Have you untied Champ, Miss Annie?” he asked breathlessly.

“Glittering glories of Golconda!” she exclaimed, pretending to be surprised. “Are
you
up? No, I haven’t untied Champ. He’s your dog, not mine. Now, don’t waste too much time with him. Breakfast’s ready.”

But Djuna had already dashed outdoors and around to the back yard. Champ was pulling at his chain and dancing up and down with eagerness. He was so excited that Djuna could hardly get the chain unfastened. “Hold still, for Pete’s sake!” laughed Djuna. “How do you think I can get this loose if you don’t stand still?”

So the little black Scotty held still for two seconds, and then, as soon as the chain was unfastened, he raced around the yard in circles, going so fast that he finally skidded and rolled over and over in the grass. He got up with his red tongue hanging out, panting.

Then he rushed back and looked up at Djuna and gave three loud barks, like three cheers.

“You’re right, Champ!” said Djuna. “It’s the finest morning there ever was! Come on, now, and get your breakfast.”

Djuna put Champ’s breakfast on a tin pan by the kitchen door, and then sat down to his own. “Oh, hurray, strawberries!” he exclaimed, as Miss Annie put a saucerful of them in front of him and placed the cream pitcher beside them. “
When
did you get them, Miss Annie?
I
didn’t hear you ordering them yesterday.”

“I didn’t,” said Miss Annie. “Clarabelle Smith brought them over this morning, before you got up.”

“Clarabelle?” exclaimed Djuna in surprise. “Gee, she must have got up early! I never heard her at all!”

“Of course not,” said Miss Annie, “the way
you
sleep. It wasn’t so terribly early. Twenty minutes ago, I guess.”

“Well, I didn’t hear her,” said Djuna. “Oh, I remember—I heard Champ bark, but I didn’t know who it was. Say, Miss Annie, when Mr. Boots and I finish Champ’s house, may I go fishing?”

“Why, of course,” said Miss Annie. “Oh, you said you needed a quarter for hooks, didn’t you?”

“Mr. Boots is going to lend me his rod,” said Djuna, as he pocketed the coin, “but I’ll probably need this, too.”

“No doubt,” said Miss Annie dryly. “I suppose you can’t catch fish without candy.”

Djuna laughed, and when he had finished his breakfast he hurried off to Mr. Boots’s house, with Champ at his heels. As he turned the corner and came in sight of it, he was surprised to see that the door was not open. Getting closer, he saw that there was a piece of paper tacked on the door. He read it in surprise.

“BACK SOON,” it said.

Djuna looked at Champ, who was waiting to hear what it said. “Gee, that’s funny,” said Djuna. “Where do you suppose he’s gone?”

Djuna walked slowly around to the back of the shop, hoping he would find Mr. Boots there, but there was no sign of him. His truck was gone, and it was evident that he had driven off somewhere. Djuna stood staring at the ground, deep in thought. Where could Mr. Boots have gone? He had said nothing about going anywhere—in fact, he had invited Djuna to come over that day, so that they could paint Champ’s new house, together.

“Where on earth has he gone?” he repeated.

Champ wagged his tail, but said nothing.

“Well,” said Djuna, thoughtfully, “there’s that wooden work-basket he was making—maybe he’s taken it over to Riverton, Champ, to sell it. But I don’t see why he didn’t tell us he was going.”

He walked disconsolately back to the front door and stared at the sign again, as if he expected to find some more information from it. It was not locked, and swung open easily. He looked in, but the shop was empty, and he hastily closed the door again. Lost in thought, he stood staring at the road for a moment, then moved slowly towards home.

By the time he reached Mr. Pindler’s store, he had decided what to do.

“Let’s go over and get Tommy Williams, Champ,” he said to his little black dog. “We can’t paint your house till Mr. Boots gets back, and he may not get back for an awful long time. We might just as well go fishing.”

So they went on past the store till they came to Tommy Williams’s house. Tommy was out in the front yard, practicing standing on his head. They could see his feet waving in the air.

“Hey, Tommy!” yelled Djuna.

Tommy’s feet waved desperately and he came down on the grass, all in a heap. He got up looking annoyed.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” he said. “What do you

want to yell like that for? I’ll bet I could have stood on my head for an hour, if you hadn’t yelled!”

“Let’s go fishing!” shouted Djuna.

“Oh, swell!” said Tommy. “Have you got any worms?”

“Not yet,” said Djuna. “I’ve got to go over to get some hooks, first. Mr. Boots was going to lend me some, but he isn’t home. Come on, let’s get the hooks and then we can get the worms.”

“Have you got any money?” asked Tommy.

“I’ve got a quarter,” said Djuna. “Miss Annie gave it to me.”

“So’ve I,” said Tommy. He felt in his pocket, and a look of horror spread over his face. “Oh, gosh!” he exclaimed. “It’s gone!”

“Look over there where you were standing on your head,” said Djuna calmly. “It probably fell out of your pocket.”

Tommy dashed back to where he had been standing on his head, and crawled around on the grass anxiously. “Here it is!” he shouted triumphantly. “Gee, thanks, Djuna!”

They started off for Mr. Pindler’s store. Suddenly Tommy stopped short. “Oh, look!” he whispered. “There’s Clarabelle Smith, out on her porch! If she finds out we’re going fishing, she’ll want to come with us!”

They crouched down behind the hedge and crept along cautiously, hidden from sight. But they had not counted on Champ. Champ trotted boldly down the road, and Clarabelle saw him. They hissed at him fiercely, to make him come back, but he only stopped and looked back at them, and then Clarabelle saw where they were.

“
I
see you!” she yelled. “Needn’t think I don’t see you!”

They stood up and Tommy looked at Djuna hopelessly. “
Now
what can we do?” he whispered.

“We don’t have to do anything,” said Djuna. “We don’t have to tell her where we’re going, do we?”

“Come on over!” shouted Clarabelle. “I want to show you something!”

They crossed the road slowly and went up to the porch. Clarabelle ran down the steps and held out a flat box of shiny black tin for them to see.

“Look!” she cried. “It’s my birthday present! Uncle Willis gave it to me! They’re water-color paints, so I can paint pictures!”

“Gee, they’re dandy!” said Djuna, admiringly. “Is this your birthday, honest?”

Clarabelle nodded happily. “I came over to tell you, this morning,” she said. “But you weren’t up yet. Aunt Clara gave me a box of strawberries to bring over. Didn’t Miss Annie tell you?”

“Oh, sure,” said Djuna. “We had them for breakfast. Say, listen, Tommy, we’ve got to get started.”

“Well,
I’m
ready,” said Tommy, handing the box of paints back to Clarabelle. “We’ve got to be going now.”

“
Where
you going?” asked Clarabelle.

“Oh, just a little ways,” said Tommy vaguely.

“If you’re going to see Mr. Boots, he isn’t home,” said Clarabelle.

“I know he isn’t,” said Djuna. “Where did he go, do you know?”

“No,” said Clarabelle, “but I know he went somewhere. I heard him. I woke up in the middle of the night, and I heard him getting his truck started. That’s all I know. But I looked out of my window this morning and he wasn’t back yet, so that’s how I know.”

“You know a lot, don’t you?” said Tommy. Clarabelle made a face at him.

“You know what I’m going to paint, Djuna?” she asked. “I’m going to paint that rainbow I saw yesterday!”

Tommy tugged at his elbow. “Come on, let’s go, Djuna,” he said. “G’bye, Clarabelle!”

The two boys went on around the corner and into Mr. Pindler’s store. Mr. Pindler was sweeping the floor with a wet swishy broom as they came in, but put it down as soon as he saw them. “Well, boys, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“Have you got any hooks, Mr. Pindler?” Djuna asked. “We’re going fishing for bass.”

“Bass hooks?” said Mr. Pindler. “Well, pshaw, bass hooks is the one thing I’m clean out of. Just looking over the counter last night. I can send for ’em, if you want. Get ’em here in a day or two. Will that do ye?”

“Oh, gee!” said Djuna. “We wanted to go today!”

“Sorry,” said Mr. Pindler. “I’d run you over to Clinton, but my car’s out of order.”

Just then there was the sound of a noisy engine outside the store, and a moment later two men came into the store. They were the same two men Djuna had seen the afternoon before, as they were talking to Mr. Boots in front of his shop. One was Les’ Sedd. The other man stood as straight as a soldier and had a very pleasant face. Les’ Sedd was as tall as he was, but his shoulders were thin and stooping, and he looked very thin and scrawny in comparison with the stranger. Les’ had big ears and a big nose, but almost no chin at all, and his head craned forward on his long thin neck, so that he looked a great deal like an old hen that was hunting for a bug just out of reach.

“Hello, Les’!” said Mr. Pindler, as they came in. “Thought it was you—
knew
it was you as soon as I heard that truck of yours coughin’.”

Les’ Sedd smiled feebly. “I’m going to get that fixed any day, now,” he said. “Been too busy, that’s all. Willis, meet my friend, Mr. Morrison—he’s just come up from town to do some fishin’ with me. Frank, shake hands with Mr. Pindler.”

“Happy to meet you, Mr. Pindler!” said the stranger, smiling as he thrust out his hand. Djuna noticed that he wore two or three rings on his fingers, one of them with a diamond that sparkled in the sun. “Nice country you’ve got up here!”

“Well,
we
like it,” said Mr. Pindler, shaking hands. “You from the city, are ye, Mr. Morrison?”

“Yes, I’ve got a little jewelry shop down there,” said Morrison, smiling again. He seemed always smiling. “But there’s nothing like fishing, for me. Always have to take a few days off this time of year.”

“Well, guess you’ll find plenty o’ bass over to Lost Pond,” said Mr. Pindler. “You wa’n’t up here last year, were ye?”

“No, this is my first trip,” said Morrison, still smiling. “Just happened to hear of Mr. Sedd from a friend of mine. Say, tell me something, Mr. Pindler—where can I buy some shingles around here?”

“Shingles!” exclaimed Mr. Pindler. “Why, I reckon George Boots ought to have some, but he ain’t to home today. What was you needin’ them for?”

“Well, the fact is, Mr. Sedd thinks he ought to patch up his roof a little,” grinned Morrison. “We came over here yesterday afternoon, right after it rained, but we didn’t have any luck. Mr. Boots didn’t have any shingles.”

“Say!” exclaimed Mr. Pindler. “I shouldn’t wonder if he ain’t gone over to Riverton for that very thing! Did he tell ye he’d get ’em for ye?”

“Well, no, he didn’t,” said Morrison. “The fact is, he didn’t seem to want to talk at all. Little peculiar, isn’t he?”

“Oh, no, I reckon he just had something worryin’ him,” said Mr. Pindler. “But if
he
couldn’t help ye, nearest lumberyard is over to Riverton.
You
know that, Les’.”

“I been meanin’ to get that roof fixed before this,” mumbled Les’ Sedd. “Been too busy.”

“Well, let’s get going,” said Mr. Morrison, still smiling. “Much obliged to you, Mr. Pindler.”

Djuna and Tommy had been listening to the conversation, and now Djuna had a sudden idea.

“Oh, are you going to Riverton, Mr. Sedd?” he asked. “Could you let us ride with you as far as Clinton, please?”

Les’ Sedd hesitated. “Don’t know ’s we got room for ye,” he said, glancing at Mr. Morrison.

“What’s that, buddy?” inquired Mr. Morrison, glancing at Djuna. “Want a lift? Where do you want to go?”

“To Clinton,” said Djuna, hopefully.

“Clinton? Where’s that? Anywhere near here?”

“Why,
you
know where that is, Frank,” Les’ Sedd interrupted in a surprised tone. “We come through it when I brought ye from Riverton station. ’Bout three mile from here, don’t ye recollec’?”

Mr. Morrison laughed. “Oh, is that where it is?” he said. “First time
I
ever heard of it!” He turned to Mr. Pindler with a grin. “Les’ thinks that just because I’ve been staying with him a couple of days I ought to know my way around,” he chuckled. “Why, I could get lost between here and his house, if he didn’t come along with me!”

“You won’t have any trouble findin’ Clinton,” said Mr. Pindler, “if you’re goin’ to Riverton, to get them shingles. Clinton’s the only town between here and Riverton. You can’t miss it.”

“All right, then, boys,” said Mr. Morrison. “Hop in, and we’ll drop you off there. Want to take your dog along?”

“Oh, thanks!” exclaimed Djuna. “That will be fine!”

“Plenty of room in the back,” said Mr. Morrison. “Get in there, all three of you!”

The boys hurried out to the truck, lifted Champ in over the tailboard, and climbed in themselves. The truck was empty, except for a big roll of ragged old canvas. They sat on it, and found it made a very comfortable seat.

Les’ Sedd and Mr. Morrison climbed into the front seat. “Let me off when we get to my road,” they heard Les’ saying as he climbed in. “I’ll go on home and be gettin’ dinner started.”