The Knights of the Square Table by Seckatary Hawkins

1 01 - A New Member 18:28

A New Member.

Bill Darby's baseball team was not going so good this year. The trouble was that we only had ten fellows in our club, and I simply wouldn't play ball. You ask me why? I'll tell ya. They had me for their secretary, and it was up to me to write down all that happened, and not only that, I had to do everything else. I simply had to take care of this bunch of boys. Believe me, they depended upon me to see that everything went right, and whenever anything went wrong, they would be sure to come and ask me to help them get out of trouble. Many's the time, but then I have a liking for that sort of thing anyhow. I guess God made me to be a good brother to these pals of mine. They all seem like brothers to me.

To me, who never had a brother nor sister? And I always go to my writing desk with a willing heart to do my work. Every day after school, we meet in the shack in the Hollow. The boys wouldn't like to hear me call it a shack now. They call it the clubhouse. But anyway, it was a shack at first, built by three runaways from college. At that time, we were holding our meetings in a stranded houseboat on the riverbank. But when the old houseboat came to grief, through an incident described in my earlier records of Stoner's Boy, we had to find a new place to meet in. In our old standby, Doc Waters, the only doctor in our town, got permission from Judge Granberry to allow us to meet in the shack in the hollow, which, when Doc Waters got through with it and put on a new porch...

It came to be called the clubhouse. Now, as I said in the beginning, Bill Darby wasn't at all satisfied with the way our baseball team was going. He came into my writing room one day with a face as long as a fiddle and flopped down in the chair beside my desk. I happened to be writing the minutes of the meeting, and I looked up, surprise, as he noisily interrupted me. "'What's making you crazy, Bill?' I asked. "'You're not in the habit of acting like this. I never saw you butting into me like this before. What's on your great big mind now?' "'Shucks,' he said. "'Don't tell me anything,' I said. "'Talk sense, Bill. Don't say words that don't mean anything. I hear the fellas in the lot practicing ball.

Why ain't you out there, coaching them?' Why? he demanded. You tell me why, Hawkins. You tell me why. I know why, I repeated. How do you mean? You ought to be out there, too, he said, savagely. You belong. Then, seeing that I was a little hurt, he added quickly, not that I don't appreciate you, Hawkins, but honest to goodness. We need ya. We ain't got enough players to make a ball team. Only nine. Just enough to go round. Anytime I need an extra player, I'm lost. Nobody can be spared. Why, the last game Jerry Moore pitched, he was terrible. I put Lou Hunter in his place from first base, and put Roy Doble on first, and put Jerry in Roy's place out in right field.

Jerry got sore. He deliberately let go a fly that he could have held. We lost. How are we ever going to win a game with that kind of stuff? They don't stick together, Bill, I said. Oh, he said, jumping to his feet. Are you telling me something I don't know? They don't stick together. Of course they don't. They won't play ball. And I'm not going on with the team less than they do stick together. I gotta have an extra man to put in there when the pinches come. If I'm going to run our baseball team, I want good fellows. You got good fellows, I broke in. You've got the best fellows I ever met, Bill. Every one of them. He caught my meaning. He nodded his head. I know, he said. I'd never knock one of them outside of our crowd.

You know that, Hawkins. But I tell you the truth. I tell you how they act. I need two pitchers, at least, and I wish you'd tell Jerry Moore that he ain't a pitcher and never will be. He has some skill, I said. Jerry has learned a few curves from Will Standish. His curves are all right, said Bill, and he can pitch up to a certain point, Hawkins. But when he's wild, he won't give in. He won't listen. When I want to take him out, he almost breaks up the game. I ask you, is that a way for one of our fellows, our fellows, I mean, to act? I had to laugh at Bill's earnestness. No, I said slowly, I guess it is not, Bill. But you will remember that Jerry has been that way as long as he has been a member of our gang.

Jerry's a great big overgrown nut. I'll talk to him myself when I get him alone. He'll listen more to you than he will to anybody, said Bill. And Hawkins, I wish you'd get Lou Hunter's mind off of music. That's all he thinks of. Says he don't care a darn for baseball, but only plays along because we all want him to. Now, I know Lou's a good pitcher, only if he'd let that darn organ alone over there. Bill had a sorrowful look on his face as he nodded toward the battered Melodian that stood in a corner of our meeting room. Lou Hunter was a musician, born that way, I guess. And it's hard to put any other thing, even baseball, ahead of music when a boy has it born in him. Music is an art, and a musician is an artist, and I don't know of any artist who cares much for sports, such as baseball and the like.

Bill, I said. You came to me for advice, I take it. What else do you think, he said, rather sharply. Nothing, I said. I ought to have sense enough to know what you come to me for with this kind of talk. No, Bill. You know I just won't play baseball. I'm too fat in the first place, and I couldn't hit an elephant if someone threw it at me, much less a little thing like a baseball. But if I were you, I'd get myself some new players. You need an extra pitcher, you say? Lou Hunter is a good one. All right, take Lou for a pitcher. Don't let him do anything else. But Jerry's a good pitcher till he flies up, protested Bill. All right, keep him in the box till he flies up. Then use Lou Hunter. But Lou plays first base.

I don't want Jerry to play first. Don't let Jerry play anything after you take him out of the box. Make him sit on the bench and look on. What'll I do for first base? Put Roy Doble there. You said he was good. Yes, but... Bill paused. He looked at me for a moment. Then... You mean we ought to get another boy in the club? He asked. Exactly, I answered. Get a new boy, Bill. What will the other fellas say? They will all have a chance to vote on a new member. If they vote against him, he stays out.

There's a new boy moved in next door to me, said Bill. Do you reckon he can get in? See if he wants to first, I said. Don't think every boy is just dying to get into our club, Bill. That would be wrong. Ask him and see if he wants to first. Then we can talk about it. That is how Herb Acombe came to be a member of our club. It had been a long time since we took in a new member, and all of the boys were glad to get Herb. He was a long, lean, lanky fellow, with a cheerful face that was most of the time smiling, and he had a habit of cracking jokes about things all the time. I didn't pay much attention to him at first. But I finally got so attached to Herb myself that Perry Stokes was quite jealous.

You know Perry Stokes calls himself overseer of our clubhouse, and he always took a personal interest in me. Why? I don't know. He did, that's all. Even now, I always find him right at my heels wherever I go. Well, Bill Darby brought down Herb Acombe at the next meeting. The vote was passed, and Herb was asked by our captain, Dick Ferris, to step outside while the results was counted. The little slips of paper that had been passed around to the boys were gathered up by Perry Stokes and laid on the table in front of Dick Ferris. Johnny McLaurin and I watched Dick as he opened the slips and counted the votes.

So Herb was brought in again, and the good news was given to him. He smiled his same old smile. To tell you the truth, in every moment except fighting moments, Herb Acom wore that smile. And many times, even up to the very moment of a fight, I saw that smile upon his face. It would go for an instant while he sent a punch to the jaw, maybe, in a fight, but as soon as he had landed his blow, or maybe taken one that he hadn't expected to take. He would be smiling again. "'Herb Acombe,' I said as I stood up. "'The crowd has voted to take you in as a member of our club. And I am happy to be the first one to say I'm glad you are one of us.' "'Thanks,' he said, smiling. "'You know, you remind me of a fella.' Never mind the jokes."

Said Bill Darby. You come out right away and practice with us. We gotta beat the Cardinals next Sunday, or I'll quit being captain of this bunch of bum baseball players. We now had eleven boys in our club. I will give you their names so you will know. Dick Ferris, Captain. Bill Darby, Baseball Captain. Lou Hunter, Music Master. Johnny McLaren. Past Captain and General Counselor, Shadow Loomis, Robbie Hood, Roy Doble, Jerry Moore, Perry Stokes, Herb Accombe, and myself. A pretty good bunch if I do say it myself. You can leave out me and I'll still say it's a pretty good bunch. Shadow Loomis and Robbie Hood should also be added to the list of counselors. Maybe you'd put down my name for that, too.

We were always called in anyhow whenever the club wanted advice. Well, to go on with this writing. Herb Acombe hadn't been a member of our club for very long, before he got the idea into his head that I was pretty much of a member myself. Leastways, he would hang around the clubhouse after meetings, bothering me until one day I said to him, Herb, do you know why you were taken into the club? Do you really know why we wanted a new member?

Not exactly, Hawkins, he said. You tell him, cause I stutter a little. I smiled at him. Who could help smiling at Herb Acombe when he talked like that? Herb, I said. They took you in because they needed another baseball player. You know I don't play. Too fat, that's all. And so they took you in. Why don't you show more interest in the game? I'm new, he said. Hawkins, I ain't got acquainted with this bunch, tell you the truth. I can pitch a ball as fool Babe Ruth, but I ain't got enough acquainted with these other fellers yet. Seems like you and me's old pals. Seems like I knowed you afore I was born. Ain't that funny? No, not to me, I said. I heard of funnier things, Herb. You and me will get along all right, Herb, but you just gotta please Bill Darby.

He's an old friend of mine. Knew him ever since he was nine years old. Best kind of a fella. And you will be glad to know him when you get better acquainted, but now I want you to go out and be a baseball player for him, won't you? Herb hesitated. "'I ain't so sure, Hawkins,' he said. Then, with his fingers to his lips, he thought a moment. "'How'd you come to get called Secretary Hawkins? I ain't never heard a fella called that-a-way afore.' "'They picked me out,' I said, to write down all that happened in the club. We were only kids then, and I was only nine years old.' I didn't know how to spell secretary, and so when they put it up to me to write down which was which, I wrote that I was secretary, and the nickname has stuck to me ever since, Herb.

I guess it will always stick to me now. I wish I could have known the others that aren't with us any more. Since we went into our teens, seems like an age. You should have known us when Johnny McLaren was at the head. He was our first captain. "'Parry's been telling me about the skinny guy,' said Herb. "'Ah, you mean old Link Lambert.' "'Well, Herb, I expect to see something of Link this summer. You shall know the skinny guy. He is my best friend.' "'We went through many exciting adventures together. Poor old skinny guy and me. But say, I don't want you to call him that. You understand?' Perry's got his nerve, but then Perry's my bodyguard. He can say things that I wouldn't allow in others. When you meet the skinny guy, you will call him Link Lambert, won't you?

I surely will, said Herb with a smile. I read about you and him. You was the birds that found that Casanova treasure in Cuba. Did you read about that in the papers? I asked, and then I was right into a deep talk again. For darn it, I can't resist the temptation of talking about that Cuba episode. It was a great chapter of my life. Many times I have said to myself it would be better for me if I could forget it, but honest to goodness, I can't forget it. I don't like to admit that I like to talk about it, but I certainly do. And when I found out that Herb had read about it, I made him sit close to me and listen to my own version of it, which he did with smiles upon smiles when I told him how we had outwitted those villains and the Pearl of the Antilles.

You are used to danger, aren't you, Hawkins? He asked when I had finished. I could not live without it, I said. Herb, I need excitement. I know it is foolish for a boy to say that, but I tell you, Herb, as long as I have been able to know what's what, I've been having one darn thing after another happened to make me think and figure out the reason. I guess I might as well own up to you, Herb. I like excitement, even though I am afraid of it. You'll get it now, he said simply. I sat back and looked at him. What do you mean by that? I asked. What do I mean? he repeated, with the same old smile. Why, you have taken into your club a boy who will bring it to you, that's all. When Pooley knows I have joined you fellows.

Good night. Who's Pooley? I demanded. You'll find out soon enough, he said. Which we did.

2 02 - First Signs of Trouble 12:44

First Signs of Trouble. I say it's an outrage, Johnny McLaren was saying. To take in a boy without looking up what he's been doing before he came here. Supposing this Acombe fella brings a gang down on us, what then? What then? I repeated. Well, what then, Johnny? It isn't quite right, said Johnny. You see, I look at it this way, Sec. We shouldn't be expected to fight any other fella's battles. We got plenty of trouble of our own. Go away, I waved my hand. Go away, Johnny. Don't tell me that. You sound like a kid in the primer class, when really, you are one of our graduates. You know Herb, don't you? Yes, of course I know him. What do you think of him? Why, Herb's all right. He's a fine fella, but why should we fight his fights for him?

Hold on a minute, broke in Shadow Loomis. Who's fighting any fights for him? Nobody has yet, spoke up Johnny. But from what Sexman telling us, Herb expects a guy named Pooley to come down here and start something. It ain't right, that's all. Right your foot, I exclaimed. Say, listen, Johnny, if I hadn't known you ever since we wore kilts, I'd tell you, you were a fool. Listen, supposing you were the newcomer in this gang. Supposing you'd had some trouble with a fella. Do you think we'd fuss about it like you're doing? Do you think Shadow, or Robbie Hood, or Lou Hunter, or Bill Darby, or Jerry Moore... Well... Jerry might, but... Do you think us boys would stop for a minute? Not on your life. We'd be right by Johnny McLaren's side when Johnny McLaren was facing a fight.

Now then, why can't you feel like the rest of us when it comes to standing up for somebody else? Johnny didn't answer. He walked over to the window with his hands in his pockets and gazed out at the treetops. There were only the four of us. Shadow Loomis, Robbie Hood, Johnny McLaren, and myself. I always know the ones to pick out for a talk of this kind. I can depend more on these three than I can on any others. Johnny was our first captain, and he ought to have more sense than to talk like that. It gets my goat. I told him so. Shadow just listened to it all and smiled. That's Shadow. He can see through a thing so darn quick and smile it off without any desire to talk. And Robbie Hood, while he is a fast worker and a reliable kid, he always takes second place to Shadow Loomis.

He thinks Shadow knows best, and he's right about that, too. Johnny McLaren turned suddenly around and walked up to me. By Jove, you're right, Hawkins. He said. He held out his hand. I know darn well I'm right, Johnny, I said, as I shook his hand and smiled. I want you to be your old self. You were captain of this gang once. You want to live up to it, boy. I will, Sack, he said. There was a step on the porch. Herb Acombe's smiling, happy face showed itself through the door curtains. Am I buttoned in? He asked. Not at all. Come in, Herb, I said. He came in and looked from one to the other. Bill Darby says if Johnny McLaren don't come down to the ball lot this minute, he's going to quit. I'll come, Herb, said Johnny quickly.

Come on, Robbie. You'd better go with us. I'll be there in a few minutes, said Robbie, reluctant to leave Shadow and me. "'Go ahead, Robbie,' I said. "'Bill needs you.' The hint was quickly taken, and I saw from the quick glance that Robbie shot me that he knew I wanted him to go. When we were alone, Shadow said, "'We are in for another siege, Hawkins.' "'Yeah,' I said. "'Herb Acombs got something on his chest that he won't let out, but we might as well figure on trouble.'" You and I don't care, Shad. We're used to it. Yes, we're ready, answered Shadow, gazing out of the window. Only it's a bit of a bother, Hawkins. I had hoped that we would be over with fights and fussing. Dern if I like it.

Do you think I do, Shad? I asked him. He wheeled around with a smile on his face. Yes, he said. I really do, Hawkins. I think you like it very much. I've been around you a long time now, and darn if I don't think you like trouble. You're just born that way, that's all. If you didn't have something to worry over— Oh, hum, I sighed. You guys get funny ideas into your heads. I turned my head down and began to write in my book. If Jerry Moore should find out that Herb's got enemies coming here for him, began Shadow. If Jerry says one word, I broke in. If he says one word, Shadow, I'll kick him out of this clubhouse into the river. He's a pretty big boy, Hawkins. They don't make him too big for me, Shad.

I don't care how big he is. And Jerry's got it coming to him anyhow. He's always been the pessimist of this bunch. Darn if it wouldn't give me pleasure to kick him once, just for luck. The next night, by request of Lou Hunter, we all came down to the clubhouse to practice singing. The boys all like to sing when they don't have anything else to do, and so being an off night for most of them, they didn't make any excuses when Lou asked them to come. We had a fine time in the clubhouse. Good old Doc Waters came down to sit and listen. And he smoked his long-stem white pipe while we sang, and clapped his hands after every song. The song he liked the best was The Boatman. It goes like this. Row, boatman, row us over the silvery stream.

The night is bright and clear. The moon is out. The stars are gleaming. Sweet music fills the air. With joy and love our hearts are teeming. Then, boatmen, row us over the stream with steady hand and splashing oar. We'll glide beneath the moon's soft beam till home again we'll be once more.

I kinda like that song myself. Why, except that maybe it sounds more like real life? I was interested in the way Herb Acombe sang. He wasn't bashful. He sang right out loud. Only Lou Hunter had to turn around two or three times and tell him he was singing false. Jerry Moore and I sang bass. That is. I tried to sing it, but... how Jerry's deep, low voice carried. It seemed to me that all the rest of the singing was riding on Jerry's low voice. And there's a part in that song where Jerry sings, row, row, row. He just keeps on rowing while the others sing the verse, you know. And believe me... I forgot all about singing myself as I listened to that. It was fine. In the middle of the song, there comes a knock on the door.

Ha! I says to myself, here's trouble come, sure as you're born. I ran to open it myself. Two strange-looking boys stood on the porch. They wore funny little square caps without peaks, and upon each cap was the word night. From their shoulders hung blue capes, with a four-legged table painted in white on the left side. I didn't look at their faces, so much was I taken with their costume. But I knew in an instant that here were the forerunners of our new problem.

What do you want? I demanded. We want to talk with you, they said. They spoke as if they had been practicing a speech. Both spoke together the words, We want to talk with you. Are you Secretary Hawkins? If so, all right. We won't talk with anybody else. That's me, I said quickly. I'm Secretary Hawkins. What do you want? Again, they spoke together. By Jove, they had been trained. We don't want to harm you or anybody, Secretary Hawkins. All we came for is a boy who is called Herb Acombe. If he isn't here, say so. If he is, send him out. I hesitated a moment and glanced behind me. Herb was on his toes, ready to come forward, but I waved him back and turned again to the square caps. You'd better go, I said.

We're not hunting trouble, either. This is our clubhouse, and we are peaceful. There's nothing good you can do. We want to see Herb Acombe a minute, spoke up one of the square caps. His face was good and open, but he looked as if he meant business. If you want to see him, come in here and talk to him, I said, stepping aside and pulling the door open with me. They both stood on tiptoe and gazed over the heads of all our boys until their eyes lighted on Herb. Then, as if satisfied, they settled back on their heels. No, said one, who seemed to be the spokesman. We won't come in. All we wanted to know was whether he was here or not. Worse luck for you, Secretary Hawkins. Good night. And then, like a flash, they had turned and were down the porch steps.

I ran after them, and Jerry Moore and Roy Doble followed me. But before we had reached the river path, there was nothing to be seen of either of them. The darkness had swallowed them up. Herb wanted to resign that night. We had all we could do to keep him from doing so. He said he would rather resign than let us boys get into any trouble. But Johnny McLaren got up and said that if there was anybody in this crowd in trouble, we would see to it that we got him out of it. Think of that from Johnny McLaren, he who had been so against it at first. That just goes to show you what kind of boys we had.

But today, when we came down to the old riverbank, We found every one of our canoes and skiffs gone. They had been taken during the night. This won't ever do, said Dick Ferris. We will have to find those boats back right away. Which we did.

3 03 - The Square Table 14:55

At our meeting next day, the boys could talk about nothing but the stolen canoes and skiffs. Our whole outfit had passed out of sight, disappeared, and of course we imagined that they had been stolen. Our captain, Dick Ferris, came in to talk to me about it before the meeting began, but I told him there was only one thing to do—divide the bunch into scouting parties, and send them up and down the river to see whether or not we could find a trace of the missing craft. So at the meeting, just as soon as the dues had been paid, Dick appointed groups of two boys each to do scout duty. There were five groups, and Shadow Loomis was appointed with Herb Acom, leaving me out because I wasn't supposed to do such work, being secretary and having my hands full writing all these things down.

Believe me. Now, all of the scouts had gone out except Shadow and Herb. Shadow stayed to say a few words to me after the others had gone, and Herb hung around, waiting until Shadow was ready. "'What would you advise us to do, Sek?' asked Shadow, when we three were alone. "'I don't know, Shad,' I said. "'The other boys are going on foot, I guess. Is Robbie Hood's launch down below?' "'Yes, it's the only boat that was saved. Lucky for us that we went home right after the meeting. Robbie and I went to Watertown in it last night. If we had left it, I guess it would have gone with the rest.' I did not want to butt in while the boys were making plans for scouting, but it seemed to me, Hawkins, that this is a plain case for the sheriff.

Stealing boats? It's a crime for a fellow to do that. The sheriff has to get things back when they're stolen, and it's his job to get the thief. Ain't I right? Then why should we be scouting around? Course you're right, Shadow. I broke in. But for heaven's sake, think, what would old Judge Granbury do if he thought we were stirring up trouble for the sheriff? Excuse me, fellow," said Herb, stepping up. I'm awful sorry this'll happen. I kind of feel like I'm to blame for all this trouble. What can you tell us, Herb? I asked. Why don't you tell us what the trouble is between you and those fellows who came to our clubhouse looking for you? We might help you, Herb. Herb didn't say anything. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stood tapping the floor with the toe of his right boot.

You've got to, Herb. spoke up Shadow. You owe it to us. You know these guys who came here for you. What do they want? Where are they hanging out? You tell us that we can get our boats back. Herb nodded. Yes, he said, I see. I owe it to you fellas. But don't think I'm begging for help. I ain't. I'm not afraid of Pooley, and I ain't afraid of all the fellas he's got around him now. Who's Pooley? I asked. He's a Watertown fella, answered Herb. Him and me had a lot of scraps up there before I moved down here. He's a fair fighter, though, Hawkins, and that's one reason why I ain't going to say nothing against Pooley. He's a fair fighter, but, oh boy, when he fights you got to watch your step. He's a smart one, Hawkins.

I bet that you never saw one like him before. I smiled. We saw Stoner's boy, I said, and nobody ever laid hands on him either, Herb. Wait till you meet Pooley, said Herb. Haven't we met him? I asked. Wasn't Pooley one of those two boys who came here for you the other night? Herb shook his head. I never saw those two before, he said. Seems like they knowed me being come to take a look if I was here or not, but durn if I ever saw him, Hawkins. They were strangers to me. Are you sure they are Pooley's pals? I asked. Nobody else would send them to find where I was, answered Herb. They're Pooley's pals, all right. What's the idea of their square caps in costume, asked Shadow Loomis. It's new to me, says Herb.

Pooley's never diked out in costume like that. I never saw it before on a fellow. Looks like clue-clucks to me, and durn if I don't think it's silly. Do you know where they hang out, I asked? I mean, where would Pooley meet his pals? On the Watertown Dock, says Herb. There's an old corner. We used to call it the Log Wharf. "'Come on,' I said. "'That's where we will go. I don't know of any better place to begin to search for our lost boats than the old corner-log wharf.' "'I'm with you fellows, Shad. We'll make this a scout party at three. Let's lose no time.' Just as we reached the river bank, however, Perry Stokes came toward us. "'Jerry Moore told me he wouldn't need me, sir. He said to me.

I was his scout partner, sir.' "'Which way did he go, Perry?' I asked. Down toward the island, sir, he answered, went in Robbie Hood's launch with our captain and Robbie. Ah, I said, that lets us out, fellas. They've beaten us to the launch. We might as well go back. Not so as you could notice it, says Shadow. Here comes our boat right now. From across the river, a Pelham boat was setting out. At first I thought that it was starting upstream, but when I saw what they were about I knew that they wanted to get a certain distance up, so that when crossing the current would not carry them down further than our landing. When the Pelham boat landed I recognized the occupants. They were Brighan, the Pelham leader, and Ham Gardner, Dave Burns, and Lanigan.

We got to talk to you, Hawkins, called Brighan, as the flatboat came close. Wait a minute. He sprang upon our landing. I walked down to meet him. What's the matter? I asked. They's been a bad bunch of fellows up here again, Hawkins, said Brigham, and they jumped us. We was coming down from your town, and we come down here to get in our boats to go across to our own side when they jumped us. I thought we'd better come and warn you. You'd better look out. Oh, I don't know, I said. We don't have to watch out for fellows who jump you, Brigham's. Brigham's chuckled. No, he said, but I reckon they took us for you fellows. They made a mistake, I figure. Seems like they thought we was Secretary Hawkins, fellows, cause we was coming down your path here.

Ain't that interesting to you? Maybe, I said. And funny thing, said Brigand, was the way they was dressed. Honest to goodness, I never seen such foolery, Hawkins. You think the Red Runners was strange. Wait till you see these guys. They beat up old Ham Gardner. Poor old Ham. Seems like he always gets the worst of everything, and he didn't do nothing to nobody. Then they must have realized they was wrong, because they let us go across then. I'm sorry you got hurt, Ham, I said, walking over to Gardner. Look at his pretty black and blue eye. Honest, I've seen Ham with so many black eyes he doesn't look natural to me without one. Every time trouble comes to Pelham, seems like Ham Gardner is the goat.

But he always liked to have me talk nice to him, and he smiled and said, "'Don't make no difference, Hawkins, so long as you can get the ones as did it.' "'We'd better get him,' I said, "'or we won't have peace on this old river any more. Your side or ours. We got a new gang down on this brigand, and we got to get him.' "'Well, what do we have to do?' asked the Pelham leader. "'Nothing,' I said. "'You fellas lay low. Go put your foot in less than you have to.' We're on our way now, to track them down. They stole all our canoes and skiffs, every last boat. We ain't got a single thing to ride the water now. Pshaw exclaimed Brigand. What are you going to do? You must lend us a flatboat, Brigands, I said.

It's as much in your interest as ours. Take your fellows back to your side, and then send over an extra flatboat for us to use. We will guarantee to send it back safe, and if we don't, we will pay you for what it's worth." "'Tain't worth much,' said Brighan. "'We make em all ourself. We will lend you one all right.' So within ten minutes Brighan himself came back, towing an extra flatboat with four roughly made oars. I told Perry to go in the clubhouse and stay till I came back. We set out at once, Shadow, Herb, and I, and upstream that dern flatboat was a hard thing to manage. Maybe you don't believe it, but try it once after you're used to canoe and skiff.' And see if flatboats ain't the hardest thing to make go upstream.

However, we got up to Watertown at last and found the corner log wharf, but a look inside showed us that nobody had been inside that place for a long, long time. Wherever Pooley was, he hadn't been here for a long time. That's all I know," said Herb. They've changed their address, I guess. So back we will go, said I. Come on, it won't be so hard rowing the flatboat downstream. We had a fine trip on the river anyhow, even if we didn't do any good. The sunshine was so good to feel, and the water looked so inviting. Some automobile parties had put up tents along the bank, and some were fishing. Then we came down past the point where—'Old Louisiana Lou used to land there,' said Chatea Loomis, where they used to load the horses.

Hold her, I called to her. Let's stop and land her a while, fellas. I want to roam around a little. They were just as anxious to stop as I was, so we landed on the Pelham side. We tramped slowly through the thick growth. What a wild place it was. On either side of us ran the sloping sides of the old creek bed. It wound through the hills like a snake. I smiled as I got the suggestion of Snow on the Mountain. That old song, this gully brought it to my mind because I knew it was the snow melting in the hills beyond. that made this little creek. When the snow melts, or when it rains hard, the water must come down, and it wears a little rill on the hills, which eventually gets deeper and wider until there is a stream.

But this old creek was dry most of the time. Look yonder," said Hur. Somebody's camping over there. Most likely picnics were held here, said Shadow. Looks like they had a good time. There was a wide-open space below us, which was strewn with paper and trash and things that you see the day after a picnic. In the middle of the space stood a table, a wooden table, with four legs, just like my mother has in her kitchen. We stood there on the left ridge and looked through the bushes at it for a while. What a dandy place it would be to build a shack, said Shadow, or to put up a tent and sleep out on the hot summer nights, I said. Let's go down and take a look around, Shad. Sure, said Shadow. We ought to find a couple of places like this, Hawkins, and then we can move our camp.

It's better than staying in one place all summer. A week on the island, say, and then a week here, and the next week some other place that we will find. What do you say, Herb? I asked. Herb was standing with his hands in his pockets, taking it all in and listening to our talk. Herb walked slowly over to the table. With his hands in his pockets, he stood for a few moments, gazing at the thing. Then he raised his eyes and nodded. "'Come here,' he sang out. We walked over and stood beside him. "'Look at that,' he said simply. He pointed to the table top. On all four corners, a large K was painted in green paint. In the middle, a great letter P was enclosed in a circle of white paint. "'It can't be,' said Herb.

"'We might as well give up this idea, fellas.' This place is already taken. By whom demanded Chattell? Pooley, answered Herb. Pooley and his gang meet here. I'm as sure of it as I am of my name. What makes you so sure? I asked. The initial with a ring around it, said Herb, pointing to the letter P in a circle. That's his mark. But K on the corners, that's new to me. He's got a new gang, I can tell that, but we'd better wait till we find out what it means. It means night, broke in a new voice from above. Behind us, the three of us turned like a flash. There on the top of the ridge, looking down into this little bowl of a place, stood a smiling boy with a gnarled stick in his hands. He wore a khaki suit with puttees on his legs and a neat gray golf cap on his well-shaped head.

He reminded me of Simon Bleeker, the first look I got of him. Pooley, exclaimed Herb. That's me, old-timer, said Pooley, without moving. But the smile remained on his face. "'You're a hard one to find, Aikham. Here I've been sending out my scouts for you for weeks, and now you come to my headquarters of your own free will. Well, it's pity that your friends are with you, and that I am alone. Else we could settle it, couldn't we, Herbert?' "'I'm ready when you are,' said Herb, quietly. "'And my friends won't butt in. If you want a fight, come down and roll up your sleeves.' He had stepped forward and was pulling off his coat. But Pulley held up his hand. "'Not so fast,' he said. "'Not so fast, Herb.

Yours were so impatient. No, we will wait until another time. I'll bid you good-bye now, but don't ever come around here again. You might not find the place deserted, and you wouldn't stand much chance if you fell into the hands of the knights of the square table. That's all I have to say now.' And with that he was gone. Back into the bushes on the lip of the bull. Herb started up the slope after him, but I yanked him back. "'Come back here,' I said. "'Come back here, Herb, and get your senses back. There won't be any scrapping with Pooley while I'm around. I'm against that sort of thing, you know.' "'He's a smart talker,' said Herb, turning around to pick up his coat. "'He knows what to say to get my blood boiling.

Dern if I wouldn't have given him a whipping if he'd have come down.' "'Maybe so,' said Shadalumis, with a grin, but believe me, Herb, You'd have had your hands full doing it. Maybe I missed my guess, but Pooley is a tough customer. Well, we'd better get out of this place. It's private, I suppose, the meeting place of the Knights of the Square Table. Quite a nice name for a gang, eh, Hawkins? I smiled. Knights of the Square Table, I repeated. Well, let's see if they ain't Knights of the Square Head, rather.

4 04 - The Password 13:47

The Password.

At our next meeting, Robbie Hood announced that he and Jerry had found the boats, but had not dared to bring them back. Why? demanded Dick Ferris, our captain. If you found them. Why were you afraid to bring them back? Because, said Robbie Hood promptly, you wouldn't have touched them either if you had been the one to find them. Whereabouts on the river did you find them? Asked our captain. No place, answered Robbie Hood, and our captain looked peeved. No place, he repeated. Well then, where did you find them? In Banklet Creek, answered Robbie. By the way, you don't have to blame me for finding them if that's the way you're going to feel about it. You needn't have such a long face, Dick Ferris.

I didn't see him first. It was me, spoke up Jerry Moore with a grin on his brown face. I'm the guy, Dick. I found those canoes and skiffs all tucked away in the still water of the creek. Why didn't you ask me first? I'm asking you now, Jerry Moore, said Dick, rather peeved. If you were a true blue member of this club, you would have brought the whole outfit back. Why didn't you? For only one reason, said Jerry with a smile. Only one reason why I didn't bring him back, Dick, old captain. It's a pretty good reason at that. If you'd have been there, you'd have done no better. You'd left the boats just where they are now. Why? Because. Because there's a fella sitting watching him, and he had a shotgun pointing straight at us through the bushes.

I won't mention his name. Maybe because I don't know it. Leastways, me and Robbie figured it wouldn't be safe enough to touch the boats. I ain't hankering to get no half dozen buckshots into the seat of my pants, no sirree. Why not come right out and say you're too darn scared to fight? And that was more than Jerry Moore's quick temper could stand. Look here, he said quickly. Look here, Dick Ferris. You know nobody else ain't gonna say stuff like that to me and get away with it. You see, just wait a minute. I broke in. Just wait a little minute here, you fellas. What you think this is? A prize fight or something? How do you get that way anyhow? Who's trying to stir up a fuss here? He ain't gonna say those things to me, protested Jerry.

And he ain't gonna get away with that coward stuff either. Broke in, Dick. No. I said, you're both wrong, that's all. We ain't meeting here to see how soon we can start a fight among ourselves. We want our boats back. That's what we're after. Now then, Jerry, where are the boats? In the Stillwater, said Jerry quickly, right below the Old Mill stream. The Old Mill house stands right above, maybe 15 feet. The water still comes down, but it misses the mill. The boats have been shoved up beyond, hidden in the green branches of the willows that hang over the water. They're all there, but somebody's watching them. What do we care for that? I said. The boats are ours. We're going to get them. We will fight for them if we have to, but we will get them.

What's this racket about? chimed in a new voice. It was good old Doc Waters coming in the door. In a few words, we explained to him the situation, but I could see in a moment that Doc didn't like the looks of things. He turned to me, as he usually does in cases of this kind, and said, I suppose you boys are in for it again. I don't know how I shall explain it this time to the old judge. You know that he has caught me many times sticking up for you fellas when you were all to blame. Knock, I yelled. He smiled. His face softened a little. Perhaps not, he said in a low voice. Perhaps not to blame altogether. But the old judge is getting old. He wants you boys to make things easy for him around this old riverbank.

We will see to that, I broke in. But you should not make trouble that you can avoid, said Doc. Hawkins, you know I always want to see you and this clubhouse get along, but I must draw the line when you invite trouble. Invite it? I asked. You did, he said. I was here the other night when those two strange boys called. They meant trouble. I saw that. You didn't try to avoid it. You seemed to invite it. You opened the door wide and said, come in. What would you have said? I demanded. Doc smiled. Well, he said. I think I should have turned it off a little better. But never mind. I have no business butting in your meetings. I'd better be going. I'm on my way to Hobbs Ferry. I thought maybe you boys would take me up.

I'll take you, Doc, said Robbie Hood. And so it was Robbie who took Doc Waters to Hobbs Ferry. After they had gone, Jerry Moore spoke up, bringing the subject of our boats once more before the meeting. I want you to understand me, he said. I am not afraid to fight Pooley or any of his gang, but I am careful. As Hawkins himself would be. That old mill? Steetson's mill, they call it? It ain't just right. I had to laugh out loud. I guess it's haunted or something, I said. Jerry looked around at all the faces of our boys and pointed a finger at me, exclaimed, Yeah, it is haunted. Ah, I said, just as I expected. And who's the spirits are traveling about in that old dilapidated mill? Don't ask me, answered Jerry.

But Rube Mueller, he lives around Bank Lake Creek. He told me last year that it wasn't a safe place for a fella to be in. He said it was haunted ever since the old miller died. I laughed again. That must have been before you were born, Jerry, I said. But haunted or not, I'm going up to the old mill and get our boats, and I don't care who's up there with the gun either. Who's with me? They were all with me to hear him yell, but I couldn't take them all along because we only had one boat, the flat boat that we had borrowed from the Pellman fella. I took Shadow Loomis and Urbacoam along. And told the other boys they would have to foot it if they wanted to come, and that we would meet them at Banklet Creek.

It was a nice trip. Everything is looking so pretty now, and there isn't a wilder place in the world than around the old cliffs along the river. I thought to myself that I would have to take a trip up to the cliffs soon, just to look around. It reminded me of the days when Stoner's boy was flitting around these parts. We were up on the cliffs often then, and most of the time running as fast as our legs could take us. Stoner surely was one who could make you use your legs, and most always we would be going in front. The few times that we ever got close enough to Stoner to tag him, you could count on your thumbs. The old mill was a pretty sight as we turned the last bend of the Twisting Creek. It's old.

Old as the hills, it seems. And its roof is all green, covered with moss, and the wild grass runs riot about the place. The dried timbers have lost their rusted nails and have sprung apart. The old wooden gutter that formerly led the water from the mill dam to the wheel still stands on rickety legs. But it has been many a day since water last flowed through it. The mill stream itself is sluggish and dead. The old wheel that has not turned for more than fifteen years still stands as a reminder of the days when the people would bring their own grain to the mill to be ground. The spindle is rusted fast in its socket. The woods have grown pretty wild here for many long years, and the trees and bushes grow out to the edge of the bank, the willows hanging in the water, right behind the old mill.

One tall, lonesome pine holds up its head like a giant guarding the old relic of other days. There wasn't a sound when we came up, except the splashing of our oars, and the calls of the birds who have their paradise in these wildwood treetops. There are the boats, I said, pointing up beyond the mill. They are almost hidden under those overhanging willows, but you can see Roy Dobble's red skiff. And there's the stem of Jerry Moore's long green canoe, too. Let's go right up, Shadow, and bring them down. I don't think there's anybody around here. We won't have any trouble. Herbacomb had been sitting quietly in the boat. He laughed. I'll bet the woods are full of them, he said in a low voice. Police pals can walk like cats.

They never make a sound, Hawkins, and they'll be on the lookout. There came a call from the bank on the other side. Turning, I saw all the other boys who had come on foot. Jerry was making a motion for us to come and get them. Land us here, Shadow, I said, and then go over and get some of the other boys. We will take a look around while you're gone. The flatboat was brought up to the bank a short distance from the old mill. Herb and I sprang out, and Shadow started across to bring the other boys. "'Let's take a look around, Herb,' I said. "'Dern if I don't think this is the prettiest place I ever laid my eyes on. Don't that old mill look like a picture with that green background? Oh boy, I wish I was an artist.

Wouldn't I like to paint that, though?' "'It sure is purty,' said Herb. "'But watch your step, Hawkins. I'm kinda afraid there's Pulley's pals around here. Not that I'm afraid.'" But I don't want to stick my head in any trouble lest I see it coming. I listened for a few seconds. Then I said, It's too quiet, Herb. That's one thing that always makes me perk up and take notice. I kind of think you're right. We'll pick our steps carefully. Listen, said Herb. Hear how the birds scream every little while? Can't fool the birds, Hawkins. They know someone's in these woods. You can always tell by the way the birds screech. It's us they've seen, Herb, said I. Come on, let's go. I started through the wild grass and weeds that lined the bank.

It reached to my chest. I had to fight through it with outstretched arms and high, lifting steps. Once in a while, a branch of a young tree would come slapping back into my face, and the bees that were busy on the white-topped flowers would wing away with an angry buzz. Finally, I reached a little board that came down from the big wooden gutter that formerly led the water to the wheel. It was a board about ten inches wide, with strips nailed on it every foot or so to the top. so that it could be climbed like a ladder. Up this I climbed, and Herb followed me, and we both stood on top of the big wooden gutter. From our high place we could easily look down into a quiet water where lay our canoes and skiffs.

Not a soul was to be seen, not a sound, other than I have mentioned. Woo-hoo! It was our boys calling. I turned and looked back, and I could see by the waving grass that they were coming. Presently, Jerry Moore and Dick Ferris popped into sight. They hailed us again, and came for the ladder. "'Not up here,' I called down to them. "'Go under, and we will join you. Everybody to the boats, and get them away as fast as we can. Once we have them back home, we can feel safe.' "'All right, Hawkins,' sang out Jerry. "'Shadow's gone back to get the other boys. We will wait for you up there by the canoes.' We did not stop to go into the mill. We hurried over to the end of the big wooden gutter, and just as we were about to step off, Herbacomb grabbed my arm and leapt to the thick bushes on the opposite side, pulling me with him.

We fell in a heap. And a thorn stuck in my hand. What's up? I whispered. Shh. And then I saw what had caused him to jump. The bushes were moving up above us. Somebody was coming. It could have been our boys, but it wasn't. I saw that first by the muzzle of a gun. Then the bushes parted, and a strange boy stood for a moment, looking about. A few seconds later, another boy appeared, but he didn't carry a gun. He walked quickly over to the boy with the gun. Seventy-six, he said. Seventy-seven, said the boy with the gun. At the same time, he held out the gun, and his companion took it. Without another word, they parted. The boy who had received the gun waited a few minutes, watching his friend until the moving bushes hid him from sight.

Then he turned his eyes upon the mill and started walking slowly to the big wooden gutter. Reaching it, he leaped nimbly across the gap that separated it from the hillside, and made his way to the ramshackle mill. He disappeared in one of the small windows. Now, I said, come on, Herb, to the boats. We went under the wooden gutter now. I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and I was a cold morning, and And I was tired of borrowing the flatboats from Pelham whenever we had to travel on the water.

I felt thankful when at last Shadow came with all the other boys. Dick quickly ordered them to their places, and away we went. As we came toward the old mill, I began to hope that the watcher inside the old ruin would not poke his head out and see us. I wasn't afraid of his gun, but I was afraid that he could summon the whole gang upon us if he saw us, and then we would have to stand the risk of not only losing our boats again, but of fighting a water battle besides. But somehow, I knew he would, and he did. Our boat was the last. I was in Jerry Moore's long green canoe with Jerry, Shadow, Dick, and Herb. We had the flatboat trailing along behind us. The other boats had all passed the old mill quietly and were already out of sight around the bend.

Only our canoe was visible when the sentinel in the mill stepped out of the window and stood upon the top of the old mill wheel. He looked at us intently for a moment. If he had seen all the other boats going, I don't know what he might have said or done. As long as he didn't fire that gun and signal to the rest of his gang, I was satisfied. He seemed to fasten his eyes upon me. Then, in a loud voice, he yelled down to me. "'Seventy-six! Seventy-seven!' I shouted back to him, and I waved and smiled as the boys paddled faster. The boy on the mill wheel smiled back at me and returned my salute. The next second, we had turned the bend and were out of sight. "'Good boy!' said Shadow to me with a grin.

We'll always leave it to you, Hawkins. You've got to hand it to him, boys. He's there. I'll say, spoke Dick. What was it you said to him, Hawkins? I gave him the password, I said. Shadow knows where I got it, but it won't take him long to find out his mistake, and we will have to keep a weather eye out for his gang now. Hurry, you fellas. If you can't paddle faster, let me take a paddle. We gotta get these canoes back as quick as we can, and put them someplace where nobody can find them, which we did.

5 05 - Return of the Skinny Guy 9:25

The Return of the Skinny Guy. We were glad that we had our own canoes and skiffs on the water again. Gee, but a fella misses a thing like that once he's used to it. But we still remembered that we had got them back by a trick, and that sooner or later we might expect Pooley's Knights of the Square Table to come and try to steal them again. To add to my worries, the twins, Oliver and Harold Court, had come back from their fancy school in Massachusetts. You see, we had eleven members in our clubhouse, and now with the twins coming, there were thirteen. Well, you can see for yourself. You know that Jerry Moore was always superstitious. He never liked thirteen, and if it had only been Jerry, I might have said it wasn't much to worry about.

But even Johnny McLaren, he, too, had always a dislike for anything that numbered 13. Unlucky, he says. He was our first captain, Johnny McLaren was, when we first organized our little club. And because there were 13 fellows in it then, he held a court-martial and dismissed a boy named Booby Warren. who had to resign, of course. I used to say to him, I'd rather have thirteen than twelve, if we're ever in a fight. That extra fellow might save us from getting a beating. Well, he would say, it wasn't lucky to have thirteen, and we might as well play safe for luck, when we knew thirteen was unlucky. What do you propose to do, I asked. Just this, said Johnny. Stepping up to my desk and beginning to draw imaginary diagrams with his fingertips, we've got to let out one boy.

I don't care who it is. Jerry and me are set on it. We've got to let one out. Don't make any difference to me which one. It can be me for all I care. I smiled sadly and shook my head. Johnny, I said, it don't sound like your old self, boy. Why, who would you let out? You can't pick out any single boy in our club that you'd want to drop. You like him all too well, less than maybe it might be me. If you want me to go, Johnny, I'm tired of being your secretary anyhow, and I won't hold any hard feelings against you. Can that stuff, he broke in. We won't let you go, Hawkins. Now, Jerry and me. We've been talking this over, and seeing as we are the only two who seem to care about it, maybe it ought to be one of us.

We're even willing that it should be so, Hawkins. "'No!' I shouted. "'Not by a jugful, Johnny. I've been your old standby too long. I got so to like you, and I can't think of the time I'll ever have to say goodbye to you. You can think again on that.' Jerry Moore was grinning as he walked over to my desk. "'That lets you out, Johnny,' he said. "'Maybe the old secretary can let me go, though. I've been lots of times a bother to him, and he always calls me the pessimist of this club. I'm willing to go if you say the word, Hawkins.' I did not look up. I picked up my pen and dipped it into the ink, and began to write in my minute-book. Maybe, I said, and maybe not. Seems like you ought to stay around here too, Jerry.

You've been a bother lots of times, but did I ever say I cared what you were? You were my friend, and you were always true blue to the club. You can keep on being a pessimist for all I care, but you got to be right here in this clubhouse. By golly! I stopped riding and looked up as I continued, "'We need a pessimist here sometimes, Jerry.' I smiled up at him as I said it, and the poor old kid, like the great, big, good-hearted boy he was, he told me with the look in his eyes that he liked me for saying that. I held out my hand, and he shook it. "'Thanks, Hawkins,' he said. Then, turning to Johnny, he continued, "'We told Bill Darby we'd be down.' "'Yeah, we better go,' said Johnny. And together they went out, and I heard their muffled voices as their footsteps died out on the river path.

I had shamed Johnny and Jerry Moore about the unlucky number, thirteen, but it came up again at the next meeting. Dick Ferris, our captain, Said that every boy in the club had a voice, and could say what he thought, and that it was up to the vote of the whole membership whatever was proposed. It's just this way, Jerry Moore was saying. Thirteen ain't a healthy number, that's all. We all know we have trouble enough without waving a red shirt in the face of a bull. What's the use of having thirteen members? We can get along with Twelve just as well." "'All right,' said Dick. "'We will have to vote on it. Which member do you want to drop out?' I knew which one they would drop out. That's why I walked out on the porch.

I saw that I was not going to have much say-so about this matter, and I was a little peeved at Jerry for bringing up the subject again. I knew if he caught my eye he would shut up. after the way I talked to him, but I knew, too, that it would only be a little time until he brought it up again. So I walked out on the porch and waited there, so that they could settle this question now, once and for all. I knew which one. Yeah, I knew. I knew it as well as I knew my name. They would pick on poor little Perry Stokes. And he would be the one that would get bounced out. They wouldn't choose to let out the last new member. That would mean Herb Eacombe. And the boys liked Herb very much, and knew he would be a valuable addition to the club.

But poor little old Perry, my old bodyguard. Yeah, him they'd pick out and kick out without any regrets whatever. It made me blue. That's why I went out on the porch alone, to let them settle it among themselves. Not for me. You wouldn't get me inside that clubhouse when they got up and told poor little old Perry to pack up and get. No, sir. Perry was too durn good for that whole bunch. They didn't know him like I did. He didn't always do for them what he'd do for me. But my eye caught something on the river, far away, and I forgot about the boys in the clubhouse. What was it, the first minute I saw it, that held my gaze upon that swiftly moving white streak that was coming all speed from the direction of Watertown?

What was it but a nifty white launch, with cabin windows and little pilot house? "'Boys!' I yelled. "'Boys! Come out here, quick!' They trooped out upon the porch. I pointed toward the upper bend of the river. The boat had neared us now. "'You've been mistaken all along,' I said, as I turned to Jerry Moore and Johnny McLaren, who stood behind me. "'You boys thought we had thirteen members. We forgot one.' "'There he is!' Coming like a streak of lightning. We've got fourteen members, Jerry. Here's one you overlooked. Link, the skinny guy. He's coming to spend the summer most likely. Let's all go down and give him the glad hand. Which we did.

End of chapter five. Read by Carrie Adams. Your Book Boys at Mesa, Arizona, on the Fourth of April, 2022.

6 06 - The Pony Riders 11:31

If you don't mind, Link, I said as we went aboard, I'd like to sit in the rear, on the top deck. Any place you say, he answered. This old boat's home to me, Hawkins. I've been living on her every spare minute I had to myself. Lead the way. So I led the way back to the place where Harold and I had sat one night, while we watched a stealthy hand reach over the gunwale. I told Link about it again, and he had to laugh. Harkinson was pestering us about that time, he said. We thought it was Harkinson, I said, but we afterwards found out it wasn't him, Link. Anyway, this is where we sat. How quiet it is on the river. Look at Pelham's light across the water. Do you remember the time you first saw them, Link?

Do I? He sat silently a few moments. Then, It seems a long time, Hawkins, he said, but I love this old riverbank. It seems like home. Sweet home to me. I never forget it. I think of it every day. I chuckled. Look yonder, I said, pointing to the clubhouse up the bank. The lights are being lit. That's Perry Stokes getting ready for a meeting, I guess. They didn't tell me anything about it. I guess they're having a time tonight, Link, in your honor. From the clubhouse came the sound of boys' voices joined in the sweetest harmony any living being can hear. You can take your high-tone opera singers. You can take your fancy orchestras. But give me boys' voices Harmonizing together, and I'll say it's the only music that a fellow really wants to hear.

There we were, sitting on that dark deck of that motorboat, listening to the sweet strains that carried over the breeze from the clubhouse. And it made me think of the day...

Listen, Hawkins. Link's voice was but a whisper above the sound of the singing that came to us from the clubhouse. There's no place like home, no matter where you roam. Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. I knew that our boys, led by Lou Hunter, would sing for Link like that on his return. They all thought a heap of Link. He was their skinny guy. And now that we had a new member in the club, they would try to show just how much they thought of their skinny guy so that Herb would see What these boys thought of one another. I got the blues for old Kentucky. Oh boy, I feel blue. I want to kiss my mommy. I want to see my daddy too. I'll tell the world I've been a rover. Now my roving days are over.

I got the blues for my Kentucky home. I saw the skinny guy turn his eyes toward the light in the clubhouse windows. I saw tears glistening in his eyes, but there was a happy smile on his thin lips. They're true blue, Hawkins, he said in a low tone. They're glad to have you back, Link, I said. They're proud of you. He didn't say a word. He sat, moody. After a few seconds... Come on, he said. I followed him down into the cabin. There were some clothes lying across the back of a chair. My old duds, he said. I saved them, always, when I came back to this old riverbank. I want to wear the same clothes that I wore when I first hung around here. I didn't say a word as he changed his clothes, but when he had on the ragged garments that were relics of other days, I had to say, You're getting a bit taller, Link.

Those clothes seem to fit you. Rather too soon, so to speak. He laughed. Never mind, he sang out. I'm going to live free and easy around this old riverbank, Hawkins. But say, wait a minute. Don't you think I ought to let those fellows up in the clubhouse know that I heard their singing? I'll let them know how I appreciate that song in my honor. How are you going to do it, Link? I asked. There's a little brass cannon up front, he said. You help me, and we'll fire it off and give him a salute. Bye, Jingo, Hawkins. It's soon Fourth of July anyway. All right, I said. That will be fine. Let's get to it at once, Link. I followed him forward, and with the aid of a flashing light, we found the brass cannon.

It was too big to be taken for a toy, yet it wasn't a cannon that you could ever hope to sink a battleship. The powder's in the chest right behind you, Hawkins. I got out the powder can and the ramron and in a little while the skinny guy had her loaded. Say when, he said, looking back at me, holding a match, lighted, ready to set her off. But I held up my hand. Wait a minute, I said in a low voice. What's that noise? Sounds like oars. Wait a minute, Hawkins. Let me see. I've got a searchlight on this boat. Link's shadow moved noiselessly on the forward deck. Then, like a sudden stab, came the shaft of light from his searchlight on the boat. It lit up a strange sight. A big flatboat in the middle of the stream.

A big flatboat, not one of the small Pelham boats, but a big one, manned by four large, long oars that sent it forward ten feet at a single sweep. And the strangest part of it was that, beside each of the four rowers, one to each oar, there were, on the flatboat, two ponies, each with a rider dressed in some strange fashion. The knights, I exclaimed under my breath, the knights of the square table. The light seemed to frighten the ponies upon the flatboat. There were only two, remember, and they leaped up in their fright. One unseated its rider. The other plunged over the side and into the water. Out of the circle of light thrown from the searchlight. But I had seen that their riders were dressed in the square cap and the long blue cape, with the table in white upon the left shoulder, just as the two were dressed, who had called upon us one night not long ago.

What's that? It was Link's question. It followed a scream from the clubhouse. Good night, Link, I exclaimed. The whole band has attacked the clubhouse. Come on, let's see what we can do. We fairly flew down the gangplank, forgetting the flatboat and the horse and rider that had gone overboard. We forgot everything but the scream that had come from the clubhouse, where our boys had gathered. As we ran up the river path, I saw the shapes, shapes of many small horses, ponies, with riders that wore the long cape and square cap of the Knights of the Square Table. Link, who was always swifter afoot, outdistanced me, and I found myself... Facing two pony riders in queer costume as they crashed throughout bushes that lined the river path ahead of me.

I turned, quick as a flash, and darted into the bushes. I heard one of the pony riders cry, get him Watts, but I was too quick for them, and the friendly darkness in the bushes hid me safely. I heard them threshing through the bushes all about. But I crawled along on hands and knees, and though the thorns tore my hands and face pretty badly, I kept on without a thought of anything, except that I must get to the clubhouse and... Somebody had bumped into me in the dark, and I didn't know whether to speak or turn. That you, Hawkins? It was Dick Ferris's voice. I felt happy. What's up, Dick? I asked in a whisper. Tell me quickly. They grabbed Herb a comb. Came right in the middle of our meeting and lifted him out like a sack of potatoes.

You heard him yell? I heard the scream, I said, but I didn't recognize the voice. What must we do? Let's shove on to the clubhouse and see if we can help. You can't do anything up there, said Dick, despondently. They're too many for us, Hawkins, and nine out of ten are riding ponies. They're surrounding the clubhouse, and... Wait, I said. I think I can do something that will help. Will you come with me? Dick followed me as I turned and crawled toward the river, and once we were clear of the bushes, I leapt to my feet and ran, with Dick behind me, ran to the fancy motorboat of the skinny guys and over the gangplank. A half dozen shapes were struggling on the bank, and I knew it was that bunch that had come in the flatboat and were trying to get the pony out of the river.

I paid no attention to anything, but ran to the steps and up the forward deck. Give me a match, I said to Dick. He pulled out two, and I took one and struck it. Ah, I stooped and touched it to the powder hole of the little brass cannon. Bloom, boom, boom. The mighty sound that came from the mouth of that little brass cannon as it belched forth its red flame echoed back and forth across the river. There came a terrified cry, and then the mingling of many voices, shouting names to one another, and the next instant down the river path came the sound of many hoofbeats galloping. And now Dick tugged at my sleeve and pointed to the Pelham side of the river, where I saw a number of dark, flat shapes leaving the bank and coming across.

They were flatboats. Golly, Moses, I hollered to Dick. How many of those fellows are there in the bunch? Look at the boats. They're coming to ferry them across. Hurry, help me load this cannon again, Dick. There's the powder in the chest behind you. Hurry up, quick. Once more we set off the charge. By now the flatboats had come across, and the pony riders were boarding them. Once more I touched match to Powder Hole, and once more the little brass cannon set forth its belching flame and smoke to the tune of a mighty roar. Then panic took hold of those knights of the square table. They didn't seem to know what was coming off. The ponies got mad. They plunged and leaped, half of them into the river, the other half back up the river path.

The boys who had manned the boats left them. I saw three or four drift past the motorboat, only the current guiding them. Shouts from across the river and from behind us as up came Shadow Loomis and Herb Acombe. Behind them were Jerry Moore, Roy Dobell, Robbie Hood, and Johnny McLaren. "'I thought they got you, Herb,' I said with a smile, as Shadow turned his flashlight on us where we stood. "'They got me,' broke in Jerry Moore in a savage tone. And darn if they didn't let me go again when they saw I wasn't Erb. They made a mistake, those three fellows who grabbed me. But listen to me. When I get my hands on any one of those guys, look at my eye. Jerry had another black eye. It looked natural.

Never mind, Jerry spoke of Erb with a smile. I'll help you pay him back someday. We all will, said Shadow Loomis. Darn if I ever don't think they are the worst lot we ever run into, Hawkins. We left the skinny guy and the twins and Perry Stokes up in the clubhouse to look after Lou Hunter. He fainted. Nobody knows where Bill Darby is. It sure was some excitement. Shadow grinned at me. He was thinking of the time he told me I liked it, but darn if I like it too strong. Come on, I said. Most likely, Bill Darby will come back safe. He's found a good hiding place till it's all over, but we better go up and see that Lou Hunter is safe, which we did.

7 07 - Off to Camp 15:56

Our trouble with Pooley's pals the other night didn't get out. That is, nobody heard about the excitement on the riverbank except... except Doc Waters. Yeah, somehow or other, old Doc Waters finds out everything. It's a good thing he's a friend of us boys, or we would get it hot and heavy from old Judge Granberry. And not only from the judge, but from our parents as well. The boys talked over at our next meeting the usual summer camp that we would have during vacation time, and they put it up to me to go to Doc Waters and ask him for our tent and camping things. They always give me the jobs like that. Doc Waters always takes care of our things for us, and last summer, when we broke camp on the island, he took the tent and things and said he would put them away until we needed them again.

Which is a good thing for us, because we got enough to do as it is. So I went down to the office and told Doc we wanted the camping outfit. He looked a little hard at me and said, I don't know whether it would be a good thing for you boys to have a camp this summer. Why not? I asked. Isn't it better than letting the boys run around loose? Yes, it would be, he broke in. If it were not for your habit of everlastingly getting into fights with some tough gang or other. I never saw the like, Hawkins. I always thought you boys were quiet, peace-loving youngsters. I never thought you'd stoop to fight such gangs as the Red Runners. And now, with this gang of knights, as they call themselves, it seems as if you are going from bad to worse.

He shook his head as he turned to his desk and lit his long white pipe. We didn't go after him. I said, and we never hunt up trouble, Doc. You know how they come to be after us. We took in a new fella in our club. They come after him, we ain't gonna let him get him. That's all there is to it. And I don't care how many fellas Pooley's got in his gang, we won't take anything from him. We won't go looking for him, and when they come, they'll get what they're looking for. Trouble or no trouble. Doc turned around with a low laugh. Oh, Hawkins, he said. You like to spout sometimes. Of course you will stick up for your rights. I want you to do that by all means. But for the love of heaven, isn't there a way to do it without scrapping all the time?

Now take that affair the other night. Why those pony riders could have injured some of you boys. And what if old Judge had heard about it? Or supposing your paw had got wise to it, Secretary? Wouldn't he have given you a fine licking, though? But of course he didn't hear of it, and he won't. I only happened to be around and heard the noise. Nobody but me, and I won't say a word, Hawkins, because I think I can trust you to do the right thing always. I thought a heap of good, old Doc Waters. Thanks, I said. I always knew you were a prince, Doc, but we must have that tent. You just gotta give it to us, that's all. The boys sent me up here to talk to you about it, and I won't go back and tell them that you said no.

It ain't like me, Doc, and they know it. If I can't get the camping outfit, I'd quit the secretary business and go down to Aunt Jules in the country for the summer. Not me, going back empty handed. Doc sat a long while and smoked his pipe in silence. He put his feet up on the desk and blew smoke rings up to the ceiling. Finally, he turned to me again. Hawkins, he said, come to think of it, it might be the worst thing in the world for you fellas to do. I don't want to make you think I'm changed as far as you boys go. You know I'd stick to you through thick and thin. But I seem to think these Pooley boys are the most dangerous enemies that you boys have ever had. They all seem much older than you, and they are reckless boys.

Not brought up just as they should have been, perhaps, and coming out of that big town at the head of the river. No one knows who they are or what they might do. Don't you think you'd better pass up the camp idea this summer and stick close to home? I shook my head. No, just the opposite, Doc. You listen to me for a little, and then if you think I'm crazy, why you tell me so? Now here. We've got Pooley's Knights of the Square Table down on us. They've been around here a number of times now. They know our clubhouse and where they can find us. As long as we stay here in the clubhouse, we're gonna be easy pickings for them. I say let's move out for the summer, get some nice quiet camping place, and leave the old clubhouse empty for a couple months.

They can come around all they want to then. They won't find us there. And maybe, by the time we come back after vacation, they will not be bothering us anymore. Sounds good, said Doc with a grin. But where would you go so that the knights would not find your tent? We can figure that out, all right, I answered. The first thing to do is to make up your mind to do a thing. Then you can figure out how you are going to do it. Doc pulled his feet from the desk and slapped his knee. All right, he rapped out. You go down and tell your captain and the boys what you told me, and then tell them the tent will be ready in two days, and have all your boats put in order, and... We got Skinny Guy's big launch, I told him.

So much the better, said Doc. I saw Link. He came up early the morning after the fight, and from his looks, I think he has turned out to be a very valuable companion to you, Hawkins. You and the Skinny Guy should stick close together throughout the summer. Let Link figure out some things with you. That's good business, and there ought to be some others. There's Dick Ferris, I broke in. I can depend upon him, Doc, and Oliver Court. You remember the twin. Yes, I've talked with him too. Nice boy. Then I have Shadow Loomis. Fine, can't beat him. And Robbie Hood and Johnny McLaren. True to the colors, both of them. And Herb Akum. Doc turned to look at me as I mentioned the last name. If it had not been for him, he began, but I cut him short.

I know what you're gonna say, I said. If it had not been for Herb, we wouldn't have had Pooley's nights down on us. Well, Doc, you can tell anybody for me that if fighting Pooley and his knights would give me a friend like Herb Akum, I'd fight him till I dropped in my tracks. Goodbye. And with that then, I walked out of his office.

Bill Darby and Jerry Moore wanted to pitch our tent on the same place we had it last summer, on Seven Willows Island. Shadow Loomis and Johnny McLaren, as well as myself, wanted it to be a new place. Seven Willows Island is known to everybody. And our camp was always in sight of every boat that passed up or down the river. What I wanted now was a place almost completely hidden in the woods, yet not far away from the water. Well," said Nick Ferris, how about up the river someplace? I shook my head. No. There's the creek," said Roy Doble. The old mill is on the creek," said Shadow Loomis. We have found that the Knights of the Square Table hang around the old mill sometimes. It wouldn't be safe.

What do you say, Hawkins? asked Dick Ferris. The creek suits me, I said. Even if Pooley's gang hangs out there, they don't go farther than that old mill, I'll bet you that, and I know some pretty places in the crook of the bend that the old creek makes. Supposing we do camp on the creek in a spot that the knights could never find, I know a dozen places. The old creek winds around like a snake, and in the horseshoe bends there are more wild places than you could dream of. Hidden in one of these spots, the Knights would never find us. And further than that, they would never suspect that we would camp around the creek, knowing they were somewhere around. Our captain didn't seem to think my idea was a wise one.

He didn't reply to it, but sat with his chin in his hands, looking at the other boys. Hawkins is right, spoke up Herbacomb. I know Pooley. He wouldn't suspect, but he thinks everybody's afraid of his gang. He thinks we would never dare to come close to him. Let's make it a vote, said Bill Darby. What for? asked Shadow Loomis. Chances are the vote will pick out a place that isn't as good. I'm for sticking to Hawkins. Let him take care of it. He will take care of it. If you fellas pick a place that doesn't suit Hawkins, he'll go along, of course, but he won't have as much interest. You're wrong, Shadow. I broke in. You know me better than that. I'll do my share and see to it that things are run just as well as they are in this clubhouse, no matter where you fellas decide to go.

Come on, Dick. Let's have a vote. We voted. Perry Stokes gathered up the votes. Dick and Robbie Hood counted. Well, said Dick, there are five votes for the island, nine for the creek. So it would be the creek where we have our camp. All right, Hawkins, get things ready. Oliver, you go along and see to that tent. It's a big package. Let me go too, sir, spoke up Perry Stokes. I'd like to help Hawkins. All right, the three of you ought to be able to handle it. Now then, Bill Darby, we're ready for baseball practice. Hawkins whistle for us when you are ready. We'll come in a hurry.

When Oliver and Perry and I struck out up the river path, we heard footsteps behind us, and turning, saw the skinny guy and Harold running towards us. Thought you could get away without me, eh? Called out Harold laughingly. Just because our captain picks out my brother Oliver to help you sec, there's no reason why I should stay out of it. I laughed. Glad to have you, sure, I said. And you too, Link. I didn't want to say anything when our captain picked out the fellas, but I thought we ought to have our old skinny guy along, as we were going to use your big white launch link. You'd hurt my feelings if you didn't, said Link, grinning, and I couldn't help but think of the old days, when I saw him standing there, in his old clothes that he wore years ago, with ragged pants and broken suspender, his hair beginning to curl again at the ends, his long teapot nose, and his long legs and arms.

I couldn't help but think of the old days when he used to run around here with no mammy, and worse than no daddy. How times change. We walked up the river path together, and I was happy. Oh boy. The old skinny guy back with me again, and the twins, and good old reliable Perry Stokes. What more could a boy want? I just felt as though this was going to be the best vacation I ever had. But then, I happened to think of Pooley and his Knights of the Square Table. It would be if they didn't get too bothersome. Last year, it was Harkinson and his Red Runners. I had thought them the worst I ever met. But from all that we could learn of the Knights, we were to meet even worse before we finished. Oh, well, I guess it's all in a lifetime.

A boy just can't go through life easy sailing. He has to meet some fellows who won't be friends, and he has to have fights. And I felt certain that now, with 14 members in our crowd, most of them good fighters and clever boxers, We would get through with little damage. Doc Waters had all the camping outfit on his sidewalk, and he was waiting with his automobile for us. It took two loads, however, to get the stuff down to the boats. After we had it packed, I whistled for the boys, and they came up from the ball lot. You fellas gotta get your own canoes and skiffs, I said. We got everything else packed. So they each went and got a boat and tied them in a long string behind the pretty white launch, and then we were ready.

Wait a minute, yelled Jerry Moore. I forgot my fishing tackle. Never mind, Jerry, I said. You can use some of mine. Don't delay the start now. But Jerry wouldn't listen to me. He ran up to the clubhouse and brought his tin black box with his fishing outfit. We were ready to go. Link ran up into the little pilot house, and Shadow went with him. Harold and Dick stayed in the cabin with the other boys, while I stood out on the bank for a last word with Doc Waters. I'll be up a little while this afternoon, Hawkins, he said. You'll never find us, I told him and smiled. You're not going to take a chance, he said with a worried look. No, but we are going to find a new spot on the creek bank. Tell you what, Doc, I'll come back for you this afternoon and show you the way.

How's that? All right, Hawkins, but remember, I'm dependent upon you. You've got to take care of them and see that there's no trouble. Be careful of the water. There's not much danger in creek water, Doc. It ain't deep, and we got plenty good swimmers. Lifesavers they are. I'll watch out for everything. So that was settled, and Doc went on to his automobile. I called Perry Stokes. Perry, I said. Somebody's got to stay at the clubhouse today. We will all be back tonight after we've got the camp fixed up. We've got to let the parents know, you understand? And Doc Waters will fix that, all right. So that we can get away tomorrow and stay in camp. You want me to stay, sir? Nobody else would do, Perry.

You're the most watchful fella in the gang. All I want you to do is stick around the clubhouse and see that no Knights of the Square table get in and must things up. You've got the rifle? Always keep it handy, sir. It's never loaded. Don't load it, Perry, but keep it in your arms and stay close to the clubhouse. I'll sit on the porch, sir, right on the front steps. That will do. Nobody will come close if they see you there with the rifle parry. Remember, I trust you. Never forget that, Hawkins," he said with a smile. And then I waved to him and ran down the bank. The engine was running and Link was waiting for the word. Let her go, yelled Harold as I leaped aboard. And so we started on our camping trip.

What it was to hold in store for us, the good Lord only knew. I was trying to make the summer a happy one for the boys. And doing the best thing I knew. But even the best plans go wrong sometimes, and so I considered that perhaps, before many days had passed, we would not be so carefree as we were this happy day.

We had to go slow up the creek. At this time of the year, it isn't very deep water, and the way Link steered that white launch surprised everybody. But, of course, we had not taken into consideration the fact that he had been practically living on this launch for a year. And had learned some tricks. We passed slowly up the narrow stream. It does look extra narrow when you come out of the river into the creek. And passed the old mill, lying among its tangle of wild growth like a ghost of the past.

Every eye was turned on the old ramshackle mill as we passed. But there wasn't a soul in sight, nor did we hear a sound from it. I think we're safe, said a voice at my elbow, and turning I saw Herb Akum, standing beside me, his hands upon his hips, and a smile on his freckled face. They've given up the old mill, Hawkins. I hope so, I said, but we will go a bit further up before we pitch our tent. Not that I think you're wrong about it, Herb, but I ain't got any particular liking for that haunted-looking mill. It's a beautiful sight, isn't it, but who knows what kind of a secret it might hold. Herb shook his head. Never can tell, he said, and then he walked away and joined the other boys. Shadow Loomis came up to me.

Look at that beautiful spot, Hawkins. Right in the crook of the bend. He pointed to the wildwood that grew within the horseshoe formed by the next bend above us. That's where we camp, I said as soon as I saw it. Boys, we can't find a more beautiful spot than this. We'll have a regular paradise here. And look at the deep water. Say, Link, can you steer close to the shore here? I yelled up to the pilot house. Link showed me by a nod of his head that he understood, and turned the boat's nose shoreward. The engine stopped its mumbling. The boys all shifted forward. Harold sprang out with the rope to tie her up. I turned to the boys. "'Here we are,' I said. "'This is going to be the camping place.

Everybody will have to get out and help. Work as hard as you can, because we've got to finish before sundown. We will all have to work like the Dickens.' Which we did."

8 08 - The Lonely House 17:09

The Knights of the Square Table by Secretary Hawkins The Lonely House Somehow or other, we always pick a beautiful spot in the woods for our camping place. I remember that last year we had a wonderfully beautiful sight on Seven Willows Island, with a swimming hole that couldn't be beat anywhere in the United States. Kentucky's rivers are proud streams, and they have a right to be on account of the beauty of their banks. God certainly has spread his sunshine around old Kentucky. And the green things grow in such profusion that it makes a fellow think of that first wonderful garden that was ever written about, that had a big apple tree in the center of it. If it only hadn't had that apple tree!

The boys were certainly glad to be out camping. We had gone back home in Skinny Link's White launch as soon as he had got the tent up, and fixed things safe for the night. The following day was to begin our camp life in earnest. But it was some time before Doc Waters had made the rounds of homes from which our boys came and secured the consent of the parents of each one. Doc promised our mothers and fathers that he would keep his eagle eye on us and see to it that we did not come to harm. I wonder what Doc thought as he talked to our parents about it. He got their consent, yes, but I know he was thinking as well of the danger of our clashes with the Knights of the Square Table. But I know this, too.

That Doc depended a great deal upon me, and he could not be with us every minute of the day. And there would be some nights when he would be called away on a sick call or something. But Doc depended on me. He always did. He knew that I would keep my eyes open and figure out anything that might come up. And I began to see now, too, that my job was growing bigger every day. For our boys were not the little kids that they used to be. And when they get up a little in age, they begin to think they're somebody. And each one believes he is able to take care of himself when, if he would think a little for himself, he would realize very quickly that he is not.

But on the following morning, we all met at the houseboat for one last meeting before we began our camping. And at that meeting, every one of the 14 boys was present, eager to get away. So we kept the meeting short and marched down the river path to the White Launch and piled in. The clubhouse looked lonely as I took one last look at it from the stern of the boat as we turned to the bend of the river. Locked up for the summer, she seemed to look as though she were sorry that we boys would not meet again upon her old floor for some weeks. I remember now that my last thought as the clubhouse passed out of sight was, I wonder if she will look the same when we come back. Because I had a sneaking idea that maybe the gang of Pulley's knights would take their spite out upon the old clubhouse once they found us gone.

The first thing the boys did after we reached the camp was to fix up a place for me to write. So you see, it wasn't going to be a real vacation for me after all. No matter what the boys do, they always fix up a place for me to work. And no matter how I try, I cannot get any of them to take the job for a while. They figure as how I had it ever since the club started, and how I'd better keep on doing it. Not that I care so much. I like to do things for the other boys, but honest to goodness, it makes a fellow feel after a while like everybody else is having a complete vacation, but I've got to put so much of my day aside for writing. Well, they had a little table with ink and pen and my writing book upon it, and as soon as I came, I began to write.

We had one long hike in the afternoon. The boys had taken a dip in the swimming pool and were ready for a go. So Doc Waters suggested a hike, and they all jumped at it. We wrapped up some lunch and started off, leaving Perry Stokes and Oliver Court at the tent to keep watch. It doesn't make so much difference which way you go as how far you go. And believe me, if you follow the Winding Creek, you'll walk a plenty without getting very far north. Once Roy Doble spied a kingfisher sitting on a log over the water, and he wanted to shoot it. But I told him I would knock him silly if he did. I don't believe in killing birds that won't do you any good. If it had been a wild duck, why yes, we could have cooked it, but I can't see any sense killing kingfishers.

So he went on, although Roy grumbled a little. Doc said I should have let Roy take a shot at it, because old Judge Granberry likes to stuff birds. And he might have been glad to get a kingfisher. But I said Judge Granberry had enough old things in his library now. What with alligators and birds and foxes and such, and he didn't need that kingfisher. So you see how I have to argue with all of them at times? Finally, we came to a place that was once a beautiful country home. The old house stood upon a low hill, and there was a stone wall on the road. From the stone wall up to the house, the grass and weeds grew waist high. There were lots of trees around the place, and I could see that once upon a time, long ago, this had been a fine homestead.

We finally managed to discover between the stones an opening, which admitted a drive at one time, but it was almost hidden now behind the wild growth that had been allowed to creep over it. We walked up the drive and came at last to the house. It was a large house of stone with a tower at one end. A round tower with an iron balcony running around the second story of it. The windows were mostly out or broken. The roof was in need of repairs, and part of the chimney had toppled over during some storm, I suppose, and fallen upon the shingles, where it lay in pieces. We beat down the high grass and weeds with our sticks and we walked around it and up to the large yard in the rear. A small bungalow, probably a servant house, stood at the extreme rear.

And beside it the old-fashioned stables that were common before the automobile came to displace the horse.

And beside the stable, half hidden in the tall grass, stood the old family carriage, a relic of a bygone age. How long it had stood there no one could say, but it must have been years and years, for the sun and rain and the snow and ice of years had stripped it of all its beauty. And now it stood there a naked wooden hack, With only a small part of its leather covering hanging in strips and shreds. Well, well, said Doc Waters, half to himself. He gazed sadly at the old relic. What about it, Doc? I asked. He shook his head. Whoever lived here, he said, must have taken an awful dislike to this place. I'll bet you this old house has not been lived in for twenty years. I can tell something by that carriage.

It's the kind that was popular about that time, but Lord, how this place has gone to ruin. We talked about it for fifteen minutes, I guess, wondering why it had not been sold when it had been vacated. Nobody would buy the place, most likely. It's so lonesome around here. Of all the houses I ever saw, this was the loneliest. Lonely house, I said. That's what we will call this spot, boys. Someday we will come up and spend the whole day here looking it over. Wonder if we could get a peep inside, Doc? I'd like to see the rooms of that lonely house. No, said Doc. You don't know who might have a claim on it. And it isn't right to go poking your nose into other people's houses, even if they are as broken down and deserted as this.

Come, on with you. So we went on. We struck out again across the road and thence to the creek, and started to follow its winding way to the camp. It was a long walk, and all the boys were tired out when we finally reached our tent. Perry Stokes came running up to me. "'We've had a visitor while you were gone, sir,' he said. At the word visitor I raised my eyes.

Had one of Pulley's pals actually discovered already our secret camping place? I was a little afraid." "'Who?' I demanded. "'Wouldn't give his name, sir,' said Perry. "'He was a stranger,' broke in Oliver Court. "'He looked like a country boy, though, Hawkins. "'None of the knights ever looked like he looks. "'Said he would be back again.' "'Dock Waters, too, listened with a worried look. "'I'll have to go back to town for a while,' he said to me. "'But I do hope you will take care that nothing happens, Hawkins. "'Perhaps. It is only one of the farmer's boys who live near this creek. "'I'll be back before dark.' I'll depend upon you. Sure, I said. Leave things to me, Doc, and go ahead. Link will take you up in his launch.

I can row, said Doc. I'll use Johnny's skiff. No, you won't, spoke up the skinny guy with a grin. Not while I'm around. I'll take you up and wait for you, and bring you back. And I'll go with you, said Shadow Loomis. All right, said Doc with a laugh. No getting away from you kids. As they started off, Lou Hunter ran up to them. Wait, he called. Will you go to the preacher's house and do me a favor, Doc? he asked. What is it? Tell him to give you my guitar, said Lou with a smile. Since when have you learned to play the guitar? asked Doc, surprised. Oh, I broke in. Lou can play any old thing, Doc. Sure, get the guitar so we can have some singing practice around this old camp. It'll be lonesome at nights without it.

Doc didn't seem to be so well pleased. Would that be a fine way to keep your camp a secret? He asked slowly. No more was said as they went down to the boat, but I felt sure that we would have the guitar when Doc came back. Now then, Perry, I said, tell me more about this visitor you had. What was he like?

Perry was about to answer me when I saw him suddenly turn his eyes. Toward the moving bushes to the left, and I followed his gaze. Standing in the parted bushes was a lad of about our own age, in overalls, with a big straw caddy on his topknot. I stood for a second, gazing at him. Then I had to laugh. He seemed to like that laugh, for he grinned and came forward. As he did so, the other boys who had been engaged in various pastimes around the tent came forward. And two of them, Jerry Moore and Roy Doble, sprang forward to greet the newcomer with a cry of recognition. Rube! cried Roy Doble. It's Rube Muller, Hawkins. Look at him. Yeah, it's me, said the boy in overalls. I didn't know if you fellows wanted company or not, but I didn't know if you wanted me to come and pay you a visit, too.

I didn't know. He's all right, Hawkins, said Jerry Moore. Rube's daddy owns a farm right across the creek. See? You can see his house from here if you look close through the bushes. Rube's told me lots about the old creek here, and about the old mill, too. He was the first one who told me the old mill was haunted. Ah, I said, this is going to be interesting to me. Come here, Rube, and sit down and talk to us. No, thank you, said Rube. "'I just as leaf stand up and talk. I always talk better standing up,' my daddy says, long as I can keep my feet still." I had noticed that all the while he talked, Rube kept moving his feet, first putting one on top of the other, then scratching his shin with the toe of his boot, then reaching down with his hand and scratching the calf of his leg, all the time chewing on a piece of sassafras root that he held between his teeth.

I felt like laughing out loud at him, but I didn't. I just smiled friendly-like and said, How'd you like to take supper with us, Rube? No, thank you. I get plenty supper over at the kitchen, he said, nodding his head in the direction of his home. I get plenty of everything but company. I don't get to see no boys nor nothing. Never get nobody to play with. Only them tough fellers who come and bust up things. They punched my eye once. It was black as dirt for a week. My daddy says it's how he'd lamb them good if he'd ever get them. Too bad, I said. Yeah, it sure was, agreed Rube. So soon as I know you'd always camping out, I come to see if I could play with you sometimes, maybe. I shoot marbles, pretty slick, and I been practicing with the baseball.

Joel Crouch says, Who's Joel, I asked? He's Pop's farmhand. He says I'll get so good I'll be a bush leaguer someday. Only trouble is I don't have nobody to play with, except Joel. And when those tough fellers come... Who are the tough fellers, Rube, I asked. He raised his eyes, as though he was surprised at my ignorance. Why don't you all know, he asked. It's them knights with the funny suits. They come to find out what haunted the old mill, old Stinson's mill. But they ain't never found out. They never will find out. Nobody will ever find out. So you know the knights of the square table, eh, Rube? I only wish I didn't, he said. They ain't no good, they ain't. Oh! His eyes lighted on the bundle of baseball bats that Bill Darby had brought.

Say, I bet I can hit a ball every time you toss it. Try me, once. I nodded toward Bill Darby. That's the boy you want to talk to, I said. He's the baseball captain. Bill, maybe Rube can help your team out. You bet, said Bill. I'll be glad to try you out, Rube. You got a good name for a baseball player. But we gotta eat supper first, boy. I'm starved. Hurry up, Roy Doble, and fix us some grub. Roy went off to fix up his stove, and Perry followed to unpack some of the provisions we had brought. Oliver Court felt inclined to assist in the cooking, and so the three of them were then and there appointed the kitchen force of the camp. Now, I said to Rube as we settled down before the tent, tell me about the knights.

Do you know Pooley? I don't know any of their names, Hawkins, he said. All I know is what I seen, and I seen enough to make me skeeter them fellers. We kind of expect them to give us a call, I said. Rube, I'm glad to know you're not in with them. They are, as you said, tough fellas. And I'll tell you this, Rube, as long as you're against them, we will be glad to see you around this camp. Only one thing. Remember, please, that we must not let them know where our camp is. If you ever come over here in the daytime, please watch all around to see that none of them are following you. Oh, you won't have to be afeard of that, said Rube. They don't do nothing in daytime, Hawkins. It's not when you gotta be a theater that bunch.

I didn't like that so well. I always knew that, spoke a burb Acom. It just proves what I've told you, Hawkins. You can't trust them. They'll come when you ain't looking for them. Not if I know it, I said. I'm going to be looking for them all the time and hoping that I'm always going to be disappointed. And then came the call from the mess tent that Supper was waiting. It doesn't take long to make supper in camp. Put the coffee on, cut up a loaf of bread, open a few cans, and there you have it. And oh boy, how hungry you get after a day in the open, hiking and running, swimming and all the rest of it. I sometimes wish I'd never grow up, but just stay a plain, everyday boy with nothing to do but live in the woods and...

But I was worried all through the meal. Rube had gone back to his daddy's farm across the creek. But his message was still sounding in my ears. It's not when you gotta be afeard of that bunch. And it brought back to my mind the nights that we feared the coming of the Red Runners. Nights when we lay on our cots waiting for sleep, but keeping awake until late in the night listening for the sound of Harkinson's old brass horn. Was it all to be lived over again in our snug little camp on the banks of the creek? Who could tell? I was glad to see old Doc Waters and Link and Shadow come back as we were finishing our meal. They sat down and ate, too, and I told Doc what Rube had said about Pulley's nights.

Doc smiled all during my telling of it, and at the end he tried to make it seem as nothing, but nevertheless I knew that we would have a hot time before long. Which we did.

9 09 - The Tall Boy 16:35

The Tall Boy. You know how it is when a fellow passes a few days quietly at a camp. and nights. During which, no sound breaks his peaceful slumber. He begins to think that nothing is going to happen, and that it's going to be easy sailing forever, world without end. Well, that's the way I began to feel after a few days at our little camping-place. And I thought that Pulley and his Knights of the Square Table would never find out where we were. The boys were all happy as larks. They fished half the day, were in the swimming hole twice a day, and roamed the woods as much as they pleased. Never did any of us see a sign of Pooley or his gang. Lou Hunter would take his guitar every night after supper, and the boys would sit around him and listen to him play and sing.

And Lou could sing. Oh, boy, never yet have I heard a voice like Lou's. Perry Stokes came as near matching it as anyone, and Dick Ferris could warble a pretty high note, but neither could sing like Lou. But not all our boys like to sing. That is, some have other pastimes they'd rather do than sing, and I guess we can't blame them much for that because most boys do like to play around when they get the chance. It's only times when they can't be out playing that they'd rather sing. However, Lou Hunter had formed a quartet. Dick Ferris, who sang tenor, and Johnny McLaren, who sang alto, were with Lou almost all day long practicing. And Jerry Moore, Who sang bass was just a little bit harder to handle.

But after supper time, he stayed pretty close to camp, and then it was that the quartet got busy, and to the tune of that old guitar, and led by Lou's beautiful soprano voice, they would make the woods ring with their harmony, and when the chorus would be reached, every one of us boys would join in. Some of the boys said that it sounded so much better when everybody joined in the chorus. I didn't say anything. But I thought to myself that I'd rather just hear those four boys sing by themselves. Now, it was on the fifth night, when after supper we gathered outside the tent, and Lou's quartet began their nightly concert. We sat in a circle, and Shadow Loomis sat on one side of me, and Harold Court on the other.

We listened to the songs for a long time, between songs we would talk about old times in the clubhouse, happy in knowing that we would be back there again when the leaves began to turn. Doc Waters would sit in the shadows, listening, as he smoked his long white pipe. We had kept him busy running up to see us every night and chasing back to take care of his patients during the day. But Doc liked to do it, so everything was all right. Lou and his quartet had sung all the old songs we loved so well, those that we sang on many a cold and frosty night in the clubhouse, and then they sang a new one on us that we had not heard before, although it, too, was as old as the hills. They had been practicing quietly for several days, and this was the first time they sang it.

It was about a black sheep. When the robin returns to his nest, after straying away from the rest. That's how it starts out, but I just can't remember how it goes, because... You see, it was one that the boys had never sung in the clubhouse. Lou likes songs like that, songs that make you think, and before you know it, if you listen close, you'll find there's a pulling at your heart, and your eyes are misty, and you reach up with your sleeve and brush a tear away. Now, as soon as they began to sing that song, I saw Shadow Loomis glance up sharply and watch the singers, and I could not help but think of his older brother, the Rolling Stone, as we called him. John Loomis. He was a rover, if there ever was one.

Once he had come back, and we had kept him with us for about a year. But then he had ducked out and was gone, roving again. I knew what Shadow was thinking as he listened to that song. Of the boy who decided, from his father and mother to Rome. Through his travels he may be misguided, but when finally the black sheep comes home, everything that he did is forgotten. As we welcome him back to the fold, once again he will sit by the table. As he did in the days of old. And we weep tears of joy as we whisper, my boy, when the black sheep returns to the fold.

Once more, the quartet swung into the chorus, and some of our boys tried to join in, humming the part when they could not remember the words. Shadow rose silently to his feet and slipped into the shadows of the trees beside the tent. I watched him go. Then I got up, too, and joined him on the path that led down to the creek. "'You needn't come, Hawkins,' he said in a quiet voice as he turned and saw me. "'I just want to be alone for a little while. That's all.' I took hold of his arm. "'I know, Shad,' I said to him. "'I know. By golly, boy, I bet you I felt the same way when I heard him sing that—' Reminded me of John. The Rolling Stone, Broken Shadow. You might as well call him what he is. We haven't heard a word from him since he left.

He oughtn't have done it, Hawkins. Pop's done with him for good. He ain't got a home, if he only knew it. I nodded my head. Yes, I said. You can't blame your daddy for feeling that way, Shadow. But a fellow like me, I can't feel hard to John. It ain't his fault. He can't help it. He's got the roaming fever in his bones, and it's bound to come out.

Ever since he was a little kid, said Shadow, he'd run away from home. When he was three years old, he was gone for two days, and Mother says she found him down at Hobbs Ferry, where some kind people had taken care of him till he was called for. That proves it, I said. He's a roamer, Shadow. But I'm through with him, said Shadow in a savage tone. He spoiled my life. I never know when he might turn up looking like a tramp and shame me. He's not much account. Don't talk about him like that, I said. No matter what he is, you can't forget that he's your brother. No brother of mine, said Shadow with a shake of his head. I'm cutting loose from him for good. I'll tell you what, Hawkins, if I ever meet him again, I'll pass him up like a bad coin.

I won't ever recognize him. And if he stops me... I'll tell him that I don't know him, and that I don't even remember seeing him in my whole life. I sighed and turned away. As I did so, there came to our ears the snapping of a twig in the dark beyond the trees. Both Shadow and I were on the alert at once. Of course, we both had one and the same thought, that one of Pulley's pals had at last found his way to our camp. We waited in suspense there for fully five minutes, expecting to see or hear something more, but all was silent. There had been a lull in the music over at the tent, and now again it started up. The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home. It was usually the last song before turning in, and I was about to tell Shadow to come on and go to bed, when, taking advantage of the sound of the singing, The fellow who had made the twig snap in the dark left his cover and rose out of the bushes.

He was a tall boy. His shadow lay black against the rippling surface of the creek, for a moment only. Then he had leaped over the low bushes that stood in his path and disappeared in the gloom toward the creek. "'Who is that?' whispered Shadow to me. I did not answer him, but I thought to myself that I knew. The night of the visit of the pony riders I had seen such a form silhouetted against the sky, just such a tall figure, who moved as this figure had moved, and who leaped from his horse with much the same movement as this figure leaped over the bushes. I can remember even now the voice of his companion calling, "'Get him, Watts!' Yes, I knew it was Watts, and whoever this Watts was, he was a tall boy and a fellow to be afraid of."

Come on, Shad, I said, and I led the way back to the tent. The boys were all making ready for sleep, and we followed suit. Now followed the day of my first meeting with the Knight of the Square Table. Strange that it should be me instead of any of the others. But I had finished my writing, and it was so hot in the tent that I decided nothing would do for me now but to get away from everybody on the place. You know how it is when your nerves get all worked up, and you just don't feel like seeing any of the boys. You want to get as far away from them as you possibly can. And that's what I did. I left the tent while all the other boys were splashing around in the swimming hole, and I made a beeline for the next point, that is, the northern bend, where the creek winds itself back again into another horseshoe curve.

Here I sat down on a flat rock that lay among a bunch of ferns. I wondered at the whiteness in the glossy surface of that rock. It was about four feet long. But it had an irregular shape that reminded me of the map of Africa in my geography. I sat down upon it, but immediately I thought of Africa, and I got on my knees and began to trace upon it the Nile. The Nile and the Zambezi rivers, Zanzibar, Kimberley, and the other well-known places that I remembered on my map of Africa. The ferns that line the borders of the rock seemed to me as the tropical woods of Africa itself. It's funny. How a boy's mind turns into thoughts such as these. I picked one fern and stuck it in the ground where I thought Cape Down should be.

If I should travel northeast from the Cape of Good Hope, thought I to myself, I should reach a certain country where there would be Zulu people, and then, if I took a northern course and had enough gunpowder left, I should be able to reach the Matabale country. Suddenly, as I knelt, there came the sound of laughter. It was a real Boyish laugh, and I heard its echo come back from the horseshoe bend above me. I turned, sitting upon my heels, and looked toward the bend. There, midway between the bushes and the willows, stood a figure. What a figure it was! It was a boy, to be sure, but such a boy! Never have I seen such a tall youngster. He seemed to be a man who hadn't had enough time to grow in, but who still held the grin of a boy on his face.

"'Harkens!' he yelled. "'That's me!' I yelled back to him. "'What do you want?' In a moment came back to me my responsibility. I had to keep the camping place a secret. I dared not move until this stranger had gone. It was up to me to keep him here, talking, until he went away of his own accord, and until he was well out of sight and free from any chance of following me. I would have to sit by this old flat rock that looked like the map of Africa." "'Come on down,' I cried to him. He strode down. He looked like one of those tall mountaineer boys that I had seen once in the Cumberlands. "'You didn't think I'd know you, did you?' he asked with a grin. "'Who are you?' I demanded. "'I ain't in the habit of talking to fellas I don't know.' His grin faded at once from his face.

A scowl showed upon his forehead. "'You're high-toned,' he said. "'Dern if I can see what you got to be high-toned about when you talk to me, Secretary Hawkins.' I got upon my feet and made him a low bow. Excuse me, I said. You know me, but I've never had the pleasure of hearing your name, fella. Who might you be? Who might I be? He laughed aloud. Who mightn't I be, Secretary Hawkins? I might be the devil for all you care. My name's Grimm. I hope you'll remember it. Curly Grimm, they calls me. See it? He snatched off his cap as he spoke and showed me his curly head. His hair ran in ringlets about his scalp. "'Glad to know you,' I said, stepping forward and offering my hand. He stood stock still, staring, and just then as he stood there, there came back to my mind the picture of that dark figure that had leaped over the bushes during the night previous.

I could have sworn it was the same.' He shook his head. "'You don't want to shake hands with me, fella,' he said. I'm your enemy. I got orders to take you on sight and drag you back to... To where? I asked as he hesitated. But again he shook his curly head. No, he said, not me. You leave me off this once, Secretary Hawkins. I can read face as I can, and if I can read yours right, I ain't the one as will drag you back to the square table to... Go on, I said. Don't be afraid of me, Grimm. He stepped just a foot closer. He looked straight in my eyes. I thought to myself how easy it would be for him to clout me one on the head and drag me if he wanted to, but he didn't. He stepped closer, about a foot, and gazed into my eyes.

Hawkins, he said, they've got you spotted. You're standing in the way, boy. They don't care about the others. They know you're the one that will spoil their plans, and Pooley believes them. Honest. Cross my heart. Grim, I broke in. "'You seem like a decent sort of a fella. Tell me, what is the quarrel that the knights have with us? What is it that I have to do?' "'Go on,' he interrupted me. "'Don't tell me you don't know. Watts is after you tooth and nail, and Pulley has forgotten Acom.' "'But what have we done?' I asked him excitedly. "'We have no fight with the fellas in Pulley's gang. We want no trouble, Grimm, for the love of Mike.' "'Cool down, cool down,' he said with a wave of his hand.

"'For two cents, I'd take you back to him.' "'Try it,' I said hotly. For I was getting mad. Try it, friend Grimm. He tried it. He stepped back an instant. Then he stepped forward and raised a threatening fist. If I hadn't been quick enough, he would have caught me squarely under the chin and sent me flat on my back. But, thanks to Shadow Loomis and Harold Court, I had been trained a bit in the art of boxing. I caught his right and my left, and before he could bring his left up, I planted a square blow upon his jaw. It made him sag back like a helpless sack full of meal, and before he could gain his feet, I gave him my left on the side of the head. He went over like a tree that has been cut down.

As I looked at him lying there completely knocked out, I felt a strange thrill. I had beaten a boy that I had thought could put it all over me, and I was surprised and thrilled. I had beaten Grim, one of the tallest of the knights of the square table. I ran, while the running was good. I figured as how if I stayed there till he came to his senses he might follow me and find out our secret camping place. I left him there, knowing that he was not badly hurt, for I had just knocked him out, and he might be up in a minute or two. I had just cleared the point when I heard his yelling, and I knew that he was up and after me, calling for his pals as he ran. But I beat him to it. I gained the camp long before the echoes of his shouts had died out.

I told Shadow and Dick Ferris about it, and they both agreed that we had better tell the story to Doc Waters when he came in the evening. Which we did.

10 10 - A Night of Mystery 11:10

A Night of Mystery. The next night, we were all sitting around the campfire when we heard the sound of a gun go off about a half a mile down the creek. I thought it was a gun, but some of the other boys said they thought it might be an automobile. Sometimes backfire from an automobile sounds like a gunshot, but somehow or another I hadn't an idea it was nothing but a gun. After the boys all went into the tent, and Doc Waters and I were still sitting alone by the fire, I heard it again. "'What can that be, Hawkins?' asked Doc. "'He always tested me like that.' Doc always knew that I figured out things for myself, and he likes to try me. Somebody's firing a gun, I said simply. No mystery about that, Doc.

Doc laughed. You don't seem much worried about it, he said, still smiling. No, I answered, there ain't anything to be afraid of. Anybody can fire a gun. At this time of night? I looked at the watch that Doc had pulled from his pocket, and by the light of the fire I saw it was tin. Don't make any difference what time, I said, but at the same time I had begun to figure out that maybe Pooley and his gang of Knights of the Square Table were having one of their night excursions into the woods. Nobody ever knew exactly what the Knights of the Square Table had up their sleeves. They were always coming and going through the woods, silently, like messengers of bad news. They had picked me out as an enemy.

Why? I never knew. But I had been told by one of their own members that I had been spotted, and that if I ever fell into the clutches of Pooley or Watts, two of their foremost members, it would be hard with me. Ho-hum, I said at length. Time to sleep, Doc. Are you coming to bed? Not right away, he answered. You go to the cot, Hawkins. I shall sit out yet awhile. And so I went to my little cot in one of the two rows within the tents, where all the boys were already sleeping. Over each cot, we had rigged a netting because the mosquitoes were bad this year. Always near the creek, the mosquitoes are thick, and some say that it is not wise to camp out near the creek because of insects. I say that if there weren't mosquitoes to bite you once in a while, you wouldn't really think you were camping out.

It's all in the way you look at these things. And besides, the mosquito netting was good. Seldom did a long-legged insect manage to creep under, and usually, when he did, One sound slap settled his bother. I had been lying on my bunk, perhaps ten minutes, looking out through the flap at Doc, where he sat smoking by the campfire. Then I saw him rise, shake the ashes from his long stem pipe, and come to his bed. Within five minutes, he was snoring. I remember lying so long, listening to this decodent music, that I began to grow restless. I couldn't sleep. Some nights, I'm that way. You just can't get to sleep. I figure it's because I think so much, and try to figure out so much how to keep the club out of trouble.

Anyway, I tossed from one side of the cot to the other, until I finally turned my head to the foot of the cot and tried to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. But I wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. I noticed that within a few minutes more, I saw one of the boys leave his cot, hurriedly step into his knickerbockers, and draw on his boots. He slipped the jacket of his pajamas tightly into his waist and drew his belt tight. I couldn't make out who it was, because we were in the habit every night of taking the first cot we came to, and nobody has a cot to call his own. You sleep where you can. That's all. The campfire had burned low, but in the dim glow I saw the figure of this boy pass through the open tent and out to the place where, under the shelter, we had our guns stacked.

I stepped slightly out of my cot and pulled on my knickers and shoes and walked noiselessly out of the tent, where I stood, watching the boy. As I came out, I saw who it was. It was Herb Acombe. He stood by the gun rack and fingered the rifles, but, passing them, he took the shotgun, the one we took away from Roof Rogers some years ago, and lifted it out of its resting place. I saw he was about to turn and come back, so I stepped inside the tent. Just within the door and let him pass. He went quickly to the box where we kept the cartridges and took out a pack of them, thrusting them hurriedly into his pocket and came back out. He paused a moment before the embers of the dying fire. Only a moment he paused.

Then he turned and ran silently and swiftly into the woods and beyond the tent. Oh boy, he wasn't going to get away from me like that. If Herb Acombe knew anything, I was going to know it too. If Herb was expecting trouble, I was the one to stick behind him and help him if he needed help. I ran quickly to the ammunition chest and grabbed a box of cartridges. I didn't think that kind of grab until I came back to the gun rack. And then I saw that I had rifle bullets, and I took one rifle that has always been dear to me. The one that Larry King gave me once. The rifle that Harkinson tried to steal one time. In a minute, I was on the trail of Herb Acombe. As I plunged into the darkness of the forest, I could not see which way he had gone.

I paused on tiptoes until I saw something move ahead of me. Then I pushed forward. The thorn on the blackberry bush swung into my arms and face like electric shocks, but I didn't mind now. I was on the trail of mystery and adventure. I would follow blindly to wherever it led, through the high-treeed woods behind the tent, out in the bald bank of the stagnant creek. And once more, back in the gloomy darkness of the woods, I followed him. I was almost upon his heels, going up the narrow path of the rise that led from the creek, and there in the glen, a beautiful spot in the forest at night, I saw him stop and lift his gun. The great August moon had come up late. It was shining like a lantern in the sky.

In its mellow radiance, I saw Herb pause, lift his gun. As he did so, he gave a low whistle. That sounded ghostly in the woodland stillness. Like a statue, Herb Acombe stood in the moonlight, his arms aloft, holding the silent gun as a signal. Immediately from behind the firs stepped a tall, lanky figure, also with a gun, holding it aloft as a signal perhaps that he didn't intend to shoot. For a few moments both of them stood thus, and the silvery moon shone upon them. Then, as if by a sudden move, They both lowered their guns and began walking towards one another. In the middle of the moonlight glen, they halted, facing one another. "'I'm here,' said Herb Acombe. "'I heard your call. What is it you want?' "'I thought you had misunderstood,' said the tall, lanky boy, who stood half-concealed by a shadow of the great tree that fell athwart the path.

"'I fired twice, as I told you, and when you had not come in five minutes, I was afraid you had misunderstood my message. I was about to fire again.' I heard Herb Acom chuckle under his breath. It's good you didn't, he said. That would have been another signal. What? You haven't double-crossed me. No, Lord bless you, but I have to read signals. If you had fired again, I would have stayed in my bed. You told me it was only two. If I had heard three or four shots, I would have been afraid to come. I would have thought it was somebody else. Good enough. Well, how is he? What does he say about me? He is fine. He looks well, and I think he is happy, except when he thinks of you. I overheard him say to Secretary Hawkins that he would have no more to do with you in all his life.

But he is well. He does not suspect anything. He doesn't know I'm with the Knights? And Pooley? He wouldn't believe it if I told him. Does he ever speak of me? Never. Except that once to Hawkins. The tall boy nodded. It was the nod of the head that brought back to my mind some far-off recollection. Where had I seen this boy before? Somewhere, sometime in the dim past, he and I had met face to face. The voice itself sounded familiar, yet I could not, in that dim moonlight, recognize him. The stoop of his shoulders, the ragged felt hat, and the long, unkept hair reminded me of somebody, and I tried to think where and when I had met him. And who he was. But I could not. I saw him lift his gun. You know what I told you, he said to Herb.

You will not forget. I will never forget your kindness to me, said Herb. You can ask of me what you want, and I will try to do all that I can. That will be enough. You take care to see that I am informed of anything that happens, if it concerns him. Indeed, I will, if it costs me my life. You have been good to me, boy, and I will never forget it. Forget it. You better that. I'm only for one thing, and that's to see he doesn't get hurt. I'll always be near him. I never let him out of my sight when he is around. He goes back to Watertown sometimes, but he never stays. I always follow him in a canoe with that other fella. With whom? With Robbie Hood? He's a good boy. Don't ever let him out of your sight.

If you do, Acom, you and me. I know. It will be all right, I promise you. I must be going back now, before they miss me. That secretary fellow is pretty sharp. Shouldn't wonder if he hasn't missed me by this time, and followed. I know him, too. He's pretty sharp. Keep your wits about you, Herb. I don't want Secretary Hawkins to know a thing. Not a thing. Y'all understand? He must not know. It would be bad if... Suddenly the talking came to an end. The tall, lanky shadow of the boy turned suddenly and was eaten up in the gloom under the trees behind him. As he went... Herb Acom turned swiftly and started back to camp. I ran ahead of him and gained the tent just in time to undress and leap into my cot, and he entered and silently went back to bed.

But he went right to sleep, while I lay restlessly, tossing to and fro and turning over in my mind the mysterious conversation that I had heard. Finally, I heard by Herb's heavy breathing that he was asleep, and that I alone was awake in the tent. "'I wonder what it all means,' I said to myself. "'I bet that it won't be long until we get into trouble with the knights,' which we did."

11 11 - The Old Brass Horn 14:46

The Old Brass Horn. The boys in our club always tried hard to keep trouble away from our little shack in the hollow, the shack that we like to call our clubhouse, where we meet every day after school and talk over things and figure out ways to help one another. But there does come times when a fellow just can't keep out of trouble. It ain't that we go looking for trouble. The trouble is brought right to our door, and we have to face it and fight it. When old Judge Granbury, he is the judge of our town, told us that he would look to us boys to see that we didn't get into trouble, it was no more than right for us to be on our guard. You see, we had that gang of poolies down on us, and they were a tough bunch.

Seemed like everybody knocks a bunch of boys who has to fight a tough bunch. As soon as you fight a tough bunch of boys, you're tough yourself. No matter whether you're right or wrong, whether you win or lose, you are tough because you've fought them. Well, I always said to myself that a boy had no right to go around with a chip on his shoulder, waiting for somebody to knock it off and start a fight. But when a bunch of tough kids in a neighboring place comes along and simply makes you put up your fists and fight, well, I think it would be a disgrace to run, and we haven't run yet. Not so you could notice it, anyhow. Pooley and his tough gang have been after us for months. We have beat them to it so many times they ought to be ashamed of themselves, but they aren't.

They couldn't find our camping place all summer. But they knew we would have to go back to school, and they knew that we would then meet again every day after school on our little old shack in the hollow, the one we call our clubhouse, near the old riverbank. They knew we would come back, and that they would have a chance to tackle us then. Well, they waited, and we came back. The very first thing I found when I came back to the clubhouse was a note on my desk in a nice pink envelope, written on pink writing-paper that smelt like rose-leaves. And the note was from Pooley, the leader of that gang of boys, and he wrote that they had been unable to find our summer camping-place, But they said they would be watching for the time when we came back to meet again in our clubhouse.

Well, now we were back. The first day we talked it over, the judge came down, with Doc Waters and the sheriff, and we didn't hold any meeting that evening, because we thought it would be best not to show any lights in the clubhouse that night. I'm sure that if we had done so, the whole gang of Pooley's boys, who called themselves the Knights of the Square Table, Would have come and made for us a very unpleasant evening. So we had no meeting that night. If they came, they found the clubhouse dark, and they went back without doing any damage. Now the next day we came down after school and held our regular meeting, and I read the minutes of the last meeting and collected a dime a week dues from each member, putting the diamonds in our little tin box, which I had under the loose board in the floor, where it would stay until I had a chance to take it to the bank.

None of us said a word about the gang of boys that we all feared. Yet I knew that they were all thinking of that very same thing. But it's funny how a bunch of boys will stay quiet about a thing that each one knows the other is thinking about. However, not one of us said a word about Pooley or his Knights of the Square table. Now, as usual, the boys went outside to play. Usually they play baseball. Which our club had played so successfully all season that we won the silver cup that was awarded by the Watertown Athletic Association. So here I was writing down the minutes in my book when Perry Stokes comes in. Perry Stokes is one of my best friends. He's a fellow who was taken into the club when I was in Cuba with the skinny guy.

Perry was taken in to be the overseer, as our captain called it, to clean up and dust off. But Perry took a liking to me, and he's been my good friend ever since. The only thing I've got against Perry is that he always says, sir, to me when he talks. But you can't blame him much for that, because his father is the butler up at Judge Granbury's house. I beg your pardon, sir, he said, as he poked his head between the curtains of the doorway and between my little office and the meeting room. May I come in, sir? By all means, come in. I said, laying aside my pen. What's on your mind, Perry? I know that whenever you speak, you say something. He shook his head and smiled. Don't be disappointed, Hawkins, he said.

I'm sorry I haven't much to tell you this time, sir. It's only about the Pelhams. The Pelhams? I broke in. Why, Perry, what about them? Have they been over here again? Now I must explain a little about these Pelham fellows. They were the bunch of raggedy boys who lived across the river. Always we were having fights with that ragged bunch of urchins whose folks lived in the town across the river. We had had many fights with the Pelhams. In fact, it was on account of our many fights with the Pelham fellows that we organized this little club. "'Yes, sir,' said Perry. "'They've been over here to see you again, sir. They say they have something important to tell you, Hawkins.' "'All right,' I said.

"'You know I'm always ready to listen, Perry. "'When will they come back?' "'They're here right now, sir,' said Perry. "'Brigan, their leader, and Ham Gardner are outside on the porch, waiting to see if you'll talk to them this very minute.' I gave a sigh and closed my book and put the stopper on my inkwell. "'All right,' I said. "'Show them in, Perry.' Perry showed them in. It doesn't take long for a Pelham fellow to come in. They rushed in, and Brigham, Ham Gardner, and half a dozen other Pelhams whose names I didn't know. "'Well, Brigham,' I said, as soon as they stood before me, "'what's on your mind now?' Brigham stared at me like a big boob. "'I got something to tell you, Hawkins,' he said.

"'Sure,' I said. "'You wouldn't come over to this side of the river if you hadn't. What's it about, Brigham?' Briggan's lips curved the ugliest kind of smile. Wouldn't you like to know? He said. Well, if it hadn't been for us Pelhams, you never would have known. Us Pelhams ain't very well liked by you and your gang, Hawkins, but we help you out a whole lot. Never mind the sympathy, Briggan, I said. What you got on your mind? Just this, answered the Pelham leader. There was a scowl upon his face. You got an old-timer to fight now, boy. You got an old-timer, Hawkins. And he ain't forgot anything you ever did to him. He's the Pooley's gang. We saw him. Ham Gardner and me saw him with Pooley. Who do you think it was?

Don't ask me questions, I answered. If you want to tell me something, tell it quick without asking me questions. Else get out of here as quick as you can, or I'll punch your eyes so hard, not so fast, broke in brigand. Here I am, trying to do you a good turn, and you talk like that to me. Shame on you, Hawkins. Shame. Tell me," I broke in. If you have anything to tell me, tell me now, or by golly. I'll tell you," chirped Briggan in a mocking voice. I'll tell you, Secretary Hawkins. You thought you were fighting Pooley and his gang. Yes, you are. You're fighting one of the worst bunch of boys that you ever had against you. And you're fighting someone else. Long Tom, shut up, I cried, and my voice was filled with fear.

Shut up, you brigadier all. It's the truth, butted in Dave Burns, one of the Pelham's lieutenants. Brigadier Taylor no lie, Hawkins. Long Tom is with Pooley and his gang. You gotta keep your eyes open now. Long Tom knows every nook and corner of this old river, and he's got a special grudge against you, Secretary Hawkins. Because you helped to send him to the school for bad boys, where he and the others—but I didn't let him get any farther with the speech. Dave Burns never liked me anyhow. He was always trying to rub it in. Hold on, I commanded. And believe me, when I spoke, Dave Burns was one of the few who listened. Hold on. If Long Tom has gotten away from the judges' prison school, and has joined the gang of Pooley and his knights at the square table, it will be as bad for your boys on the other side of the river as it will be for us.

But how can you be sure it's Long Tom you saw? He would have a hard time getting away from the judges' boarding school for bad boys. Ham Godness stepped forward. Ham was a staunch standby of brigands. Ham was a good Pelham. He had lived so long with the Pelham fellows, but he had a soft spot in his heart for me. Hawkins, he said, take my word. It's him. Long Tom is loose again, and he's with Pooley and his knights. Better you keep away from this old river bank until this all blows over. Have you seen him, Ham? I have seen him, Hawkins. It is Long Tom. No use trying to fool yourself. He's with the Pooley gang. All right, I said. You boys go over to your side of the river and forget about it. They went over, but they didn't forget about it, and I am glad they didn't, because sometimes these Pelhams, knowing that we could help them, they helped us.

Now, that very afternoon when I passed Doc Watt's office, he called me in. Old Judge Granbury was there, and I could tell by the look on his face that something was wrong. He held a piece of paper in his hand and tapped the floor with his cane. "'Well, Secretary Hawkins,' said the judge as I came in, "'has there been any fights or excitement round her clubhouse yet?' "'No, sir,' I answered. "'Not yet, Judge.' "'Well, there will be soon,' he said and sighed. I have here a message in the principal of the School for Bad Boys. I am informed that the boy known as Long Tom has escaped from that institution. I laughed. That is, I tried to make it sound like a laugh, but there was a crack in it. Shucks, I said.

That won't worry us, Judge. But it worries me, exclaimed the Judge. You and your bunch of boys helped the sheriff put a stop to Long Tom's Rowley crew, and I know the first place he will come to will be your meeting-place in the hollow. I do want to order your cub-house closed. I want you boys to have all the fun you can, but you understand there might be some trouble, and I want you to be very careful. Excuse me, Judge, I said. But if Long Tom is loose, believe me he won't play any of his tricks on us. We know him. We caught him once, and we can do it again. You can depend upon a judge to take it from me." I smiled up at the judge, but he didn't smile at me. No, he glared at me through his specs as he said, "'I am depending upon you, Secretary Hawkins.'" And so the next day we had our meeting, as usual after school, in our little clubhouse on the riverbank.

Hopkins, spoke up our captain. There has been a messenger from the Pelham side over to our clubhouse. Telling what, I asked. That a strange thing has happened, continued our captain. It has been a long time since our boys fought the Red Runners. Yes, I said. Go on. But he didn't have to go on. No. For at that very moment came to my ears the sound of a far-off call. I say call, for I mean that in the old days it had been a call. It was the blast of a horn, of a trumpet, the sound of which I could never forget. Dick Ferris, our captain, came over to me. "'You heard it, Hawkins?' he asked. I nodded my head. "'I heard it,' I said. It was the sound of the old brass horn, the old brass trumpet that had sounded a warning and a summons around this old riverbank many times in the days of Stoner and Harkinson.

Now they two were gone, gone forever. Yet came the sound of the horn, and I knew it could have been made by only one who knew both Stoner and Harkinson. Who could that be? No other than Long Tom, who had been Stoner's right hand and Harkinson's rifle. But yet it was a puzzle to my mind, because I had been the receiver of that old brass horn. Harkinson had given it to me. Stoner had stolen it through three-thing of Fred, but had restored it to me when he left. I had that old brass horn. It was a relic of other days. When I had last received it, I had put it on a peg on the wall of my writing-room. Once more came to me the sound of that brass horn. I ran to my writing-room. I gazed at the peg on the wall.

It was bare. The brass horn was gone. No longer did I doubt. Long Tom was loose again. He had stolen my brass horn. He had joined Pooley's gang. We had one more enemy to deal with. We would have to keep our eyes open from now on. Which we did.

12 12 - The Shadow on the Moon 14:40

The Shadow on the Moon. What I am wondering about, even to this day, is how on earth Long Tom got into our clubhouse. I know he got in it. Because that old brass horn was missing from the peg on the wall, and Long Tom was the only boy that would want that horn. He was the boy that played with Stoner in the old days. Stoner owned the horn first. Never will I forget the first day I heard it, nor will I forget many of the days afterward when I heard it again and often. That old brass horn talked to me. When I heard its brassy notes flowed over the old riverbank, I knew what it was saying. Stoner never had much of a gang with him. He was too little when he first came around to have enough sense to keep a gang of fellows together.

But by the time he disappeared, believe me, he had enough boys with him to make us uneasy. And Long Tom was his buddy. Then, when Stoner's boys disappeared, Long Tom joined hands with Harkinson. And it was Harkinson who played the tunes on that old brass horn after that.

He made use of that horn in a sensible way, to give him credit. It was the call that brought to Harkinson the other boys and his gang. Scattered through the woods, they would start for the place where the sound of the horn came from as soon as they heard its first metallic note. And every time we heard it, we took it for a warning, for we knew Harkinson and his Red Runners, and we knew what the old brass horn meant to us. Well then, Harkinson passed out. Stoner came. Once more the horn went back to the rightful owner. Stoner's return to the old riverbank made us all feel a bit uneasy again. But time passed, and we passed through it, and Stoner finally made friends with us, and after he had gone he sent to me as an old keepsake the old brass horn.

I treasure that old bander bugle because of the memories of other days that clung to it. I hung it on a peg on the wall just above my desk with a little sign above it which told that it had belonged to Stoner and to Harkinson. There it had hung until the other day. When I got the news from the Pelham boys and from Judge Granbury that Long Tom had escaped from the school for bad boys, and I heard the sound of the old brass horn again. Then I knew that I no longer own that old relic, and I knew right away who had taken it. But how he had taken it I didn't know, and I said as much when the boys began to ask me about it at our meeting, which we held in the clubhouse after school. How should I know?

I said. Long Tom is the one who took it. That's all I know for sure. But don't ask me how I got in the clubhouse.

Didn't you lock the door? asked our captain. Yes, I answered. And I always see to it that the windows are locked, every evening, before we go home. As soon as I found out that the horn was gone, I went around to try the windows. Every one of them was locked tight from the inside, too, so there's no explaining of it at all. I know what, said Jerry Moore. He had a key that would work like a shoe buttoner. You get a key like that, and you can open any kind of door. Skeleton key. A what? demanded Shadow Loomis, with a smile. Skeleton key, repeated Jerry, with a sour look. Why you needn't look so smart? Shadow laughed. Oh, you mean skeleton key, he said. Yes, sometimes they make them out of shoe buttoners.

I don't care what you call it, said Jerry, doggedly. That's what I bet he had. How could he get into this clubhouse else? Hawkins has the key always in his pocket. Said when he gives it to Dick on such days as he can't come out. How could a guy get in our clubhouse less than he had a skeleton? Or whatever you call it. All right, I said, thinking it time to break in before Jerry got rattled. Whatever it was, Long Tom got in anyway. And he got in again. This time, however, no one knew it but myself. You see, I usually get down to the clubhouse first. Every day after school, I hurry home with my schoolbooks and tell Ma I'm going down to the clubhouse. She always likes for me to stop in home first, so she knows school is out and I didn't have to stay in for being bad.

So I always report to Ma first, and then hurry down to unlock the door of the clubhouse, as I'm the only one who has a key. But when I got down there this day, I had a long time to wait for the other boys. Somehow or other, they didn't get down on time. And I went back in my little writing room and sat there a while, and then I thought I'd better get out my little tin box so as to take it to the bank. You see, we keep our money. The dime dues that each boy pays, and this tin box until I can get time to go down to the bank with the money. Well, I went to the loose floorboard and pulled it up, thinking to see the box in the same old place under the floor, but it was gone. Yes, our money box was gone.

Stolen, I said, as soon as I saw. Because somehow, I have a quick mind for such things. I knew that the boys in our club wouldn't take it out. Nobody ever took it to the bank but me. And if it was gone, it was stolen. Just as I was looking into the hole in the floor, I heard the other boys coming, and I quickly put back the loose floorboard and ran back into my writing room. I didn't say a word, and even after the meeting was over, I still kept to myself this new secret, although Shadow Loomis and Skinny Guy came in to talk to me. I didn't want anybody to know. I had hopes that I would be able to figure this thing out, and perhaps catch a thief and get the money back without any of the boys in our gang knowing a thing about it.

But how was I to go about it? I hadn't the least idea. Certainly there was somebody who could enter in our clubhouse, even though the door was locked and the windows fastened. I didn't put much faith in the skeleton key idea of Jerry Moore's. It isn't likely that a boy would take the trouble to make himself a key. He would try something else. Most likely he would try to find the easiest way to get in. And if we had a chimney in our clubhouse, I would think that it was through the chimney that he entered. But you see, we only have a stovepipe chimney. Nothing bigger than a rat could squeeze through that. And so I figured there was something funny going on around our clubhouse. If I believed in ghosts, I would have said there was a ghost that got in and took the old brass horn and the money box.

But I knew that Long Tom had got the horn. I had heard him blow it. Nobody but Long Tom would know how to blow the same signal that Harkinson used to blow. So it must be Long Tom. But how did he get in? I left the clubhouse all by myself after the meeting was over. I sneaked away, else Shadow Loomis or the skinny guy would have been wanting to come along. So I sneaked. I wandered down to the riverbank and saw Dick Ferris' little red canoe. I hopped in and began to paddle. I didn't know where I was going, but seeing some Pelham fellows staring on the opposite shore, I headed to the Pelham bank. I shoved the canoe up and leaped out. Briggan was sitting by a campfire upon the bank by their shacks.

Ham Gardner saw me coming and came down to meet me. "'Hi, Ham,' I said. "'What do you want, Hawkins?' he asked. "'Nothing.' I answered, How are you, Ham? But Ham Gardner is too smart for that. He knew I had something on my mind, else I wouldn't have come over to Pelham. Because the Pelham fellows know we boys on our side of the river don't want to associate with them. Ham closed one eye and looked at me. What's up? He asked in a low voice.

I had to laugh at the funny way he looked at me. Then I said, Ham? Somebody's been breaking into our clubhouse lately. Not us, Hawkins, he hurried to say. Us bellhounds don't bother you fellas. Sometimes they feel like they want to start something. But I never let them, Hawkins. You've been good to me. I want to pay you back. Thanks, Ham, I said. But have you seen anything more of that Spy of Pooley's gang? Yeah, answered Ham. He's been down here every day. He comes to us once. He ain't afraid of us seeing him. He thinks us Pelham fellas will help him out. He stayed in our camp one afternoon for a long time. He dacked to us. He said Pooley was coming down here one of these days. I hope he does, Ham, I said.

What's he look like? Big and sassy looking. Seems like he's just hankering for a fight. Says he can whip three of us kind of fellas with one hand. He wanted to do it even to show us. He asked us to tie one of his hands behind his back. And pick out our three best fighters. But Brigham wouldn't do it. Has he been here today, Ham? I ain't seen him yet today, but maybe he is. Ain't no telling about that Pooley's gang. We're glad we ain't in it, us Pellhams. Us boys feel sorry for you, Hawkins. I laughed. You're in it all right, Ham, I said. But you don't know it. Pooley even doesn't know it. But when he finds out that you boys told us, he'll have it in for you. Because you gave away some of his secrets.

About that spy coming down, you know? Sha! exclaimed Ham. Sure enough, you're right, Hawkins. You gotta keep us out of it. No, I said. I don't have to do anything at all. You've gotta help me, Ham Gardner. If you know what's good for you, you'd better help me all you can. I don't want any fights with Pooley and his gang. But I don't want them coming into my clubhouse whenever they feel like it. What's the use of having a clubhouse if you can't keep things in it, I ask you? Ham Gardner nodded. You bet, he said. I'll stick for you, Hawkins, even if none of the other guys in my gang will. What you want me to do first? I was too pleased with Ham's willingness to help me. I couldn't say a thing at first.

I stood looking down at the ground, kicking the river mud with the toe of my boot. I knew that in short time Ham would have every other boar in his crowd so frightened. They would all be willing to do as we wanted them to, in order that we would all keep out of trouble with Pooley's gang. Listen, Ham," I said. How often do you come down here at night? Ham's mouth opened, and he took a deep breath as he began to answer me. Oh, not much, Hawkins. Things ain't just right around this riverbank at night. We ain't been down since the last time you fellas sing and practice in your clubhouse. We've been seeing things. Goats? I asked. Mighty like, Ham answered. Yeah, mighty like ghosts, Hawkins. One night we seen the worst-looking thing squeaking and croaking and tearing through the woods like a shatter.

Would you believe what I told you, Hawkins? He had stooped close. His voice had sunk into a whisper. Why shouldn't I believe you, Ham? Well then, maybe you can tell me something. That night we heard that strange thing, a squeaking and a croaking. What was it? A stagecoach. Go away, Ham. As sure as I'm standing here, a stagecoach, and the funny thing was there weren't nobody in it, and nobody a-driving the horses too. It had three horses, and that's another funny thing, one horse in front of two horses running, like there was mad pulling an empty stagecoach. Nobody in the driver's seat, not a soul. The two of us stood looking at each other. I suppose Ham Gardner was thinking what an awful frightening effect this story had on my mind.

I was thinking what a big boob Ham was for believing he saw such a thing. You're crazy, Ham, I said, and turned away from him. When you see it, you'll be crazy too, Ham called after me. But I didn't pay any attention to him. I got in my canoe and paddled back, because I had promised my mother I wouldn't be late for supper, as there was company coming to our house. The big round reddish moon was slowly pushing her rim above the hills across the river as I came down to the clubhouse for singing practice that night. All the boys were already gathered around the organ, and Lou Hunter had them singing. Come while the band's playing, come while the hounds obeying. Every heart will be joyful when the band begins to play, bounding our hearts with gladness, driving away all sadness.

That you, Hawkins? came in a whisper from the dark porch of the clubhouse. Yes, I answered in a low voice. Who is it? What's the matter? For in a moment I knew it was Skinny Guy standing outside, and I knew he wouldn't have talked to me in such a voice unless there was something the matter. I hurried up the steps and joined him on the porch. I'm glad you came, Hawkins, he said in a trembling whisper, gripping my arm. There's been strange things going on over in those trees. He pointed his bony finger towards the woods between the clubhouse and the cliffs. I haven't been able to figure it out, Seek, he continued. But it's something that I— Listen! I didn't hear a thing. I told him so. But it's scary, said Link.

An old hack pulled by three horses, and not a soul driving them. What would you figure it out to be, Hawkins? I pinched Link's arms and laughed. You're dreaming, Link, I said. How long have you been asleep? I had my eyes hoping the whole time. Pretty wide, too, I tell ya. I saw it, Hawkins, about ten minutes ago. I had been standing here waiting for it to show itself again, but it disappeared in the dark of the woods yonder, and I had gripped his arm. For suddenly, far away across the river, where the hills lay, came the faint sound of the old brass horn. Together, Link and I stood there, our eyes upon the hills, where the moon was now half risen above the hilltops, and now against the yellow disk appeared a slowly moving shadow.

A little black picture, like a silhouette, and from this distance it looked like a tiny coach drawn by three horses, one in front of two. I gripped Link's arm, just quick enough for him to see what I saw. It wasn't there long enough to get a good look at it, but we had time to notice one thing. There was no driver in the seat. It passed and was gone. The big moon shone again in its yellow loveliness. Well... I said to Link. You've got a right to be surprised. But I'm not. I heard about this today, and I wouldn't believe it. Let me tell you one thing, Link. I'm going to find out what that driverless coach means, running wild around here. Bet your bottom nickel on it. I'll find out. But don't let it worry you tonight.

We've got to go to the clubhouse now, just as if nothing has happened, and keep our mouths shut and join in the singing practice. And we did.

13 13 - Pooley Defends His Name 18:14

Pooley Defends His Name.

These chilly October evenings make us boys pay attention to the little old stove in our clubhouse, and our captain ordered that each boy had to bring in, every day, seven sticks of firewood, the same as we did last winter. I never could figure out why we had to bring just seven. Of course, if anybody brought in more, why, no kick was made. But if he didn't bring seven, he got sent out again for more. And now, with twelve boys in our club, seven sticks each meant eighty-four pieces, and that was enough to keep the little old shack warm enough for two days. But anyway, the firewood was piled up behind the stove, and there was always plenty to keep the stove going, and Perry Stokes saw to it that the fire didn't go out.

You've no idea how cold a shack gets even this early in cold weather. But with the way we took care of things, it was always as snug and warm as home. And it was a second home to most of us, who gathered in it every day after school to hold our meetings, and in the evenings to play checkers and to sing, while Lou Hunter played the old melodion that he called his organ. Maybe someday Lou will play a real organ in a big cathedral. You can never tell. Ever since my old brass horn was stolen, And the tin box in which we kept our dime-a-week dues. I had been pretty careful to see that the clubhouse door was locked tightly every time we left it. I had the only key, and I was always the last one to leave, because I would always stay and write down in this book all the things that happened to our club around this old riverbank.

Every day I would write down just what happened at our meetings and everything else. So... I was the one who saw the door was locked and the windows fastened. And yet, the thief got in again. This was the third time, and this time he had taken one of the things that I prized. More than anyone else in our club, I prized that old gun that we had taken away from Roof Rogers a couple of years ago. Now it was gone, and the door was tight. And the windows fast. Nobody had bothered to break the locks or pry the windows. And there was no chimney other than the narrow stovepipe. No way to get in. Yet we had lost things three different times. Now I meant to lay for him. I would get permission to stay down in the clubhouse all night if necessary.

You say a boy couldn't do that? Well... I knew a way that I could. Good old Doc Waters, the best friend us boys ever had. He had a way about him that he could tell our mothers that he would take care of us, and that would settle it. I saw Doc Waters that afternoon right after school. He came and told my mother that he would stay with me in the clubhouse. So everything was all right. And when Shadow Loomis and Skinny Link told their mothers, It was alright for them to come down, and all the others too. So there we were, after supper, and old Doc Waters was with us. Doc is almost 45 years old, and yet he says he always feels like a boy. He always likes to be with us boys, and I know he was very glad to be with us this night, simply because I had told him about the things that had happened, and he wanted to see what was going to happen.

Mind you, I didn't know that anything would happen. Maybe the thief would not come to our clubhouse tonight, but if he didn't, I intended to stay down again some other nights. Well, the first thing we did was to get Lou Hunter at the organ and start in to singing songs that Doc liked. He's got one that he likes best of all. It's Old Kentucky Home. And he always asks us to sing it over, two or three times. When we come to the chorus, Doc always joins in, and he has a deep bass voice, and it makes our singing sound grand, I tell you. I can hear it even now, as I write. Weep no more, my lady, oh weep no more for me, I will sing one song. But in the middle of the song, I thought how foolish we were.

Here we were, singing away at the top of our voices, and expecting that thief to come and try and get into our clubhouse. How foolish! He would never come, as long as he knew all of us boys were there together. No, we must try some trick to get him in. So I sneaked over to Doc Waters, who was sitting on a chair near the coat hooks, talking to Shadow Loomis. Who never cared much about singing. Doc, I said, that thief will never come here as long as we keep on singing. I know it, said Doc. Keep on singing. But I want to catch him, I said. You'll never do it, said Doc. But here, Shadow Loomis stepped up. He took my arm and said, I've got a scheme. Will you listen to it, Hawkins? Sure. Let me take all the other boys out somewhere.

Nearby, though, where we can watch the clubhouse and see what happens. Make out as if we're all going home. You stay here. Then what? Well, that thief, whoever he is, won't be afraid of you, Hawkins. You stay here. If I'm not mistaken, he'll be anxious to see you alone anyway. Herb O'Komb told me so. What's Herb been telling you? Never mind. Will you do it? Yeah? All right then. Tell all the boys, one at a time. Don't break up the singing all at once. Doc Waters grinned as though he thought we were fooling. But we scouted among the boys, telling each one separately of our plan. And our boys have been meeting in this clubhouse for so long that they are pretty well trained. They know how to act when we want to carry out a plan.

They nodded their heads, each and every one, without batting an eye, and continued to sing. You know, I am pretty much proud of our boys, all for the way they do things. Even Doc Waters says we show a lot more sense sometimes than he gives us credit for, which is something to be proud of. Now, I said to Doc, it's your turn. You gotta start this thing. You go as far as the evergreen bushes on the river path. Shadow and Jerry Moore will join you soon, and then the others. You can see from behind those bushes all that goes on in this shack. Doc laughed low. He enjoyed the joke, he said. Although, I didn't care much about jokes just at that time. But he got up, and as soon as the song ended, he drew open the door and said, Goodbye, boys.

See you all tomorrow. The boys all hollered, Goodbye. Then Doc walked out onto the porch and drew the door behind him. We struck up another song. In a little while, Shadow and Jerry went out, and I followed them onto the porch. Doc was already gone. The boys that were still inside continued to sing. Well, goodbye, fellas, I said. "'Goodbye, Hawkins,' they called out as they went down the steps. And so it went. Little by little, the crowd left. At last there was only Dick Ferris and Lou Hunter left. The music had died away. Anybody who had been watching the clubhouse now would know that we three alone were left. So I followed Lou and Dick out to the porch and held a lamp to light up the steps.

That was a funny thing for me to do. If I had been the fellow watching all this, I would have begun to suspect something, because why hadn't I held up a lamp for the others to see their way on the steps? I didn't think of it that way, though, until I heard Lou shouting, "'Goodnight! Ain't you coming along, Hawkins?' "'No, I gotta do a little writing before I go home. So long, fellas. See you tomorrow.' And with that, then, I went back. Closing the clubhouse door and going directly to my little writing room. I knew that the spy from Pooley's gang, who had been watching the clubhouse, now would know that I was all alone. I figured out that if he was a brave one, he would lose no time in coming.

I figured that, supposing he was hiding about as far as the first row of trees, it would take him only five minutes to come and knock at the door. Or window, maybe, if he didn't care to show himself at the front of the clubhouse. I sat down at my little desk and picked up my pen, and drew my book toward me as though I intended to write. But I kept my eyes upon the little brass clock that ticked away the minutes on my desk, and—it wasn't even five minutes! He was here! Not at the door, not at the window, but here. Right beside me, standing between the parted curtains that hung in the doorway, between the meeting room and my little writing room. "'Hello, Hawkins,' said a quiet, pleasant voice. I looked up.

In a second I knew him. I had only seen him once before, but he was one of those you only need to see once to remember a lifetime. It was Pooley himself." Quiet, smiling, handsome, Pooley. What a fine-looking boy he seemed that night. He stood there between the door curtains, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the barrel of a gun, whose stock rested on the floor. His boyish face had upon it a look of one who was making a pleasant call. His eyes, blue as the skies, seemed full of kindness. His lips curved in a sincere smile. How could I think that here before me stood the leader of a gang of ruffians who had threatened to wipe us and our clubhouse off the earth? Good evening, I said, returning his smile.

How are you, Pooley? So, you remember me, do you? And he laughed. Well, I'm glad. You would be willing to fight me, I suppose. If that's what you came for, I answered, I certainly would try to accommodate you. Sit down, there's a chair. No thanks, I'd just as leaf stand, he said. Those bushes out yonder, on your beaten path, were shaking too much when I took my last look at them. You are a clever guy, Hawkins. I gotta hand it to you. Ha! He laughed. I wondered if he thought my boys were out in those bushes, whether or not he cared how loud he laughed.

What did you come for? I demanded hotly. For now my mind had gone back to other times when his gang had visited this clubhouse at night, when nobody was here, and had taken things that did not belong to them. What is it that you want to steal tonight, Pooley? I thought he would hit me for that. He uttered a hissing sound between his teeth and came a step closer. He bent over me where I sat. Listen, he said sharply. Don't talk that kind of stuff to me, Secretary Hawkins. You're talking to Pooley, you understand? To Pooley and not to... He caught himself and straightened up. All right, I said, to whom else? Tell me, Pooley, who has been coming here at night after every one of us boys went home?

Who has been stealing? Steady there, steady, he broke in, holding up his hand. Let's call it something else. I won't have you give me a black name, Hawkins. I'm straight and fair. I'm as good as anybody. I don't let any boy tell me he's better than I am. That's me. Paul is my name. I'm proud of it. But you wrote this note, didn't you? I asked. Taking out from my desk drawer the little slip of pink paper we had found on our return to the clubhouse, after camping out all summer. You wrote that you had a bone to pick. All right, we are ready to pick it with you, whenever you and your gang are ready, Pooley. But you said in this note that you were honest fighters, and we are. All right, but the first thing that happens is that your gang breaks into this clubhouse and steals our tin money box.

And an old relic of a brass horn that I had been saving, and, steady there, steady, broke in Pooley. I never heard about the tin box, nor the brass horn. None of my crew did that. But one of my crew was led astray one night. He did something that he shouldn't, and he told me about it. And believe me, I'm here to tell you, and to show you, that he did the wrong thing. You bet your boots we got a bone to pick with your gang, Secretary Hawkins. And I mean to pick it clean before I get through, you hear me? But before we get started, I want to tell you that it's all going to be fair and square, honest fighting, or else I'm going to chuck up the job of leader of this gang. Less than I can do it honest, it ain't going to be Pooley's gang that's fighting you.

It'll be some new name. I won't lead a gang that ain't fair and square. And so as soon as he told me, I told him he'd done wrong, and I made up my mind I'd come and see you and explain it to you how it was. And here I am, and here's your gun. He held out to me the gun, and I saw then that it was the old gun of Ruth Rogers that had disappeared on the last visit of our enemies. Thanks, Pooley, I said, taking the gun. You don't know how much I prized this gun. It's because it once belonged to a boy who... I know, he said with a wave of his hand. I heard all about your Hawkins. You've got a habit of keeping things, especially if they belong to fellows who were your enemies. Then he made a turn as if to go.

But wheeling around, he held out his hand and said, Here's hoping you'll never want to keep anything to remember me that way. And as if by lightning, the oil lamps in the meeting room went out. We two stood there, in my little writing room, in the dim light that came from the little oil lamp on my desk. While I wondered what had happened, Pooley suddenly leaned over, and I could have sworn that he blew out the last remaining light. If I had only kept my head then, I might have discovered what happened after that. But the minute that the last light went out, I raised my voice and yelled loudly for Doc and the boys, who were waiting in the evergreen bushes on the river path. I heard a mocking laugh.

I got slowly out of my chair and felt around in the dark for Pooley. But he was gone. Of course he was gone. What a fool I had been not to think of a trick. I struck a match and went towards one of the lamps in the meeting room. A loud knocking came at the door. "'Hawkins!' came many voices, Doc Waters among them. I wondered how strange that they should not open the door and come in. Of course, I had locked it. But hadn't Pooley come in and—' "'Hawkins!' "'All right!' I unlocked the door. In rushed the boys, Doc Waters behind them. "'Who was here?' demanded Shadow Loomis. "'Pooley,' I said. "'Didn't you see him come in?' Didn't see him come in or go out, answered Shadow, and we were watching every second.

We could see the windows and the door. Nobody came near the clubhouse. Well, how did he come in then, I asked. Shadow Loomis walked up to me. We heard you yell, he said. We didn't see anybody, Hawkins. Are you sure you did? For answer, I lifted the gun that stood beside my desk. If I didn't, I said, how would you say this gun got here? This is old Roof Rogers' gun that was stolen the other night. Pooley brought it back. Pooley was here. I was talking to him. He has a secret way of entering our clubhouse, and it's up to us to find where it is, and believe me, fellas, we will find out in a short time. Which we did.

14 14 - The Hole in the Floor 16:31

THE HOLE IN THE FLOOR. The first year that the skinny guy had spent away from our shack in the hollow, He had sent me a picture of his skinny self. And I had thought so much of that picture, because the skinny guy and I had happened to be such chummy friends, and had gone through so much danger and so many adventures together, that I asked my mother to give me, as a Christmas gift, a frame for that picture, which she did. And the frame she had fitted around that picture was a beautiful thing. It was gold, green gold, the kind you don't see often. And believe me, I thought a great deal of that frame and the picture in it. And I brought it down to our little old shack in the hollow that we boys called our clubhouse.

And I hung it up right in front of my little desk, where I sat every day and wrote these minutes of the meetings. Well, for many days I looked upon that picture, and it got to be just as much of a habit as my writing. To tell you the truth, I would have missed that picture quicker than I would have missed the clubhouse. And sure enough, one day when I came down, I missed that picture. Hawkins spoke up Shadow Loomis at our next meeting in the clubhouse. What in the world are you going to do about it? What am I going to do about it? I repeated. I intend to stick around here with my eyes open until I find out how the sneak thief gets into our clubhouse.

Who do you think it is? asked Jerry Moore. I ain't saying who, I answered. It may be one of Pooley's gang, as I know you all think it is. But then again, it may not be. Don't tell me. Pooley talked to me the other night, and believe me, I know when a boy is talking the truth. Pooley won't allow any crooked stuff in his gang. He is our enemy, and he has a bone to pick with us. But believe me, when he picks it, it will be clean and square and fair. Dan, if I ever want to play tricks on Pooley, if I fight him, it's going to be a fair fist or not at all. All right, said Shadow Loomis, with a grin on his handsome face. Fight him fair. Yeah, chimed in Herb a comb, who hadn't said much. Of late, Herb had been very quiet.

But you know, the old proverb says, it is quiet water that has the most to say after all. Or something like that. What I mean, I hurried to say, is that there are other boys who have it in for us. You fellows go around thinking of the only bunch of boys that happen to have it in for you at this particular time, forgetting all along those who were on the outs with you a year ago or so. Now, for instance, the Red Runners broke in Roy Doble. Oh, they're gone and done for, remarked Robbie Hood. How about Long Tom, who just escaped from the school for bad boys, chimed in Johnny McLaren. Seems to me he was one of the worst Red Runners. The old gang may be gone, we may never see Red Runners again, but Long Tom can certainly stir up something as bad, if not worse, then...

You don't have to go as far as that, I said. Just look across the river. Across the river? It didn't seem to occur to them that just across the river from us lived the Pelham Fellows, the boys who had been giving us from our earliest days the most of our troubles.

You don't mean to say, Hawkins, that the Pelhams have something to do with it? I mean to say that whenever there is a gang around this riverbank picking on us, it is a two-to-one bet that the Pelhams would rather help them than us. Unless the Pelhams happened to be in Dutch with the same gang as is down on us. Then they come to side with us. Hasn't it always turned out like that? Yes, they were all ready to admit. Very well, then. I intend to be as suspicious of the Pelhams as I would be of Pooley's gang. So they left me alone, and I sat down in my little writing room and began to think. I could hear the boys in the hollows shouting and running. Bill Darby had brought down a new football and already had begun to form his team.

Even Perry Stokes, who usually stays to clean the clubhouse after meetings, was gone. Because Bill needed every boy, he said, except me. Well, there I was sitting, writing down in my book about the meeting we had just had, and everything was quiet as a church. Then, all of a sudden, I heard a sound. As if a rat had run across the floor. I glanced around, but seeing nothing suspicious, I began again to scribble on the page. Then I seemed to hear voices coming from nowhere. Quick as a wink, I jumped out of my chair and ran to one of the curtains that hung in the doorway of my writing room and wrapped it around me, leaving just enough for my right eye to peep through. And hardly had I done so when things began to happen, and I found out the secret entrance to our clubhouse that had been used by the thief in the night.

Right at the spot where we used to hide the tin money under the loose floorboard. Yes, that's where the sound of muffled voices came from. And I saw the board pushed up from below, and I was just wondering how in the world a boy could squeeze through that little opening when I saw the board next to it raised. And the next. Ah, how foolish I had been not to think that they could have made that opening wider. By loosening two more boards, they had a secret entrance to our clubhouse that we could go on forever trying to find. Now I understand how Pooley had made his escape so quickly at night he had called at the clubhouse. He just blew out the lamp to give him time to disappear in the dark, pull up the boards, make his getaway, and pull the boards back into place on the floor joist.

And by the time I had the lamp lighted again, of course there was nothing to show how he had gone. All this passed through my mind in a second, because just as soon as the three pieces of floorboard had been shoved up, there appeared a head and shoulders in the opening. And then another. They were knights of the square table. I could tell that by the costumes they wore, the little square cap and the cape that Pooley made his gang wear when they met. The first to come out was a boy with a cheerful face, except he had a red eye, like a bee stung him on it or something, red and swollen, so that his one eyeball looked through a little narrow slit. But his other eye was all right. His companion, who followed him quickly out the floor hole, was a little different.

He was slender and pale-faced. Both of them were new to me. I had never seen them before. Well, Quail," said the boy with the bum-eye, I told you there wouldn't be anybody here at this hour. You see, we're all alone. Yeah, that's all right, Sadler, said the second boy, but it could have waited. It couldn't have waited at all, broke in Sadler. Paul is mad as a wet hen about you taking the gun. He won't ever forget that. And if he found out about this, I'm your friend, Quail. I want to see you stay in our gang. Poole is a fine guy to have for a leader. Wait till this winter, and see what fine times we have. You don't want to get chucked out for taking things. Come on, hurry up. Hand over that darn thing, and we get it put back before something happens.

We can't stand here all day, you know." All right, said Quail. Here it is. He put his hand inside his shirt and tugged at something. Only I'm sorry to put it back like this. Look it. Tain't like it was. "'Tain't got no picture in it now.' "'Oh, well, what does that hurt?' said Sadler, rubbing his sore eye with one hand and grabbing from the hand of his chum, what? Yeah, you guessed it. My old picture frame. I saw it in an instant, but it had been wrecked. The skinny guy's cheerful face no longer was pictured within the golden boundary of that frame. "'Where was it when you took it?' continued Sadler. Show me the nail where it hung, quick. But Sadler began quail in a pleading voice, and then he got no further, for there came voices from the hole in the floor, angry voices.

And before I knew it, out of the hole popped the head of my oldest enemy, the boy who had fought me when I was a little kid, Briggan, the leader of the Pelham Fellows. "'Ah, here you be,' he snapped, as he saw the two knights in the clubhouse. "'You are bad bargain-makers, you guys from Pooley's gang. You took the gold frame, did you? All right, here's the thing that goes in it, you dirty little snides. Just you wait till us Pelham fellas catch you out alone.' "'Hold on a minute,' sang out Sadler. "'You're the guy I want to see.' But Briggan did not hold on. He did not wait a second. He was gone the way he had come, and I there wrapped up in that curtain, seeing it all, yet not knowing whether to let them know that I knew or not.

I decided to wait. Well, said the Sadler boy, here's the picture that goes in the frame. Put it together, Quail, just like it was, and then you go back over to Pelham and give that nasty-looking guy back whatever he gave you in trade for it. I did that already, said Quail. It was two agates and a pocket knife. I laid them on the table of their shack when I took the frame back. That's settled then. Hurry, put it where you first saw it, and let's get out of here. I watched them from my hiding place while Quail fitted the soiled picture into the frame as best he could. Of course the glass was gone. That had been broken, most likely, and was beyond recall. But they finally had the picture back on the little nail I saw a little girl in the wall just above my desk, and both of them stood off their arms upon their hips, giving it a last look.

Too bad you ever touched it, said Sadler to Quayle with a little shake of his head. The guy who sits here and writes liked that picture. It's that tall, lanky cuss that runs so fast. He ain't a bad fella. And him and that secretary guy think a heap of one another. I heard tell they'd been all the way down to Cuba together, and lots of spooky things about them. It's a shame you ever moved that pitcher from the wall, Quail. Aren't you shamed, huh? Quail coughed a little and shifted his place. Well, he said, we're fighting these guys, ain't we? Didn't Pauly say? Pauly said like he always says, play the game square. He didn't mean you to go snatching pictures off the wall and such things, Quail. Come on now, let's get out.

No telling how soon these guys will be coming back to their clubhouse. They moved toward the hole in the floor, but here's where I made my first move. I unwound the curtain from about me and stepped in front of them. Never have I seen two more surprised lads in my life. Sadler, who was ahead of Quail, Gave a little cry of fright at seeing me so suddenly, when he hadn't thought that there was a soul in the place besides himself and Quayle. "'Hawkins!' he exclaimed in a low voice. "'By George, Quayle, it's Secretary Hawkins. "'I'd have known him anywhere from the way the fellas told me he looked.' I smiled at him. "'Yes,' I said. "'You're right, Sadler. I was wrapped up in that door curtain there.' I heard every word you said from the time you came in.

I also heard what Briggan, the Pelham leader, said. So I understand the whole business. Your little friend Quayle here stole this picture from my writing room and traded it to the Pelham's. I understand. It's all right. Everything is absolutely all right. I am glad to know you boys, and I hope to meet you next time in different circumstances. I held out my hand to him. Sadler rubbed his red eye and stepped back. But we belong to poolies, he said. We are fighting you guys, Hawkins. You don't want to shake hands with your enemies. I smiled again. With friendly enemies, I do, I said. You boys will know me better someday, I'm sure. You know we can fight if we have to, and still be square and fair.

I want to thank you, Sadler, for getting that picture back to me. It was a picture I prize very much. An old, skinny friend of mine, you know, I think a heap of him. You don't know how I like you two kids for bringing it back and putting it where it was. Believe me, I thank you. Sadler, still rubbing that poor red eye, which must have pained him awfully, stepped slowly forward and took the hand I held out to him. You could have kept us prisoners here, he said in a low voice, and you let us go. Do you know what we would have done if you had been caught like this? I waved my hand. It's all fair and square when you're fighting, I said, but not when a fella brings back something you lost, something you'd give a whole lot for.

Remember that, Sadler. One minute, though, I ask you this as a favour. Go out by the door. Nobody will see you. Goodbye, Quail. I shook Quail's hand, too. But he didn't want me to. He felt so ashamed of himself. You could see it by the way he hung his face. Sadler was out the door first. I followed Quayle. At the door he paused and turned. Someday, he began. Someday, when you get in a fix like this. But I cut him short. Goodbye, I said, and shut the door quickly behind him. Then I turned joyfully back into my writing room. Ha! The picture of my old skinny guy again adorned my wall, a sorry-looking soiled and glassless thing, but yet it was there. Soon I would have it cleaned up, a new glass fitted in, and I heard the boys coming.

I hurried over and put back the three pieces of floorboard. The last piece had just been slammed into place when the door burst open and in they came. I made as if I had been writing all this time in my book. But Jerry Moore noticed the picture back in its place, and then every one of them was asking how I got it back. It wasn't so hard, I said. The Pelham Fellows had it, and that's all I would say, no matter how many questions they asked. But long after they were gone that evening, I stayed there in the clubhouse, with only Perry Stokes to keep me company. Finally, when I had finished writing this all down in my book, I went to the loose floorboards and took them up and squeezed myself into the opening.

I followed the dark way until I came out at last under the porch steps, and on the side was the opening through which these secret entrances had been made. Perry, I said when I came back out of the hole in the floor, much to his amazement, you and I will have to get a hammer and some nails. And fastened down every loose board in this floor. Which we did.

15 15 - The Hallowe'en Fire 16:36

The Halloween Fire. Perry Stokes brought down to our clubhouse a hat full of long new nails, and he and I took hammers and began to nail down every loose board in the clubhouse floor, and just as I was nailing down the last board, Dick Ferris opened the door. He saw that the old floorboard, under which we always kept our dime-a-week dues money in a tin box, was nailed tight. We have to be more careful with our money, Dick. After this, we will keep it in the drawer of my writing desk. Why? he asked. And then I had to tell him, although I wanted to keep it to myself as long as I could. But I had to tell him that Pooley's gang had discovered the loose floorboard and had loosened two more beside it, and in that way had made for themselves a secret entrance to our clubhouse.

And when the other boys came down, Dick asked me to tell them all about it. Any new business? asked our captain when we had finished talking about Pooley. Halloween's coming, spoke up Bill Darby, and us fellas ought to dress up and go around and call on folks like we used to. The vote was taken quickly, and not one voted against it. It's just natural for a boy to want to celebrate Halloween. And then Dick appointed Shadow Loomis and the skinny guy in me to be a committee to go up to the costume shop in Watertown and pick out twelve costumes, one for each boy in our club, so that we could dress up on Halloween and celebrate it right. So when the meeting broke up, we went right down to the little landing where our canoes and skiffs were tied, and got in Jerry Moore's long green canoe and paddled up to the new boathouse that was built for Link's big cabin launch.

In a few minutes, we were on the big boat, headed for Watertown. The costume shop in Watertown, on a little narrow street, is a queer-looking place. All along the walls are figures and old coats of armor that old-timers used to wear in their battles. And there is row upon row of shelves with masks of grotesque faces of birds and animals and everything. I led the way into the shop. It was dark and gloomy because it was getting dark, and the stingy old shopkeeper had only one lamp lighted in the back of the shop. We could see his old bald head nodding as he talked to a boy who had come to get a Halloween suit, I supposed. Feathers, the old bald-headed man was saying. Feathers, you say? The boy, whose back was turned to us, nodded and said something that we couldn't catch.

"'Oh,' said the costume dealer, "'you mean plumes,' and he went back to a little shelf and brought forth a beautiful white ostrich plume. "'Yes, like this?' The boy nodded again, and he spoke once more in a very low voice. "'Fifty!' exclaimed the costume man. "'Oh, my goodness, boy! Fifty? I doubt if I have more than this one! Wait, let me see.' He went once more to the rear of the shop and disappeared into a low door. For a few minutes he was gone, and the boy he was waiting on turned around, humming a song. I took one look at him, and then I pulled Lincoln's shadow back behind a large wax figure wearing a clown suit, for somehow I seemed to recognize that face. The shopkeeper returned with something shiny in his hand.

It was a metal helmet with two large plumes upon it, a black and a white. The boy he was waiting on started forward. "'That's fine,' he cried in a voice loud enough for us to hear. "'That's just the thing.' The costume man was smiling. "'I'm glad,' he said, "'because I have plenty of these. I can let you have as many as you need.'" "'I'll let you know surely tomorrow morning,' sang out the boy. And he turned and started to come out of the store, and I pulled Shadow and Link close to me and let him pass without seeing us. And as he went by, I recognized him. Not by his face—I would have forgotten that, I think—but by his one red eye. That bum eye of him gave him away." It was Sadler, one of Pooley's gang, one of the two I had caught entering our clubhouse through the hole in the floor.

He went out without seeing us, and we went up and selected our Halloween costumes. We were not so hard to please. It was only fifteen minutes until we had a dozen costumes, clowns and bears and monkeys and cowboys and soldiers, most every different kind you could think of. I had to take a clown suit. None of the others would fit me. I'm getting so darn fat again as the cold weather comes on that I have to wear a suit with plenty of room in it. So I got one of the clowns. You can imagine it for yourself. The costumes were delivered at the clubhouse in the afternoon. Brother Jim, our teacher, let us off from school a half hour earlier, knowing it was Halloween, and having been a boy one time himself.

So we all gathered pretty early at the clubhouse, anxious to see the suits and try them on. After supper, we all returned to the clubhouse and got ready for our Halloween celebration. Well, every one of us had got into the suit we were to wear, and were kidding one another, and oh boy, we had lots of fun, and just as we were enjoying it, bam, there came a loud slam on the door, and in came a dozen Indians. That is, they were dressed like Indians, but under the war paint I recognized the features of the first one. It was Briggan, leader of the Pelham Fellows from across the river. "'Hawkins,' he called out, and I stepped forward. For a second he grinned, and I don't blame him, for I wore that clown suit, and I sure looked like a balloon in it.

Then his face set again, and he said, "'The hills are full of Pooley's gang. We only saw two, but we can tell by the way each one came that there's lots more around tonight.' "'All right,' I said. "'What of it? We are going uptown in our Halloween suits.'" Sure, said Briggan. So are we. But we just thought we'd tell you. You said the hills, I said. That means... It means they are all on our side of the river, broke in Briggan. Us boys haven't any fuss with Pooley's gang. It's you they're after. Why are they on our side? All of them. I made a step forward. Briggan, I said. When Pooley and his gang tackle us, believe me, we are going to be ready to meet him. But tonight, Halloween, you know, we don't want you fellas in our clubhouse, so clear out and let us alone.

The other boys dressed as Indians behind Briggan turned and started out the door, but Briggan lingered. Hawkins, he said, I'm asking you. Do you want to help us, Pelhams? Pooley is going to jump us tonight. No use beating about the bush. Some of my gang got in bad with his'n. I know what it means when I see em lightin' their fires on the hills. They're goin' to tackle us tonight. Not you fellas." I waved my hand. Go uptown like we are going to do, I said. Enjoy the Halloween parade, and before it begins to break up, get home as quick as you can. Pooley won't hurt you then. He wanted to say more, but I shoved him gently out and closed the door upon him. We went uptown. Main Street was filled with maskers, all kinds, all sizes, all ages, but mostly kids, of course.

For an hour, we surged along with the crowd. And what with the blowing of tin horns, the throwing of confetti, and the glare of red and green lights, it's a wonder we ever could pull ourselves away from it long enough to call on Doc Waters and Judge Granberry in our homes, where we defied anyone to recognize us without pulling up our masks. But after we had made the rounds, we went back again for one last plunge into the masked parade that swept through Main Street. People who were not masked lined each side of the street, watching and laughing while the merrymaking went on. And then, suddenly, came the beat of a heavy drum and the sound of music, and every eye was turned. Every eye caught the approaching parade that now made its way down Main Street, and even we, sticking together always, separated and ran to the sides of the street to allow this grand parade to pass.

It was led by a brass band, boys all of them, four in a row and four rows, sixteen boys who played the music and the drums, and behind them came the grand surprise of the evening. These were boys mounted on ponies, wearing shining silvery suits, and upon their heads bright metal helmets, with black and white plumes waving. Ah, in a flash I knew. The knights of the square table. I remembered the boy in the costumer's shop. I'll admit that my jaw dropped when I beheld them riding. The first few rose upon ponies, and the last rose upon small horses, not much larger than the ponies. They were four abreast, and I counted nine rows. Good night. Thirty-six knights and a brass band of sixteen, a total of fifty-two.

Now I began to realize how great was Pooley's gang. 52 members! Wow!

Quickly, my mind went back to the early part of the evening. Brigham's words popped back into my head. Pooley's gang had been scouting around the Pelham Hills. They intended to get Brigham and his Pelham fellows. I knew the reason, perhaps, better than any other boy in my club. What to do. What to do indeed. It was up to us to act now, if we ever hoped to. Get to Pelham at once, and warn the Pelham fellows to disappear before this Halloween celebration came to an end. Shadow, I whispered. Get word around to all of our boys to hustle back to our clubhouse. And in five minutes, we were on our way to the river. Quickly, we sped down the narrow path in single file, but as we approached the clubhouse, I saw something that made my heart sick.

It was a red glow in the sky. There was fire nearby, and at first I believed it to be our clubhouse. It lent added speed to my fat legs, and I breathed a great sigh when I saw the dark shape of our old shack still standing in the hollow. But across the river, ah. Across the river, Pelham's little shack, that they called their headquarters, was burning. We sped down to our landing and scrambled into our canoes and skiffs and started across. We found a few rusty cans and buckets and made a line from the river to the shack, a bucket brigade, but I saw right away that the fire was going to win. The shack was doomed. And as I stood there, watching the flames, I heard a voice behind me. Well, I told you so.

It was Briggan. Behind him was his gang, dressed in their Indian suits. Now they stood behind me and looked upon the last of their old clubhouse. I shook my head. Dog gone, but it made me feel sad. Even though it was the shack of our rivals, it made me feel blue to see it burn down. Brighan, I said, I feel as sorry as you. Time was when you did us dirty, but we forget all that when we see you in trouble like this. Now you know that good advice I gave you when I told you to keep clear away from Pooley's gang. You fellas should never—but Brighan is wise enough. He nodded his head. But he didn't speak. And then, all of a sudden, we heard the sound of hoofbeats, and I saw something flash. The light from the blazing shack gleamed upon something shiny.

And then I made out the figure of a knight upon a pony coming toward the fire at a gallop. He didn't draw up until he was fairly in the firelight, and for a moment I could not recognize the face under the plumed helmet, but the next moment I knew him. It was Pooley. Who did this? he called out in a hard voice, and his face looked angry. I walked up to his pony's head. You should ask, I said. You can answer your own question better than we can. Your smart aleck gang did this, Pooley. Get down off that pony, and I'll give you the worst beating you ever had. Oh boy, I was mad, but Herb Ackham stepped up in front of me. If anyone's going to fight Pooley, he said, it's me. I got a bone to pick with this fancy gang leader.

Don't get excited, broke in Pooley, pointing a gloved hand at Herb. You'll get plenty of chance to fight me, don't worry. I've no time for that on a night like this. I just wanted to be sure that my boys don't get blamed for this fire. And if— You don't think we'd set it on fire ourselves, do you? spoke up Briggan. No, but you do keep oil lamps in it, and accidents do happen. Don't blame this thing on my boys till you are sure about it, see? Now I'm going back, and you fellas better not try to follow me, because I've got an awful big crowd waiting for me, and... He had turned his pony and shot away while he talked. His voice trailed off as he disappeared up the riverbank. Gosh, what a fine sight he made in that swell Halloween suit.

I knew he was proud of the showing his gang had made, and believe me, if I had been Pooley then, I would have been the proudest boy. But Briggan behind me was crying. For once in my life, I felt heartily sorry for my old enemy. I put my arm upon his shoulder. "'Forget it, Briggan,' I said. "'They have the victory tonight, but it is an empty one at that. They didn't hurt you fellas.' And maybe Pooley didn't know a thing about this fire. Some of the kids in his gang do things he doesn't want them to. You don't have to cry about it. You can build a new shack. But he wouldn't listen to me. He moved over to Ham Gardner, but Ham had tears in his eyes, too. No matter who they are, kids like their old hangout places, and it's hard to see them destroyed.

We carried water until we put out the glowing fire under the ashes, and then we took each Pelham up to his home and saw them safely inside. Well, said Shadow Loomis to me as we paddled back to our shore, I am willing to admit that Pooley has a big gang, but what I can't understand is how they can afford each and every one to own a pony. That must cost a lot of money. I patted Shadow on the back. Don't worry about that, I said. That's one of the first things we will find out. Which we did.

16 16 - A Plot Discovered 16:03

A Plot Discovered. Right after school on Monday, we held our regular school meeting in the clubhouse, and all that the boys talked about was football. And as I wasn't very much interested, I slipped away from my place at the table and went back into my writing room, where I began to write the minutes of the meeting up to the time they started the football talk. In a little while, the skinny guy came in and joined me. What's the matter, Link? I asked. Ain't you a footballer? He waved his hand and shook his head. Not that kind, he said. Those kids talk about what they're going to do, but they never do it. Why don't they go down and practice instead of talking? They'll never get anywhere that way.

I laughed. Well, I said, you gotta let them talk. I don't think we're going to have much football this year anyway, do you? Why not? Because we're going to have our hands full watching Pooley and his gang. They have it in for us, right, Link? The skinny guy nodded his head. You know they have, Hawkins, he said, and from all that Herb-a-Com tells me, they are the worst lot of fighters we ever met. Herb knows Pooley. Well, I said, even if he is one of the worst we ever met, Link, we won't let that scare us to death. It ain't so much the fighting. Fighting ain't all that's in it. You've got to admit that. Pooley might be a smart kid, and his gang the best fighters that ever come to our old riverbank, but when it comes to a showdown, boy, it's going to be a case of which side figures out things the best.

If Pooley wants to match his wits against mine, I'm willing to give him the chance." "'You're right, Hawkins,' said the skinny guy, "'and if our boys will just let you alone—' "'Hold on, Link,' I broke in. "'I don't want that.'" It'll take all we got to beat Pooley and his fellas. I'll need every boy in this clubhouse. They'll have to stand by me no matter what I do. Remember our old fights with Stoners Boy and Harkinson and the Red Runners? You know what won our battles with them, don't you? Sure, you figured out the way to forget that. Of course, figuring out beforehand helped us win the fights. We knew what we wanted to do before we started, but what good would all that have done if you fellas hadn't stood close by me to the last and done everything as I said it should be done?

Yes, that's all well and good, said the skinny guy, slowly. But how are you going to figure out a thing about Pooley and his gang when you don't even know where they hang out? You never see them till they pop up here, ready for a fight, and who knows but what they are laying for us somewhere in the woods, waiting for a chance to get some of us out there alone and beat us up. I mean to find out, I said. Remember the days of old stoners, boy Link. You were the one he was afraid of most. You were the swiftest runner in our bunch. You nearly had Stoner once, and he was terribly afraid of you. He didn't seem to worry about any of the rest of us, but he did try to steer clear of you. Well now, I want you to make Pooley feel the same way about you."

Link shook his head. No, he said. Stoner's boy wasn't afraid of me. Sure, he knew I could run almost as fast as he could, and he tried to keep out of my reach, but when it comes down to the truth, Hawkins, it was you he feared most. He knew that you were pretty good at figuring things out. He knew you could guess what he was up to, and he was always afraid that you were going to trap him someday. Well, I said, I wonder if we can't make Pooley feel the same way. If I thought... Listen to that. It was the faraway sound of a horn. I recognized it at once, the old brass horn that we had heard so many times around this riverbank on the days of our fights with Stoner and Harkinson. It was the old brass horn that had been stolen a few days ago from its peg on the wall of this very writing room in which I sat.

Long Tom, exclaimed the skinny guy, jumping up. Shall I scout around and see what's going on, Hawkins? Yes, I answered quickly. You're our scout, Link. Remember that, but do be careful. I know you won't get caught. If you do, you'll get the worst trimming from that bunch. Link laughed as he ran out. Don't worry about me, Hawkins, he called back, and I walked to the door and watched him as he sped away toward the river. The clubhouse was deserted. The meeting had come to an end while the skinny guy and I had been talking in my writing room. I could hear them yelling in the hollow where they were practicing their football. No wonder they hadn't heard the sound of the old brass horn. The noise they were making would drown out all other sounds.

But there was one boy whose ears were sharper than the others. I saw him coming toward the clubhouse as swiftly as he could. It was Perry Stokes, the kid who called himself overseer of our clubhouse, and he always showed a great liking for me. I stood in the door and waited for him. "'Did you hear it, Hawkins?' he asked as he came up all out of breath. I nodded. "'Yes,' I said. "'I heard it. And by the way, Perry, now that you've come, I think we'd better go down to the river and take a look. I just let the skinny guy go down to see what he could see, but I think we'd better follow in case he gets in trouble, which I don't think he will.' "'I think we'd better, sir,' said Perry. "'Shall I take a gun?' "'You might take the little rifle,' I answered, "'but be sure you don't take any cartridges, "'not even blanks, Perry.' "'In a little while we had reached the riverbank, "'and as soon as I, leading the way, "'stepped out of the bushes that lined the river path, "'I turned my eyes to the right, "'and the next instant I had shoved back "'into the cover of the bushes, "'bumping into Perry as I did so.

"'Excuse me, Perry,' I said in a low voice. But look to the right through these bushes at the top of the cliff that hangs out over the river. What do you see? Perry peered through the bushes. I did likewise and took another look at the object that had given me such a sudden fright. It was a picture, I tell you, a picture that we boys seldom see around here. It was a boy, dressed in the costume of the Knights of the Square Table, and he sat upon a pony that stood right on the edge of a great cliff that hung out over the water. That lonely rider in that odd costume, standing out against the reddened sky of the sunset, was a picture that I would like to have painted if I had been an artist. Great guns, exclaimed Perry.

It's one of the pony riders, sir. You're right, I said. One of Pooley's gang. Let's take a back cut, Perry, so as we can get to a canoe. Then we can paddle down in the shadow of the cliffs and keep an eye on him without him seeing us. I want to find out. Just then, again, came the sound of the old brass horn. The pony rider on the cliff head disappeared. He's gone, I said. Most likely to answer the call of that horn. By golly, Perry, this seems like old times. Let's get that canoe out. Jerry Moore's long green canoe is at the landing, sir. In a few minutes, we had reached the little landing and jumped into the long green canoe. Both Perry and I took up a paddle, and soon we were gliding down the stream, hugging the great walls of rocky cliffs that formed the western shore at this point.

Then, suddenly, I felt the canoe veer and, looking up sharply, saw Perry holding with his paddle. "'Look, Hawkins,' he whispered, and immediately I, too, held down on my side with my paddle, and we brought the canoe almost to a stop. I turned my eyes toward the point Perry had pointed out and saw the lone pony rider at the edge of the water urging his mount into the stream. Only a moment did the brave little horse hesitate. The water must have appeared cold to the animal, but it plunged in and began to swim the stream as though it were accustomed to it. The boy in the saddle held his knees above the water, and I saw that his riding boots were of rubber. Together we watched, Perry and I, from our canoe, which we had allowed to glide slowly into the shore.

The pony rider had not seen us. He was heading for the Pelham shore. Once, while he was in midstream, the sound of the brass horn came again, and the pony seemed to understand it, for he swam faster and soon reached the shore, where he leaped up and raced away, disappearing into the thicket a hundred feet beyond. What now, sir? asked Perry. Across and after him, I said excitedly. We must not lose sight of him now, Perry. I must know what he is up to and where he is going. Something seems to tell me I know that fella. With one stroke, we had the long canoe around and headed for the shore. Landing, Perry seemed to wonder how in the world I would find out which way to go, seeing that the pony rider no longer was in sight.

The hoof prints, I cried. "'See, Perry, the bank is money. Look, the horseshoe prints in the mud. Follow them.' We followed them. They did not lead far. Before we knew it, we had reached the summit of a hill from which we could look down into a sort of basin around which the trees grew high. It seemed as if the ground within this round depression was not good enough to grow anything. Only the coarse, rough grass covered it, and that only in splotches." It was a great round hole in the woods, and down in the center of this great hole were gathered three boys. One was a face I knew well, even though he did not wear the square cap and the cape of the Knights of the Square Table. It was Pooley, handsome-faced Pooley, his head shaded by a wide, tan felt hat.

His shirt and knickers were of a khaki cloth. His legs were encased almost to his knees in tan, high-laced boots. His two companions were tall boys, easily head and shoulders taller than Pooley. Both wore the square cap and blue cape of the knights, and one, who had just arrived on the pony, whose hoofprints we had followed, held a riding whip in his hand, which he struck against his rubber boot as he talked. Of these two companions of Pooleys, I could not recognize either. One had an ugly scar, running from his left eye down across his lips and disappearing under his chin. The other had a scowling look upon his ugly face, which lightened up a bit at times when he smiled at something which was said, although we, at our distance, could not catch their words.

Yet, while we watched them, something in this last-mentioned boy's face seemed to tell me who he was. And then, when I saw him raise to his lip an old battered horn, Long Tom, I muttered under my breath, and Perry Stokes nodded his head. The call of the brass horn brought quick results. Upon the opposite edge of the great round hole in the ground appeared a group of pony riders. They came in single file. One after another, they circled half the rim of the natural basin and then began to descend where the three leaders stood. I admired those wonderful-looking ponies, some brown and white, some all black, some gray, but pretty as could be. Down into the hollow they came, one after another, and their riders leaped from their saddles and began to tie the ponies together, herding them to one side.

After they had taken care of their mounts, the boys came together in the middle of the hollow. One of them ran into a little dugout place and came back presently with a little folding table, which he set upon his legs in the middle of the place. Then they all gathered around it and began their meeting. Oh, how I wished I could dare to creep closer to hear what they said, but that wasn't necessary, as you shall see. We watched them, Perry and I, from our hiding place above them. They all stood in a circle around the square table, on each corner of which was marked a great K, and in the center of which was a circle with the letter P, which stood for Pooley. Long they talked, and earnestly, and yet not a word of their talk could Perry or I understand, and we dared not go closer, but finally their talk ended.

We could see that it was over by the way they all scattered, each one going to his pony and jumping into the saddle. One by one, they left the hollow, until finally only Pooley and his two tall boy companions were left. The three of them walked over to where the last remaining pony stood. The boy with the scar took hold of the bridle. Long Tom leaped into the saddle. Pooley and his friend walked on either side, and thus the three of them went up the slope and out of sight, and the hollow was empty. Empty, did I say? Well, not quite, because even a moment afterward I saw another figure moving in it. It was a long, lean, lanky somebody, moving like a snake from out of the little dugout place up along the side of the slope that led toward us.

By golly! It was the skinny guy. It was my old scout. He had seen us and was coming toward us. Hawkins, he called softly. Then, taking more courage, Hawkins, he called in a louder voice. Hawkins, is it you, boy? It's me, old timer, I called back to him. It's me, Link, old fella. What's on your mind? I saw him smile up at me as he crawled, his fingers digging into the rough grass to help him up. I heard every word they said, he called up to me. Hurry, hurry. Take your time, I called back down to him. Take your time, Link. I'll wait till you come up. Don't lose your breath, old skinny guy. You're a great old scout, if I do say it. They're planning to get you, Sek, he cried. "'Tonight at the clubhouse.

You're going to be there, ain't you?' "'Why, yes,' I said. "'Lou Hunter has singing practice tonight. I expect to be there.' "'Good night.' "'Well?' "'The whole pony-riding bunch is to tackle the clubhouse at quarter to nine.' "'Did they say that?' "'That's exactly the plans they made down there in that hole in the ground, Hawkins.' "'I didn't say any more.' I turned around and led the way back to the river, where we had left Jerry Moore's long green canoe. After we three had got in and I had settled myself down in the thwarts, while Perry and Link began to paddle, I asked, "'Do you think they will do it, Link?' "'I sure do,' he answered. "'All right,' I said. "'We will get ready for him,' which we did."

17 17 - Fair and Square 13:36

Lou Hunter was the first one down to the clubhouse that evening, and I was the second. "'Heard anything, Lou?' I asked as I unlocked the door. "'Not a sound,' he said. "'Why?' "'Pooley's coming tonight,' I answered carelessly. I tried to act as though I weren't afraid. I walked back into my little writing room and lit the lamp on my desk. "'Yeah,' I continued, "'the old square table leader will be here himself. Thought maybe you'd like to get a good look at him.' "'I sure would,' spoke up Lou. "'I'd like to give that bully a piece of my mind.' I waved my hand. That wouldn't do, I said. He wouldn't even hear you. Takes more than scolding Lou to make a fellow like Pooley sit up. You remember how many boys he had in his gang on Halloween?

Fifty-two. I counted him. And believe me, Lou Hunter, if that fifty-two bunch crowds around this clubhouse tonight, well, Judge Granberry will have a word to say to us tomorrow. Lou looked pale. Fifty-two, he repeated. Good Lord, Hawkins. Let's call off this singing practice tonight and stay away. Tomorrow night, maybe—we might as well have it out tonight, I broke in. It's got to come sooner or later. I picked up my pen and opened my ink bottle. And besides, I added, I'd never show the yellow feather when Pulley's around. It's not showing yellow when you follow your common sense, said Lou. If he has fifty-two, what are we twelve going to do? I'd say it's common sense to steer clear, and you, Hawkins, always preaching to us boys to use common sense.

I stopped him. Lou, I said, common sense sometimes tells me to use tricks. If we let Pooley get the idea in his head that we are afraid of him, what then? He'd never let up on us. I'm thinking that we can put a stop to Pooley by making him ashamed of himself. That's the common sense I see in it, Lou. We were interrupted just then by the arrival of Jerry Moore and Bill Darby. They've been pretty thick, those two, ever since Jerry turned out to be a good football player. Bill is captain of the football team, and he idolizes anybody who can play well. I'd like to have some big electric light talk-ins, said Bill as he romped into the clubhouse and sailed his cap skillfully upon one of the coat hooks.

I'd hang them all around the hollow and play football at night. That started a talk about football again. The talk died down at last, and Lou got them around the organ and began the singing practice. The preacher asked us to sing at the church next Sunday morning, and Lou had a song picked out for the occasion. I was interested in writing, and at first paid no attention to the singing. But that song kinda gets on your nerves, and I finally caught myself humming along. On a hill, far away, stoned on an old rugged cross. Ah, you don't know how it makes you feel to hear a bunch of boys singing. And Lou had them all harmonizing. I got up and walked over to the doorway. I stood just within the curtains of the doorway and looked at the happy bunch of kids.

They were all there except the skinny guy. I wonder, I said to myself, what is keeping him? He has been delayed, or has he gone poking his nose into trouble? Because I remembered that I had told Link that afternoon that he was our scout, he had spied upon the Pooley meeting and had overheard their plans to tackle our clubhouse after dark. Had he gone out now to see if he could find out more of their plans? As if in answer to my unspoken question, the door opened silently, and in walked the skinny guy. He gave one hasty look at the group of boys singing around the organ, and then, seeing me, walked quickly over. I stepped back into my writing room, and he followed me. What now? I asked. Where have you been, Link?

He jerked his head toward the window and winked his eye. I watched them gather, he said. They came in from the hillside, and they came in from the plain. Fifty of them, Hawkins, if there's one. The whole bunch, sitting around. Wait. He walked over to the window and peered out. Turning, he beckoned. Come here, Hawkins, he said. I walked over. You see that glow in the sky? That's from their campfire, or bonfire, I should say. I didn't stop to count them, but there must be fifty, sitting around that great big fire in that same hollow where we saw them this afternoon. There was a circle of them as big as a merry-go-round. I wanted to stay until they started for the clubhouse, but I got cold feet.

The longer I watched them, the worse I felt. I'm really afraid this time, Hawkins. You can talk about your stoners, boy, and the Harkinson and the Red Runners. This bunch of Pooleys is more than a gang. They're all older than we are, except Pooley. He's the youngest in the lot. Not as old as you, I think. But he's got something about him that makes those other guys do what he says. What is it, Hawkins? Brains, I said simply. Pooley thinks. Those other fellas are always waiting for somebody else to do the thinking for them. That's why they follow Pooley so easily, and Pooley knows it. For a few minutes we sat there listening to the singing. Then Link asked, What are you going to do? They will be here shortly.

What were they waiting on? I asked. Pooley. He hadn't shown up. Long Tom got up and made a speech, begging them to follow him and go without Pooley, but none of them moved. No, I said. They've been used to Pooley too long. A tough-like long Tom will never rule that gang. Wait, let me see if I can get Perry Stokes without exciting the other boys. I went to the curtain doorway and beckoned Perry in. Perry, I said. You will take old Rufus Rogers' gun and go out on the porch. Don't fire the gun unless somebody gets so close on to you that you can't get back here. But as soon as you see the Knights of the Square table coming, hurry back to me. Perry looked startled when he heard those last few words, but like a good club member, he took the gun and went quietly out without the others noticing.

Now, I said to Link, get Shadow Loomis in here. Link went out and returned with Shadow. Are they coming? asked Shadow. Link says they are, I answered. And I want you and him to listen to me carefully and do just as I say. The minute Pooley comes, you each take four of our boys and stand on each side of the big table. Perry Stokes will be with me, and let me talk to Pooley. And if there's any fighting to be done, well." I threw up my hands and shrugged my shoulders. "'Shucks, Hawkins, there'll be four to one on us,' said Link. "'Looks like a shame. Not a chance for us. We will have to take Lickens tonight. I'm not worrying. I can always slip out of their hands, but the other boys.' How about them?

Never mind them, I said. Each of us will do the best we can. But if I'm right in thinking Pooley is a game guy and a fair and square one... You bet he is, came a voice from the porch. The door had swung open suddenly. I saw a number of boys with torchlights on the porch. In front of them was Pooley. They all wore the square cap and the cape of the Knights of the Square Table. I heard you, said Pooley, looking squarely at me. And I want you to remember that I made my gang wear the square cap to show that we are always on the square. And we are Knights of the Square Table. Always square. I've got one of your fellas out there. He had a gun, but it didn't get a chance to go off. He turned and called through the open door.

Bring that kid in, Sadler. They brought Perry in, looking ashamed, as though he had made a miserable blunder and knew it. Sadler, the boy with the swollen red eye, shoved Perry forward. He still held onto the gun, and I took it from his hands as he stumbled toward me. Now then, continued Pooley. Wait a minute, I broke in. I just want to make sure of one thing, Pooley. Before you go any further ordering things about, let me tell you that I am not afraid of you alone, and our club is not afraid of your gang, no matter how many boys you have behind you. Pooley laughed. He put his hands upon his sides and looked at me scornfully. Ha! he cried. You think I need this big gang behind me, do you? All right, Secretary Hawkins, I'll show you.

How many you got here? He swept his gaze around my little group, and then turned to me. A dozen, he cried. Then, taking from his pocket a notebook and pencil, he hastily scribbled something and tore out a sheet which he handed to Sadler. Take this to Grimm, he said. and Sadler turned and flew out the door with the message. "'Now, then, Secretary Hawkins,' continued Pooley, "'I have ordered all of my boys back but twelve, the same number that you have in your gang. I don't want to be unfair, you see. We are going to fight, and I hope you'll be the one that tackles me.' "'You'll get your wish,' I said hotly, for this cool, insolent tone had angered me. Even as I stepped forward, intending to throw him out of the clubhouse, He put his hands to his lips and gave a shrill whistle.

Immediately there came into the door the group of boys he had behind him. Our boys rushed forward at the same time, each grappling with one of the Pooleys. I had no time to see more, for Pooley handed me a sound wallop, and I felt as if my nose had been flattened against my face. I plunged forward with my right fist, but he caught it in his left and threw his right around my neck. I tried to break from his grasp. But he pulled me over and together we went down. I heard the others scuffling all about me, and one boy nearly tramped on my head as I rolled on the floor with Pooley. He had a stranglehold on me, and suddenly I felt the weight off my chest, and I sat up. Come on, get up, said Pooley.

Try it again, fair and square. I leaped to my feet. I didn't say a word because I was so mad I couldn't talk. Chase them out, boys, I heard Dick Ferris, our captain, yell. Yeah, but it wasn't so easy to do. I luckily managed to sail one in and catch Pooley on the jaw. He reeled, and for a moment I thought he would go down. But Pooley is a tough one. He came back at me and sent such a stinging blow to my head that I was dizzy for a second. And then I tried my left, and I caught him right under the chin. It was a lucky punch. I'll never give myself credit for it. He went down like a sack of potatoes. And just as I bent over him, Came the sound of the old brass horn, once, twice, thrice, a warning.

How I remembered the old call. Twice a summons, three times, warning, and a sign of danger. In a panic, the other knights left off fighting, and they nearly had our boys down and out, but they left off and ran out of that door to save themselves from the danger that the old horn announced. For the love of Mike, what's this commotion all about? I was stooping over Pooley who lay on the floor. I turned and saw Doc Waters standing in the door. Pooley opened his eyes. Doc Waters came in. "'What's the matter, Hawkins?' he asked, bending down over Pooley. "'Nothing, sir,' and it was Pooley who answered him. "'Not a thing. If you must know, we had a fight, and I believe Hawkins beat me, but it was fair and square.' He got upon his feet and I helped him, but he shook off my hand as though he didn't want any help.

He turned to Dr. Waters, who stood staring at the strange boy. "'I hope you won't blame Hawkins,' he said. "'He couldn't help it. We made him fight, but we fought fair and square. Good night.' And he leaped for the door and was gone. "'Well, of all the strange kids,' began Doc Waters. "'That was Pooley,' I said. "'As I came down the river path,' said Doc, "'I saw a great crowd of boys on the bank.' They held rosin torches, and the sight was a strange one, I tell you. As soon as they caught sight of me, I saw one raise a horn to his lips. Long Tom, I said. Doc shook his head. I wish you wouldn't, Hawkins, he said. You've got to keep out of trouble with that boy and his kind. If you don't, the judge will give orders to have your clubhouse torn down and— But I got to, I told him.

Pooley plays fair and square. I won't run. Let the judge order what he wants. I'm going to put up my fists when they come after me. You see how it was. They came right in our clubhouse. Suppose a band of Indians came into this town. Would Judge Granberry run out, or would he fight them? Doc grinned. Same old Hawkins, he said. But just the same, the old judge must not hear of this night. You boys must keep it quiet. Which we did.

18 18 - The Driverless Coach 13:14

Now it was on Thursday night, while we were having singing practice in our clubhouse, that the strange thing happened. While the boys were singing, Perry Stokes had kept on putting wood into our little stove, and believe me, it got so hot that I couldn't stand it inside. When I went out onto the porch, I found that Shadow Loomis and Herb Acom were already out there, sitting in the wicker swing that Doc Waters had bought for our porch. I sat down with them and we talked, mostly about the three horses that were tied to trees just a short way down the river path. Roy and Shadow and Robbie were going to ride back to Dobles after the meeting. Suddenly, Shadow sat straight up and said, Look there! What's that strange thing coming down the river path?

From the main road came a dark, bulky shape filling the whole width of the river path, squeaking a rusty tune to the beat of horses' hooves on the sandy path. A stagecoach as I'm alive, exclaimed Urbecon. And, to tell the truth, it looked like one. As it drew near, the moonlit fell upon it and showed an old ramshackle-closed wooden carriage, like a big hack, drawn by three horses, one in front of two, driven by a queer-looking figure of a boy wearing a square cap and a long cape that hung from his shoulders. The horse in front was a fine-looking animal, with an arched neck, but two behind him were sorry-looking plugs. They came lumbering slowly down the uncertain path. All three of us rose from our seats as a strange sight drew near.

The singing in the clubhouse drowned out the squeaking of the coach so that none of the boys inside knew what was going on out front. As soon as the old hack stopped, the driver swung from his seat. It was Pooley. I knew him in an instant. There was something about his walk, something about the way he threw back his shoulders and showed his handsome face. He advanced through the porch boldly, as though he didn't fear anything or anybody. Almost immediately the door of the carriage flew open, and another figure, dressed in the same costume, came running up behind Pooley. And I knew him, too. The moonlight fell across his face and showed me a bum eye, and I knew it was Sadler, one of the two who had come into our clubhouse through the hole in the floor the night I watched.

We drew back into the dark shadows of the porch, but I knew that we had been seen. For the leader of the Knights of the Square Table spoke. My name's Pooley, he said, as though he were proud of the name. I want a fella inside of that clubhouse, and the sooner I get him, the better it will be for you. If you can send him out quiet, there won't be any fuss. But if you want to bring them all out here, I can promise you there will be a fight. It doesn't make any difference to me, one way or the other. Herbe Combe stepped forward to the steps, where the moonlight fell upon his face. "'I'll go,' he said quietly. "'Let's don't have any fighting, Pooley. No use to get all those boys inside there mixed up in a fight between you and me.

I'll go.' "'Just wait a minute,' broke in Shadow, whose anger is easily stirred. "'How do you get that way, fella? Who told you you can come around here?' But Pooley cut him short. "'Keep out of it, you,' he snapped sharply. What you got to do with this. You keep your hands off this scrap, and you stay where you are. You understand? Poor old Herb had walked to the old stagecoach. Look here, I began, for my temper gets ruffled too when I see things like this. This isn't fair and square, Pooley. He laughed at me scornfully. I'm going to make sure that this fight between Herb and me is fair and square, he said. It wouldn't be if we had to fight here. "'Where all those dumbbells you got in that clubhouse have a chance to get in it.

You sit tight, secretary, and just rest easy that it's all fair and square.' As he turned away, I saw Shadow double up his fists and start after him, but I pulled him back and whispered, "'Wait. When they get started, it will be time enough for us, Shadow.' Herb had entered the old coach, and Sadler had followed. I waited to see Pooley leap back onto the driver's seat, but no, no.' He hopped into the coach and slammed the door shut, and then leaned out of the window and shouted to the horses, Take her home, Lightning, old boy, fast as you can go. Like a flash, it came to me then that there was no driver on the seat. Pooley had driven the coach to the clubhouse, but now Pooley sat inside and there was no driver on the seat.

Ah! Then I remembered the night we had watched and seen on the edge of the hilltops the shadow of a driverless coach against the rising moon. Here it was, and Pooley and his pal were in it, and they had Herb Acom taking him somewhere to settle the long-standing fight between them. The door of the clubhouse opened, and Perry Stokes came out. "'What is it, Hawkins?' he asked. "'Keep quiet,' I told him. "'Shadow and I are going to follow that old coach.' "'Good Lord!' exclaimed Perry, catching sight of the vehicle as it mounted the ridge of the main road. "'Come on, Shadow,' I said. "'It's up to you and me.' Here's our chance to find out where the Knights of the Square Table have their hangout place.

Shadow understood. He raced ahead of me to the place where the three doble horses were tied. I saw him swing lightly into the saddle, but I'm so fat that it takes me a little longer, and I was having a hard time getting my foot into the stirrup, excited as I was, when I felt someone helping and looked down. Perry was beside me. No use trying to shake Perry. I put my heels into the sides of the horse, and the way he started nearly threw me backwards out of my saddle. But I laid down on his neck and held myself tight, and turning my head, I saw Perry coming behind me on the third horse. At the main road, I came up to Shadow, who had held his horse to a standstill. No use taking it so fast, he said.

Those horses can't make the time with that old hack dragon behind them. They can't get away from us. Let's go easy. Down the main road a piece we saw a lumbering coach. It was going as fast as it could, but our young horses could have passed it easily. Slowly we trotted our horses, riding three abreast and talking in low voices as we rode. We could see now where they were leading us. It was to the old creek that wound its snaky way through the hills. We turned into a by-road, a new one to me, but I knew that it must lead only to the creek where we had camped during the summer. However, its ending brought a surprise. Instead of the bank of the creek, we found ourselves in the grounds of the old lonely house.

Ah, so this is where Pooley had made himself a headquarters. Yes, what an excellent place. This old stone house with its round tower and iron balcony on one side, its wonderful grounds and stables. I give Pooley credit for picking it out. Nobody to bother him and his gang in their meetings here. Nope. Last summer, while we were camping, we had discovered the old house. It had stood for nigh unto twenty years, Doc Waters had told us, vacant and uncared for. Only the grounds were in bad shape. The weeds had stood waist-high last summer, and now I remembered that we had seen this old family coach, too, standing outside in front of the stables, where the weather had torn from it every shred of covering.

How vividly it all came back to my mind now as the three of us took our first look at the place where Pooley gathered his knights of the square table. We tied our horses in a spot hidden in the shadows of the trees, and hurried up as far as we dared to the house, where suddenly a light had appeared in a basement window. We could see the coach plainly and hear all that was going on. Pooley was the first to leap out. He ran to the leading horse and took something from his pocket. Which he gave to the beautiful animal with the arched neck. Good boy, we heard him say to his horse. You never make a mistake, Lightning. Here, take another lump of sugar for good measure. You earned it. By this time, a crowd of boys dressed in the costume of the gang had come up out of the basement of the house.

They crowded around the coach, but Pooley cried out. Bring him here, Sadler, till we get things ready. They went to the stables beyond, Pooley leading. Herb Acombe followed him, the rest of the gang bringing up the rear. Herb was shoved inside the stable, the door was closed and fastened with the padlock. The gang turned and all of them went back into the basement. Now, I said. Shadow and Perry understood. We hurried through the dry weeds that cracked underfoot. We reached the stable and I rattled the lock. Here we are, Herb, I called out, no need to be quiet. That bunch of boys in the basement of the house was making enough noise. We'll get you some way, Herb. Don't worry. It was Perry who found the way.

He had climbed up to the little round window in the upper section of the stable. There came a crash of glass and an, ouch, sir, from Perry. Well, I called up. I cut my hand, sir, he called down to me. But I got the glass broken out and the window open, sir. I'm on my way in now, sir. Go to it. I called back to him. I was trying to get a foothold myself, but I had to admit that Perry was a wonder to get up that wall. Shadow finally succeeded in boosting me up, and I saw that Perry had smashed the window and had most likely slipped his arm through the broken glass and unfastened the round sash. It was swung inward, and I squeezed through. We were in a hayloft. Shadow was in back of me, but we weren't needed.

Perry was already climbing back up the ladder, and Herb was close behind him. So we all turned. Well, it's jump for us, said Shadow, and the next minute he leaped from the round window. I wish I hadn't been so quick in following, but anyway I landed on hands and knees in dried weeds, and stickers went deep into my flesh, and I felt like crying, but I didn't. In a few minutes more, we were all running for the spot where we had tied the horses, and that little fool Perry refused absolutely to take his horse, but insisted that Herb Acom ride. So we had to threaten him with the whipping, but he finally agreed to ride behind me on my horse, if I would let him, which I did. We laughed as we rode back at the way we had succeeded in upsetting Pooley's little scheme.

Of course, said Herb Acom. I would have had to fight with gloves. That is why they left me in the stable. They went back to draw lots to see which one was to fight me fair and square. I know Pooley, but I would have had to fight three of their boys before they let me go, and you know that's a swell chance to get a good lickin'. Some of their boys are tall boys, believe me. Don't I know," I said. I met one of them once, and it was only luck that helped me lick him. Listen," said Herbecombe. As we came inside of the clubhouse, it's the same old song. The boys in the clubhouse had not even known that anything had happened. The singing practice was coming to an end, as we could tell by the sweet harmony of, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.

How peaceful it seemed around this old clubhouse, but how rough and exciting it really was. We got down from our horses and tied them to the tree where we had found them. Perry, said Herb, and he took Perry's hand and looked at it. There was blood upon the little fellow's sleeve at the wrist. I want to thank you, Perry. It doesn't hurt at all, sir, Perry said quickly. Really, I'm surprised how little it hurts, seeing as how it bled so much. Let me see, I said, and turned my flashlight upon his wrist. There were jagged cuts on poor old Perry's hand and wrist, but I saw it wasn't serious. You and I will stop by Doc Waters' office on our way home, Perry. Whatever you say, Hawkins. I sighed as we started up the steps to the clubhouse.

Well, said Shadow Loomis, I'm glad this thing has happened. We had our chance to find out where Pooley and his Knights of the Square Table have their headquarters. They've been fooling us all along with those outdoor meetings in different places in the woods, but now we know where their real headquarters is. Yes, I said as I put my hand upon the clubhouse doorknob, and believe me, Shadow, we will have to keep our eagle eye on that place, too. Which we did.

19 19 - The Man in the Lonely House 12:31

The Man in the Lonely House. After we discovered that Pooley and his gang had their headquarters in the basement of the old, lonely house, Every boy in our club wanted to go down there after school every day. Of course, I told our captain, Dick Ferris, to make a rule right away that no boy was to be allowed to go down there unless we all went together. But after the meeting, when all the other boys were outside practicing football for the Thanksgiving Day game, the skinny guy came in to my writing room. I have just got to go down to Lonely House and peep around. I laughed, but I shook my head. Not much, I said. Rules is rules, and you got to live up to him, Link. Chase yourself out of here and forget about it.

I turned myself back to my writing, but not hearing Link make any move to leave, I looked up and saw him grinning at me. You'd better change your mind, Hawkins, he said in a low voice. His face lost its grin now. I saw Rube Miller today. Ah, I broke in. So you were down at Lonely House after all. Breaking the rules ain't like you, Link. I always thought, wait a minute, he cried. Dern if you ain't the worst fella to pop off I ever seen. Listen, this was before the rules was made about that Lonely House. This was before meeting time. I paddled down in your canoe. You're welcome to it, I said, anytime so long as you keep the rules, Link. All right, thanks. But I went down to do my duty. Didn't you make me the spy of our club?

And don't I have to poke my nose in those places if I want to be a good spy? All right. Say it's all right, then. I knew you would, when you understood everything. You just go popping off and forget things. Every time I do— Forgive me, Link, I said. I do blow up in the air sometimes, I'll admit. Tell me, what did Rube Muller tell you? Link forgot all about the unjust scolding I had given him. He told me that he'd been watching, he said, every night he saw a light in the basement of the old Lonely House, and one night he got Joel. Who's Joel? Joel's Rube's daddy's helper on the farm. Seems like he's a pretty nice man, and he's just plumb daffy over Rube. Thinks there ain't a boy like him, you know.

Well, one night Joel took Rube over to see what it was, this light in the basement of Lonely House, which is on the hill across the creek from Rube's daddy's farm. And what do you think? They found the whole gang of Pooley's knights at the square table holding a meeting, and guess what they were talking about? What? They said that it was time they changed their meeting place because it appeared that one room of the lonely house was haunted. Ah, shucks, I said. Here comes another haunted house story. You don't mean to tell me, Link, that Pooley believes in ghosts. You and I will never forget the ghost of Casanova in Cuba, will we? Didn't that prove to you that there were no ghosts? Yes, but these boys don't claim to see any ghosts.

All they noticed was a light in the room on the second floor of the stone tower of Lonely House. They saw it, Rube says, just as they came near it. They took it to be some other boys who had started to have their headquarters there, and they meant to run them out, as Pooley's gang was there first, and they thought it was theirs by rights. It was, I said, and they can keep it. We don't need such a meeting place. I hope Pooley didn't think it was us fellas. I don't know, said Link. Rube and Joel just heard them talking these things over, you understand? And he heard them tell that when they had reached the tower, the light had disappeared. Just like it disappeared that night when we saw it on the old mill.

You remember, the night we started home from our summer camp. I nodded. Yes, I said, I heard of disappearing lights, but let me tell you, Link. If there were ghosts, what would ghosts want with lights? No siree. Maybe there was a light there. Maybe they really did see what they thought they saw. But believe me, if they did, it was put there by somebody who just the same as you and me live in human beings. Lookie here, Hawkins, continued Link. I got a notion. You and I ought to know what's going on. Listen, I got a scheme. For a few minutes, he whispered in my ear, and I nodded my head. He was our spy. No boy in our gang could better act the part than old Skinny Guy. No boy could better get in and out of tight places without being seen, and nobody could bring back more information than he.

That evening, when all the boys gathered in the clubhouse, some playing checkers and others joining in the singing practice with Lou Hunter and the organ, I slipped away with Skinny Guy at my heels and made for Dobble's pasture. We edged up close to the barn, and I gave a low whistle. A signal which was immediately answered, and I saw a little figure emerge from the dark shadow of the big barn. "'I managed it, sir,' came Perry Stokes's voice. "'What a loyal little beggar he was!' "'I managed to get two of Doebell's horses out without any noise, but I'm afraid to try to get the third, Hawkins. Old man Doebell heard something. He's sitting by the window.' "'Two'll be enough,' said Link, leaping upon the saddle of one of the steeds that Perry had prepared for us.

As per orders. Perry gripped my arm. But I want to go long, Hawkins, he said. Wait, help me catch the other horse. It won't take long with two of us after him. Hush, Perry, I said. You can ride behind me. You did fine. It's enough to catch these wild things to say nothing about saddling them. Give me a lift. He helped me into the saddle. How did you manage it? I asked. I really didn't expect you to have them saddled, Perry. A bridle would have been plenty. I gave him sugar, of course, sir, said Perry, with a little laugh, springing nimbly up to the rear of my saddle. You can give him your heels now, sir. I'm ready. I'm glad to go along with you, Hawkins. You shouldn't ever go without me, sir.

I'm always thinking of the risk you run when— Hold tight, I said sharply. We're going to keep up with that horse ahead of us. And believe me, I had to hold tight myself. I didn't say that because I was going to make my horse go that fast. No. It was because I couldn't keep the horse from going fast, even if I had wanted to. Because the darn thing seeing Skinny's horse start away at a gallop started to follow, and no amount of holding in would slack him up. Down to the main road we raced. Perry held me tight around the waist. The Skinny guy led the way, and I could see that he had been this way before. It seemed no time until we were inside of the shadow of the tall, lean tower of the stone house.

On the rise that was luckily thickly wooded, Link pulled up, and we came to a halt behind him. We'll have to wait here a bit, he said. Let's rest. Rest nothing, I said. We don't need rest. And furthermore, Link, I want to get through with this affair as quickly as I can. Go ahead if you won't. I'll take the lead. All right, he said. If you want to bump into the whole gang of Pooley's knights, go ahead and lead the way. Look down there to the left, right in that path, coming up the hill from the creek. I looked. At first I couldn't see anything, but gradually I saw movement there on the path, and then suddenly a light flared out, a flame from a rose-in torch, and I could clearly see a group of boys, the foremost riding ponies or horses, and a few running on foot behind them.

Pooleys, said Link simply. Knights of the square table, every one, coming to hold their regular meeting. Copycats, that's what they are. Never thought of holding regular meetings till they knew us, and saw our clubhouse. And think of the kind of place they picked out for their clubhouse. The basement of an old, forsaken house. It's good enough, I said, if we didn't have our clubhouse. If we didn't have our old friend, good old Doc Waters, we wouldn't have any better, and maybe we would be glad to have a place like the basement of a lonely house to meet in. Shut your trap, said Link sharply. Here they come. Back up, back your horse into those bushes. The stickers won't hurt him. Back up. Back he went, into the friendly shadow of that clump of bushes, which, though it was near winter and leaves had all fallen, still were thick enough to give us a good hiding place, and from our point of vantage, we watched the torchlight procession.

It came up noisily, as Pooley's gang always did when they were alone. They could be silent enough when they were on enemy soil. But let them feel safe and oh boy, how noisy they could be. Well, it was a pretty sight. I am funny that way. When I see a bunch of young fellows moving in a dark place, with only the flare of torches casting shadows on the uneven ground ahead, it seems to me that it makes a pretty picture. We watched them as they strung out before us, the pony riders first, the boys afoot behind them. At the gate of the lonely house, the ponies stopped and the boys afoot came up. To hold them while the riders started to dismount. But they never got out of their saddles, for suddenly a cry went up and I saw several of those in the saddle pointing to the second story of the stone tower.

And the next minute the cry was raised to a shout. And then, riders and footrunners, they all turned and fled, helter-skelter, this way and that, away from the lonely house. Some passed quite close to us, but none of them saw us. And within three minutes after this thing had commenced, there was not a sign of a single night of the square table. I laughed out loud. Link turned a scowling look upon me. For heaven's sake, he whispered, be careful now, Hawkins. Wait. But did you see how they ran? I asked. They had reason to, returned the skinny guy. Look there. I looked toward the spot whereat he pointed. The glow of the dim light came from the window of the second story of the stone tower of Lonely House.

Ha! I said. So you believe too that it is ghost, eh, Link? Well, come on. Here's finding out about such things. Without another thought, I drove my heels into the sides of the horse that carried me, not thinking of Perry. And by the way he jerked me around the waist, I knew that he came near falling off backwards. But I was too excited now to stop and think. I drove that little spitfire of a horse right up to the tower. His hoofbeats were sound and clear. I leaped from the saddle as quickly as I could, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the skinny guy following, while Perry took hold of the bridles of both horses. I found a foothold and clambered up the rough stone walls, and then, when I reached the second-story window, I peered through.

Skinny Link was peering with me. We looked, and we saw. What did we see? We saw a little circular room. It was bare except for an outlandish round table cut in fancy style out of redwood, and upon it a candle burned, the grease dripping into a pancake upon the table top, and beside the table, seated on a nail keg, was an old man, an old, old man with the top of his head bald, yet the gray locks that hung from the edges of his bald spot reached close to his collar. He sat there, and by the light of the candle he studied some old papers, some old yellow sheets that, in the light of the candle, seemed faded and ragged. We watched him until suddenly the candle went out and, oh boy, that minute I got a chill.

I began to shiver. I wanted to get down. I don't know how I would ever have managed it if it had not been for Perry. He came, and with the aid of the skinny guy, they got me down from that iron railing. "'Well,' said the skinny guy after we were back in the saddle and racing toward our clubhouse. "'What is the answer, Hawkins?' "'Don't ask me now,' I replied in a shivering voice. "'I'm cold. Dern but it's gettin' cold. "'Believe me, that ain't any ghost on the round tower. "'It's a human being, that's what it is, "'and you can take my word we will find out soon enough "'what he is doin' there.'" Which we did.

20 20 - A Peaceful Proposal 13:09

A PEACE PROPOSAL.

The first snow had fallen. The river path was covered with a mingling of footprints. I was sure that the boys had held the regular meeting after school without me. When I arrived at the clubhouse, I found Perry Stokes was there, cleaning up. "'Boys all gone, Perry?' I asked. "'To the hill, sir,' he said. "'They've taken out the big bobsled, sir. "'Jerry Moore says it's snow enough for a sled track, sir.' I walked to my little writing desk and sat down. Dick Ferris, our captain, had left a little note on my desk. Telling of the important things done at the meeting, so that I could write them down in the minutes. Perry, I said, don't you like sled tracks? I do so very much. All right, get out of here and join the other boys.

I've got to do today's writing, and I'd rather be alone.

I sat there, alone, scribbling in my book. About fifteen minutes passed in peaceful quiet. And then I heard a step on the porch, and I thought it was one of our boys returning. But no. It was a strange footstep. I started up, but before I got out of my chair the curtains parted, and there stood my enemy, Pooley. I know you're surprised, he said in a low voice. I won't make excuses. You and I ain't friends. But I had to come. I stopped him with a wave of my hand. Why aren't we friends? I asked. Listen, Pooley, just because you are fool enough to bum around with a bunch like the Knights of the Squareheads, square table, I mean, why should I believe we ain't friends? He frowned. Let's not talk about it, he said.

I come to talk over other things with you, Secretary Hawkins, and I come fair and square. I smiled up at him. That's your motto, isn't it? Never mind. The old judge of your town sent for my pop, and I know he wants to find out about the burning of the Pelham shack across the river. Now I come to tell you I didn't do that, Hawkins, and you know it. How do I know it? You know it well enough. You know me. And you know that I wouldn't let any feller in my gang do a thing like that. First place it ain't fair and square. Second place it's too dangerous. Why, the whole woods might have caught fire from that fool thing. Yes, I said, it was a very foolish stunt for anybody to do. But are you sure that none of the boys in your gang did it?

Pooley was silent for a minute. His face had a worried look. I wish I knew, he said. Ever since Long Tom came, my gang ain't the same. Some of them are changed. Long Tom is for going in and doing the rough stuff all the time. I never allowed any boy in my gang to play rough. But Long Tom seems to be taking them all away from me. I had over fifty boys, Hawkins, in my gang. I bet I couldn't count on twenty of them now, to be the same as they were before Long Tom joined.

Something in the way he said that made me feel sorry for Pooley. I don't know why, but I had a soft spot in my heart for him then.

Cut loose, I said to him, while you've still got time. Cut loose from them all, Pooley, and start all over again. Long Tom is a bad one. I knew him long ago when he was with Stonersboy and with Harkinson. He was sent to the school for bad boys, but he broke out and got away. All the others have changed and become goodfellas, but Long Tom never will. You'd better cut loose while you have the chance.

Pooley looked down at the floor.

I wish I could, he said. Bye, George Hawkins, I wish I could. But he has a pool with the boys. I couldn't get more than ten to stick by me. Take the ten, I broke in. Take those that will stick to you, Pooley, even if it's only a few. And believe me, you'll have a better bunch in those few than you would have in the whole fifty, if you could not trust them. Pooley nodded. You're right, Hawkins, he said, and by George I'll do it. This very night, at our meeting, I will tell them what I'm going to do. Let them see who can lead them best and show them the best times. I'll take the ten. Sadler and Ward and the others. They're the best fellas in the bunch anyhow. You can bet your last bum nickel on that, I said.

The fellas who will stick to you are the best in the lot. I know you, Pooley. You got some bad points, but you got a lot of good ones too. He stepped forward and held out his hand. I'm glad you said that, he said. I always knew you were a regular fella.

I shook his hand. He had a happier look on his face now.

Anytime I can help you, Pooley, I said, still holding his hand. You can count on me. I won't say anything about what you have done to our gang. Let's let bygones be things of the past. I don't mind telling you that I have a very selfish reason for all this. I want to get long, Tom. We can send him back to the school for bad boys from which he escaped. They are still looking for him, but he is too slick for our sheriff. But the main thing is this. I want to get back that old brass horn that he stole from this clubhouse. Pooley looked surprised, and then he laughed. I wouldn't give a nickel for that old banged-up horn, he said. It's the worst-looking thing you ever saw. It ain't worth two cents to tell the truth.

To you it isn't, I broke in. And maybe nobody else would give that much for it, Pooley. But to me, well, you see, that old horn belonged to Stoner's boy, long time ago. When we were such little kids we didn't know how to spell our own names right. And then it went to a boy named Harkinson, a bad one if there ever was one. And Harkinson went blind before we caught him, and the sheriff never did get him, because Doc Waters sent him to the hospital. And Harkinson died, Pooley. Would you believe it? He died. In that old hospital up at Watertown. His heart broke, Doc said. But before he died, Harkinson gave me the old brass horn to remember him by. You see? You see why I want it back, Pooley? "'Because it means more to me than it does to any boy in the world.'" Pooley shook his head and sat down in the chair beside my desk.

"'That wouldn't make it so valuable,' he said. "'Not to me.' "'I heard about this Harkinson fella. His gang was called the Red Runners, wasn't it?' "'Yeah,' I said. "'It was a peach of a gang, too. Order, system, everything. They were all numbered on the sleeve.'" They were the best gang I ever—not at all broke in, Pooley. The Knights of the Square Table, my gang, is better than that, Hawkins. We got all that system and stuff. But I bet you even with that, there ain't a gang but what has its fights and falling outs. Sure, I said. Harkinson was with Long Tom. They split up. That's what I'm telling you. You can't bum around with Long Tom without trouble. "'Best thing for you to do, Paulie, is to cut loose from that fella as soon as you can.

Take my advice, won't you?' He nodded again. "'I told you I would,' he said. He got up. "'Well, tonight we are going to have a meeting. Tonight we will have a showdown. The fellas who stick by me, Hawkins, will be the real ones. Those who stick to Long Tom can have him. Anyway, they won't have ponies to ride around on.' "'That's the boy,' I said, patting him on the back. "'I knew you were a regular fella, Pooley. You can count on us. There won't be any more fights between you and your boys and us. We will all work together to help each other out, and believe me, we will get Long Tom in the end.' "'It will be easy,' said Pooley with a little smile. "'You leave that to me. I am glad that we won't have any more fights, Secretary Hawkins.

You beat me once.' I will never forget that punch you gave me, and I don't want to get another one like it. But it was all fair and square. All fair and square, I repeated. It's the only way to do things poorly. Yeah, he said. I found that out a long time ago. Well, I'm glad I came to talk to you anyway. Now there will be no more fights between you and me. My gang will be good to your gang. And we will help each other out whenever. Just at that moment the outer door reopened, and there came a step in the meeting room. In a minute, the door curtains parted, and a boy... It was Herb, a comb. For a moment he and Pooley looked at each other. Ah, why hadn't I thought of the long-standing fight between these two?

Why hadn't I spoken of it to Pooley before we had come to our agreement? What a dumb head I was, after all.

I guess you were looking for me, said Herbacomb at last. I'm glad I had to come back here, or maybe you would have thought I was afraid to meet you. No, said Pooley, and now his voice was changed. It was a different Pooley now who stood before his old foe. I did not come to look for you, Herbacomb, but since you've come, I'll tell you to your face that I aren't afraid of you. And I'll fight you fair and square whenever you are ready. I'm ready now, shouted Herb, throwing off his coat and stepping forward. Pooley met him face to face, but I sprang between them. No, I said in a loud voice. And my voice meant something, believe me. This clubhouse is no fighting place for anybody. As long as I am secretary here, I am going to see that there is no fighting in this shack when I can stop it.

If there's going to be a fight, there'll be three in it, and believe me, I won't care who I hit. They both stood away from me, but in their eyes I could see the old spirit of the fight, a boy's fight, and there's nothing that has more spirit in it than that. They looked like two tigers ready to spring. Pooley was a hot-tempered kid. All right, he shouted, it's all off. Everything I said is off, Secretary Hawkins. I won't split with Long Tom. By George, I'll stick to him just to get a chance to make that smart aleck, Herber Comb. No, he can't bluff a fella like me. Not by a long shot. I'll get a chance to scrap you yet, Herber Comb, when we ain't in this old shack. Come outside now, and I'll give you what you're looking for.

I'll accept that invitation, said Herb quickly, and he made to follow Pooley, but I grabbed him round the wrist and told him where to get off. You stay right here, I said. Pooley walked to the door and turned. Don't think I'm afraid of you, he called out, and then he was gone. I let my hold go, and Herb sank into the chair that Pooley so lately had occupied. Hawkins, he said. You're always making me look like a coward. I could have licked him good then. Yes, I said, but it wasn't the right time, Herb. Later on, maybe, but I didn't finish. The other boys came in then, and we had to quit talking about it. But I didn't quit thinking about it. No, I knew that I had almost won Pooley over to our side, and that we had come close to a chance of catching Long Tom.

Not that I doubted we would catch him. I knew we would keep on working to that end until we did, and I had some plans in my noodle that were beginning to look like they would soon be ready to spring, and I meant to spring them. Some of these schemes I talked over with the boys, and they said that if we worked them out just as I had them planned, we would put an end to the Knights of the Square Table and send Long Tom back to the school for bad boys. Which we did. Later.

21 21 - The Faded Letter 16:06

The Faded Letter.

I had not forgotten the night when the skinny guy and I had climbed to the window of the round tower of the lonely house, and had seen that old man inside that circular room, reading some old yellow papers by the light of a candle. I had thought about it more than I wrote down in this here book of mine. But today, while I was sitting alone in my writing room, something happened that makes it necessary for me to write about it again. You know, most of the boys who saw the old man prowling around that lonely house thought it was a ghost. You can't blame them much. Lights in an old deserted house always start rumors like that. But somehow or other, after all the spooky things I had seen down in Cuba, I had come to believe that there are no ghosts.

And I surely didn't believe that old man to be a ghost. Today, he walked into the clubhouse and... Are you alone? he asked in a high-pitched voice, a voice that was weakened by age. His face, as he looked at me, seemed troubled, and he had a nervous, worried look in his eye. I am all alone, I said. Won't you sit down, please?

I had jumped to my feet and shoved a chair toward him as I spoke. He looked around in a nervous sort of way, as though he wasn't sure whether he should sit down or not. "'You can rest easy about me being alone,' I said, with a little laugh. "'I guess you're a stranger here, else you would know that I am the secretary of this little club. All the other boys are out on the river in their canoes.' The old man's head nodded vigorously. He took the chair. "'I don't like to intrude,' he said. "'I was never one to intrude. I always think a body should be announced, or at least knock before entering and all that.' But I have been so worried, boy. Would you do me a favour?" If I'm able to do it, I answered, I'll be glad to.

You'll look as though you might, he said. He fumbled around in an inner pocket and drew forth a batch of musty-looking yellow papers. I wondered if these were the same papers that we had seen him studying in that little old room of the tower that night.

I am old, he continued. Fingering the papers, I am getting too old. Seems as though I shall never die. He looked up at me suddenly and caught the wonder written on my face. Please go on, I said. You want me to do you a favor, don't you? If you will, he said. And then, as he continued talking, he went slowly and carefully through the yellow papers. I have here a writing that I cannot make out. Even with my spectacles I cannot read it. Perhaps you will do me the favour of reading what is written on this paper. Wait, I must have it here. There are so many. Ah, this is it. All the others I can read, but this one. Perhaps you will read it for me, boy." He held out to me a sheet of yellow paper. I took it and laid it flat upon the desk before me.

The writing must have been done with pen and ink long years ago. It was so faded that I scarcely thought I would be able to do the old man the favour he asked of me.

That is a letter, he said, a letter that was written long ago. If you will promise not to tell a soul what you see written there, I shall appreciate it, boy. If you want to do a favour for an old man who has not many more days to live upon this old earth. But I had hardly heard his last words. I was so interested in the writing. It was very faint, but I could make it out. Listen, I said, I shall read it to you. I can make it out, although the ink has faded badly. Here is what is written. And then I read the letter to him. It was written in a shaky hand, with the crossings of the T's stretched the whole width of a word, and the dottings of the I's in big blots. I will give a complete copy of this letter, so that you will understand why it made me wonder.

My dear son, when I die, you shall be far from my house. I have arranged it so. There has been but one thing in my life that I worshipped. And that was gold. That there was plenty of it, you know, because it came down to me from your grandfather, and to him from your great-grandfather. I have been a miser, loving gold more than that which it would buy. In my old days I regret and repent, but I want to make sure that this shall not happen to you, that you shall not become a miser as I was. That is why I sent you so far from home. That is why I have hidden all this gold before I die. Perhaps the search for it will interest you. Perhaps you will have plenty of it by this time, so that you will not even care to bother about finding it.

Grellerio tells me that he can find you, so I am entrusting this letter in his care. Whichever the case may be, The gold has been hidden, and I, your father, am about to die. Should this letter ever come into your hands, understand that I have repented, that I send you even now my blessing, and that when my spirit passes, your name will be upon my lips. For I have always loved you, son, with an ever-increasing love that you will never understand. That you have been away from my side these many years, well, let us say that that was part of my earthly punishment. You will pray for me sometimes, I am sure. You were a good boy, always such a sweet little fair-haired boy, and you always loved me with such a kind and tender love.

Wish that I could see you just once more, but that denial is also accepted by me without complaint. I am going home to that eternal home where we shall all meet again someday, and these lines shall carry to you, should they ever reach you, the assurance that, although I exiled you, I have ever thought about you. Your father. I read it out loud in a slow, sing-song fashion. There seemed to be a spell cast over me while I read it. I had forgotten the old man sitting beside my desk, listening. I forgot all but the picture that the letter brought to me. An old man sitting at his table, writing his last message to a son he had not seen for many, many years. The contents of the letter, the part about the miser and the gold, never once held me.

It was the idea that the little boy had been sent away by a miser father. That they had not seen each other for the long, long time. That was what made me feel so blue. When I had finished reading the faded manuscript, I looked up. The old man was sitting with a bowed head, his hands upon his cane, and I could see that he was weeping. For a few minutes there was a silence in the clubhouse. Then he raised his head. I could see the tears glistening on his lashes. Isn't it sad? He said with a shake of his head. Poor people! What a sorrow!

Is there anything else I might do for you? I asked. But he hastily got up. No. I am a thousand times obliged to you, boy. He reached for the letter. I gave it to him, and he folded it up and put it back with the rest of the yellow papers, which he put into his pocket, and then he started to go.

But before he reached the curtains that hung in the doorway, he turned. "'My name is Grillerio,' he said. "'I hope you will not tell a soul what you have read in the letter for me.' I got up and held out my hand. My name's Hawkins, I said. The fellas around here call me Secretary Hawkins, because I write down all that happens to our club. I'm sure you won't have to worry about me telling anything that I read to you in that letter. He took my hand in his, and the bony fingers shaking with age clasped my hand tightly. I am glad to know you, boy, he said, and then as he turned to go. "'We may meet again, perhaps. Some day I should like to repay you for the favour.' And then he went out. I watched him through the window as he went down the river path, his uncertain step aided by the cane, and then he passed out of sight behind the other green bushes that line the path.

So here was the answer of the mysterious appearance of the old man in Lonely House. Gold was the thing that brought him back. That was plain to me. Grillerio was the name mentioned in the letter that I had read for him. Evidently, then, he knew that there was gold hidden in that old Lonely House. A miser's gold. Plenty of it, the letter had said. But why was Grillerio hunting it? Was he perhaps a servant of the old miser? Yes, I figured so. He was a servant who had been trusted, and now, when it seemed that the son would no longer claim it, he was making a go for the gold himself. That's what I figured out for myself. Ha! A mystery sure enough. Oh, if only I hadn't promised him I wouldn't tell.

But the idea of honour came to me then. If this old man was really in search of hidden gold that did not rightly belong to him, wasn't it up to me to prevent it? True, I had promised not to say a word about the letter, but I hadn't promised him that I wouldn't search for the gold myself. No, not on your life. I hadn't promised him that. Not that I cared for the gold, but the hunt for it, and the seeing to it that it reached the rightful owner. It was adventure enough to make me take a greater interest in the Lonely House. So that when the skinny guy in Shadow Loomis asked me to go along for a canoe ride, I went gladly and suggested that we strike out for Banclick Creek. We had a quiet trip, just talking nonsense and laughing, and when we reached the old dilapidated mill on the creek, I suggested that we paddle up a bit farther and take a look at Lonely House.

"'That's where you'll run into Pooley and his boys,' said Shadow. "'Don't you think they're afraid of it since they saw those haunted signs?' I asked. "'Not much,' Shadow laughed. "'Not in daytime. "'There's never any sign of ghosts in daytime, "'and Pooley and his fellas must have a meeting place. "'You'll find them there, I bet.' But we didn't. No. We walked up the narrow path between the dead weeds. And burrs and stickers hung on my stockings when we arrived at the old stable that stood a twenty yards from the lonely house.

I'm going up, I said, and take a look at the front door. I want to see something.

The skinny guy and Shadow came with me. We were joking and chatting as we went up the porch steps. But just as I reached the front door, it opened and a short, dark-haired man, with a little moustache and a short, pointed beard, stood before me. "'Well,' he said, "'what do you want here?' "'Excuse me, sir,' I said. "'We didn't know anybody had taken this house. "'We thought it was still vacant, sir.' "'It is,' said the dark, bearded man quickly. "'And I am the real estate agent. "'You do not want to rent it, do you?' He smiled a queer smile. Or perhaps you are thinking of buying it? We backed away from him. Something in the appearance of this dark-faced man frightened me. No, I said, I'm sorry we come to bother you, sir.

We'll go as quick as we can. The door slammed in our faces as we backed away. We ran down the steps together, all three of us, as though we had really seen a ghost. "'Good Lord,' said Shadow Loomis as we struck the gravel path. "'What's the matter with him, Hawkins? Did you ever see such a face and such eyes?' I shook my head. "'Something funny's going on around here,' I said. "'For the love of Mike, who's that coming?' For we had seen another man coming towards us on the gravel path. He came from the stables. He carried a huge club in his hand, and there was a grin on his face. He was looking at me as he came. "'So you boys haven't learned enough to stay away from here, eh?' he called to me.

As he did so, he raised the club and shook it. "'Look here,' he continued. "'We don't want more of your meetings in the cellar of this house, you understand? No more now.' I stepped forward. Excuse me, mister, I said, but I guess you mistake us for Pooley and his boys. They call themselves the Knights of the Square Table. They've been meeting every day in the cellar of this old lonely house, but not us. We've got a clubhouse to meet in, we have. The grin on the man's face broadened. He looked more like a tramp to me. His clothes were so greasy and dirty, and he had not shaved for weeks, I bet. He looked like a hobo.

Well, he said, it don't make no difference. No boys allowed here, see? You can tell all your young friends that this house is Tooken, and we don't want no more boys hanging around here, you see? He raised his club again and shook it. But we sidestepped him and ran for the creek, where we had left our canoe. There's something funny about all this, said Shadow Loomis to me, as we started paddling back home. Don't worry, said the skinny guy. I bet you we will find out all about it in a short time. Which we did.

22 22 - Pooley's Pipe of Peace 13:57

Pooley's Pipe of Peace. The skinny guy always thought he was the official spy of our gang. Ever since he joined us, he took it upon himself to scout around and find out what plans our enemy gangs were making to get even with us. So, after our regular meeting on Friday after school, the other boys went to Parks Hills to look for a Christmas tree to put up in our clubhouse Christmas Eve, and Link stayed with me in my little writing room.

"'Hawkins,' he said, "'I've been finding out some things for you. I've been up to the lonely house.' I gave him a hard look. "'Breaking the rules again,' I said. "'For the love of Mike, Link, you've got to cut it out. "'What's the use of us boys having rules if every one of us isn't going to live up to them?' "'I know, I know,' he said, with a wave of his hand. "'But what good is a spy going to be for a gang?' If he can't do the things he has to do to find out something. Go ahead, I said. Tell me what you found out. Pooleys gang don't meet in the lonely house anymore, he said. I knew that, I said. If that's all you've found out, ever since those two tramps took to living in that house, there haven't been any boys meeting there.

Oh, yes they have, said Link with a triumphant grin. But not Pooleys. No Knights of the Square Table ever goes there anymore, but the boy you hate most... Who? I demanded quickly. Not him! Yeah, Long Tom, the old boy himself, and a pack of them just like him, from Watertown. They made friends with the two tramps who live in that house.

I sat still for a few minutes, tapping the desk with the tip of my pen holder. Here was something for me to think about. All right, I said, but what have you found out about Pooley? If his Knights of the Square Table gang don't meet there, and Long Tom does, what's the reason? And, if you know so much, tell me where Pooley's gang has its headquarters. Link scratched his head. Now, ain't that just like you, Hawkins, he exclaimed. You don't appreciate what I do find out. You just go asking me for more and more. Give me time. I'll find out. Right now I can't tell you. I'll tell you myself, broke in a strange voice behind us. We both turned our eyes to the curtained doorway. Between the curtains stood the leader of the Knights of the Square Table, dear old Pooley himself.

He wore his whole outfit, square cap and the shoulder cape with a strange emblem upon it. His handsome, boyish face was clouded with a look of worry in his blue eyes. He was gazing straight at Link. "'You want to know,' he said with a little nod. "'You wonder why the Knights of the Square Table no longer hold their meetings in their rightful headquarters. I'm here to tell you.' "'Come in, Pooley,' I said. "'There's a chair. Sit down.' But he folded his arms upon his breast and remained standing. "'No,' he said. I'd just as leaf stand. I meant to come yesterday, but I didn't get a chance. I wanted to tell you, Hawkins, that Long Tom is no longer in my gang. Excuse me, I don't like that word for a bunch of boys.

I'd rather you'd call them my knights of the square table. You've cut loose from Long Tom? I asked. Positively. He and I don't get along. Not only did I cut loose from him... But from all those he brought along with him. He'll not have the fun he used to have, riding on my ponies and having a brass band to march to in parades. Those things are in my outfit, Secretary Hawkins, and I'd like to settle this thing once and for all. We don't want to fight you and your boys who meet in this clubhouse. There's no quarrel between us. But there is a quarrel between me and Herba Combe, and all I ask is that you let it alone. Don't get your boys mixed up in it, and mine won't, I promise you. Can't we look at this thing sensible at least?

I chewed the end of my pen holder for a minute.

Herb's a member of our club, I said at length. And this club of ours, Pooley, was made just for that very thing, for boys to stick together always, and to do the right thing or nothing. Yeah, but the right thing in this fight... The right thing in this fight is for us to stand by Herb. We won't let the Knights of the Square Table take out their spite on Herb. If you meet him alone sometime, and he's willing to fight you fair fist, go to it. But this gang business, and that kidnapping thing, the night you took him away in that old hack... It was to be fair and square, broke in Pooley. Let's all see it then. I cut him short. If it's to be fair and square fighting, let it be open fighting, according to the rules, with boxing gloves.

None of that monkey business, Pooley. It won't go here. We haven't such a big and fancy gang as yours, but damn if we can't take care of ourselves and the boys that belong to it. You just think that over for a minute, will you? Pooley bit his lip. All right, he said. I'm big enough for you, Hawkins. I'll meet your terms fair and square. I'll show you my hand every time I start something. I'll let you know everything. You say your gang is easy to pick on because everybody knows your meeting place. All right, I'll tell you ours, so we will be fair and square on that. We meet in the old mill. I looked up. Isn't it haunted? I asked. We're not afraid of haunts, he said. I smiled as I remembered the time I saw his gang scatter when they saw that suspicious-looking light in the second-story window of the round tower of Lonely House.

And Long Tom? I inquired. Where does his gang meet? Pooley shrugged his shoulders. I ain't supposed to answer for any but my own, he said. But if it will help you to know, I will tell you. Long Tom knows one of the men who took to living in the lonely house. I'll tell you something else. Since they made friends with those men, chickens have disappeared from the farms around the creek. Ask your Roy Doble, ask Rube Muller, or any other fellas you know. Ah, I said, so that's the kind they are, eh, Pooley? Tell me, have you ever seen the least thing of an old grey man sitting in the round tower of Lonely House on nights when... I thought Pooley would faint. He turned pale. "'You mean the butler?' he exclaimed in a hushed voice.

"'You have seen it. You have seen him too, then? In the round room, reading yellow papers, a hundred of them.' I smiled. "'I'm too fat to believe in ghosts, Pooley,' I said with a little laugh. "'You know, somehow our other fat boys don't get fooled so easily. Bet your last nickel that old man isn't a ghost.'" He is as real as you are. When did you see him last? Pooley seemed a bit ashamed at showing fright. He straightened up as he answered, I saw him many times, but since the other two men have come, the ghost hasn't shown himself. I see what you mean, I said. You think, then, that those two men have been trying to make people believe that the lonely house was haunted? Now, why would they want to do that, Pooley?

Pooley looked me straight in the eye. How should I know? he retorted. And at the time, I said to myself, this Pooley boy knows a heap more than I thought he knew when he first came in. All I came for, Hawkins, was to tell you this, that the Knights of the Square Table will work with your club any time you want to beat Long Tom and his gang. That's fine, I said. Forget your quarrel with Herbert Combe. Don't make a gang fight out of it, Pooley. "'I promise you that,' he said. "'I see now where I was wrong. "'That's a personal fight, isn't it? "'Just between Herb and me.' "'If you want to be fair and square,' I said, "'that's the way to look at it. "'If you ever meet Herb alone, "'you two can mix it up to suit yourself.

"'But if there's another boy in it, "'I'll tell the world you ain't fair and square, "'as you say you are.' He nodded. "'Goodbye, then.' And he held out his hand. I shook it. He turned to Link. You, skinny boy, you made me mad lots of times. I don't know whether you want to shake hands with me or not. Suit yourself, said Link with a grin. Pooley's face softened. A smile played around his lips. You're a smart kid, he said. I wish you belonged to my outfit. Wish you belonged to ours, said Link with a grin. As he took Pooley's outstretched hand and shook it honestly. Without another word, Pooley went out. I had to laugh to myself as I closed the door behind him, and came back to my desk, where Link sat shaking his head.

Another kid gone wrong, he said. Hawkins, that Pooley has good stuff in him. Gone wrong, I said. Why, Lincoln Lambert, you don't know what you're talking about. That Pooley fella is one of the finest that ever walked this old riverbank. And he's smart, too. Don't you go fooling yourself. You're going to hear a lot about Pooley someday. And believe me, you're going to think he's a pretty fine boy. Well, you please tell me how he came to have ponies for every boy in his gang. Tell me how they have a brass band and all that fancy costume stuff. That's what I want to know. Why don't we go up to Watertown and ask some questions and find out who he is? What good would that do, I asked. What would we make by doing that?

Link kicked his heels against my desk, on which he had climbed. Not a thing, he admitted. Suddenly there came to us the sound of the brass horn, two blasts, ringing clear. Long Tom, cried Link, springing up. The door burst open. Little Perry Stokes came in, all out of breath. "'Don't worry,' he cried. "'We beat him, Hawkins! We beat him, sir!' "'Where are the other boys?' I asked quickly. "'Have they had a fight, Perry? With Long Tom, tell me, quick!' "'There was a fight,' said Perry, between deep breaths. "'Jerry Moore has a black eye, sir. He was foolish enough to stand and fight. "'The rest of us all ran, sir. I ran fastest, sir.' I see you did, I said with a smile. How far behind did you leave the others?

They're all coming, sir, but they had to leave the Christmas tree behind, sir. Long Tom's boys got it. There was one boy with a scar on his face, sir. But just then in rushed the rest of our boys. Jerry Moore was the last to enter, and he slammed the door behind him and drew the bolt. Then, when he turned, I saw. What a beautiful black eye he had. It was the tall boy, with a scar on his face, said Jerry to me while all the boys crowded round. Hawkins, you never brushed up against a hardened nut to crack in your life. Looked like I would have easy sailing, but he punched me before I knew it. Look at this eye. Where can I get a hunk of raw beef to put on it before I go home? Gosh, my pop will whip me if he sees this.

He told me I'd better not fight anymore. Then, after the excitement died down and we found that Long Tom and his followers of the brass horn had not persevered to the clubhouse door, they told me the whole story of how they had cut the Christmas tree they wanted and had dragged it along, how the tall boy with the scar had popped out of the woods and a dozen followed behind him, how the tall boy with the scar had put the horn to his lips and blown two blasts. And in five seconds, Long Tom's gang had come from every direction. But, I broke in, this tall boy with the scar cannot be Long Tom. We know him too well. It wasn't Long Tom, said Jerry. I wish I knew who he was. For a few minutes, we stood still, looking at Jerry's scowling face and fastly swelling eye.

Well, I said, I suppose we will have a chance to find out soon who the tall boy was. The main thing to do now is to get a piece of raw beef to put on that black eye. We'd better go right up to the butcher shop and get it. Which we did.

23 23 - Christmas Eve 14:03

CHRISTMAS EVE. Christmas bells were ringing as I started down the river path toward our little old clubhouse. It had just begun to snow, and the little flakes whirled in the light of the street lamp, the last light on the way between the main road and the shack in the hollow. The night was bitter cold. I shoved my hands deeper into my coat pocket and trudged to head, and hummed along with the music of the chimes. It was Christmas Eve, and I was happy. We had had our Christmas tree all set, and Lou Hunter was to hold regular Christmas Eve singing practice in the clubhouse. I knew every boy in our club would be there. They never miss a Christmas Eve. And I found them all there. They were singing Holy Night as I opened the door, and I took off my cap and stood silent until they were finished.

Ah, boy, it sure sounds good to me to hear those fellows sing. Lew Hunter at the little old battered organ making real music, I tell you, and all the boys harmonizing like a church choir. No music in the world is better than that. At the finish, I clapped my hands, and they all turned. Come on, Hawkins, called out Lew. We need you to sing alto. Here, Shadow, we will sing this one next. Hawkins, you get over there with Robbie Hood. You two can sing good alto. Perry Stokes will lead, and— Dick and I will tenor while Jerry Moore and Roy Doble bring in the bass, and the others can join in as they like. It'll sound all right. We got to sing this in church tomorrow morning anyhow. Lou handed around the sheets of a song that I really think he made up himself.

Anyway, it was new to us, and we had to read over the words first, and Lou had to play it over on the organ a few times, too, that we would get used to it, and then we tried it. There was a part in the song which was sung by just one soprano and alto. Dick Ferris and Robbie Hood were singing it, while Lou played softly as accompaniment on the organ. Hark, the angel voices, every heart rejoices. And suddenly there came above the gentle song the harsh notes of a horn, the old brass horn that Stoner used to blow around this river bank. How could I mistake it? Long Tom had it now, and it was a signal, to-night, that Long Tom was near. But hardly had its disturbing notes died away when there came an even more startling sound, the fall of some heavy burden against her clubhouse door.

I ran quickly to the door and pulled it open wide. A figure sprang from hands and knees upon the ports. "'I slipped on the snow,' he said. "'Let me in, let me in, if you please. I'll do a favor for you, too, some day.' How could I refuse him? He was a boy, a head taller than I, but he was a boy, and, durn it, I am too soft-hearted. Come in. Hurry, I said, quickly. He stepped inside, brushing the snow from his hands. He wore a tattered suit of clothes. The coat seemed too short, and his long arms showed bony wrists that were red with the cold. Upon his head he had a felt hat, with a wide brim that dropped in front, so that it hid most of his face. But even in the shadow I could see that his face was marked with an ugly long red scar.

I'm sorry, you said, that I have to ask this favor of you fellows. I know I did you dirty many times. You ain't got any right to show me a good turn. But maybe you'll forget bygones this once. It's Christmas Eve, you know. It's the boy with the scar. Spoke of Perry Stokes. Yes, said Shadow Loomis. You're the fellow who set long Tom's pack on us last week when we were dragging a Christmas tree home to our clubhouse. I don't see why we should let you come into our clubhouse now. No, said the boy with the scar, you really shouldn't. I'm not fit company for you, I know, but it's Christmas Eve. We're all brothers on Christmas Eve, ain't we? No, said Shadow sharply. We are not. Christmas Eve don't mean a thing.

Wait, broke in Lou Hunter. He's got a right to ask a favor to-night. What is it, boy? I've got more favors than one to ask, said the boy with the scar. First one is that I'm allowed to stay in here and keep my hat on, because I might have to light out of here in a hurry. Second one is that you won't let Long Tom come in if he tries, and the third one is that you'll tell him I ain't here if he asks. And the fourth one, hold on, I broke in. What's the reason for all this, fella? I shook Long Tom, said the boy with the scar. They've been getting too suspicious for me. I stood by him and lost one of my best friends for doing it, a fella named Pooley, no better living, and Pooley liked me. When I saw what Long Tom was a-doing, I says to myself, it's high time I cut loose from Long Tom.

Course, Pooley won't have nothing to do with me no more. I know that. He's a fair and square kid, that boy is, but leastways I won't let Long Tom get me in no more trouble. I'm cutting loose from him tonight. See? And he made a vow—Long Tom did—that he would get me and beat me within an inch of my life, and you fellows can believe me or not. He almost did. He almost had me. You know, when he blows that horn, it's dollars to cents his gang will circle in and close up on you. But I just happened to see this light in your windows, and thanks to myself, I got one friend in that little old shack. A fella named Herb Acom. He stopped. He looked around. He saw Herb. Hello, Herb, he says, with a funny wave of his hand.

We all turned our faces. We saw Herb, his face turning red, not his head. Hello, Rag, said Herb, in a low voice. You see, said the boy with the scar. He knows me. I'm all right, ain't I, Herb? I'll say so, said Herb quietly. Then, seeing that we were all looking at him, Herb stepped out from behind the crowd. Fellas, he said, this boy's one of the best you ever met. He helped me out once when I thought nobody in the world could. Rags, I don't know his other name, but Rags is one fine fellow. I wish you'd help him, if you can. I coughed and turned toward the boy with the scar. But before I could say a word, there came a loud pounding on the door. Dick Ferris gripped my arm. "'You go, Hawkins,' he said.

"'Be careful what you say or do.' I hesitated a moment, but then I put my best foot forward, forward enough to hold the door so that it couldn't be shoved open, and I lifted the latch and opened it just a trifle. A tall boy stood outside. I knew him. It was Grimm, the boy, I had fought once and knocked out in a fair fistfight, and behind him stood a dozen tough-looking boys. I come from Long Tom, he called out when he saw my face. We chased a fellow from out the woods, and he's hiding in here. We want him. You boys know what's good for you. You will turn him out right quick. I laughed at him. What do you think you are, Grimm? I said. Go away. We haven't anything to do with you or long time in any of your fights.

Get off our porch as quick as you can, or I'll bet there's going to be trouble. Grimm laughed. He showed his teeth. Yeah, you smart secretary Hawkins. Yeah, you beat me once, but it wasn't fair. I'll show you. I'll show you. He turned to say something to the crowd of ruffians behind him on the porch, but he never said it. In the first place, I couldn't resist the temptation. To punch him for a smart-aleck talk. I didn't have any control over my fist that minute as it shot out, and it would have caught him right on the jaw that—but something happened that prevented it. Yeah, the sound of the horn, the old brass horn, sounded a warning that Grimm and the other followers of Longtown knew and obeyed.

With one jump they all cleared the porch and landed on the snow-covered ground, and they beat it fast and furious for the woods. from where the call of the horn had come. I wondered what had happened to alarm them. But I saw it a few seconds later, when an old figure came up the river path dressed in the costume of Santa Claus. He came slowly and carefully, and while his steps seemed old and feeble, I knew it was no other but good old Doc Waters dressed up as Santa Claus. Every year he does this thing on Christmas Eve, to bring us boys a present from himself. I called all of our boys to the door to see him, and we all rushed out onto the porch to help him up the steps and inside with his bag of toys upon his back.

We played our parts. Doc liked us to do that. Perry Stokes held a lamp out of the door so that we could all see. The boys always take advantage of poor old Doc. They wouldn't even let him inside the clubhouse until he showed them what presents they had for him. I got a fine fountain pen. and I felt too cold, so I hurried back inside to see what the boy with the scar would be doing, and I found him seated behind the red-hot stove, his hat pulled down, his head lowered on his chest, his feet upon the fender. Somehow or other his attitude reminded me of somebody. I forgot the laughter and the kidding going on outside on the porch. I stood and looked at the boy behind the stove with his feet upon the fender.

But my thoughts were rudely broken by the sound of good-night and thanks, Doc, from the boys outside. And I hurried onto the porch to add my word of thanks to Santa Claus, who said he was on his way to see Ben Bigstaff's kids now. Good old Doc, always playing Santa Claus. Not only on Christmas Eve, but always he was a Santa Claus trying to give somebody something to add happiness and a smile or two. We all went inside. Perry Stokes stoked a few more logs in the open stove, while the other boys jabbered excitedly and showed each other the different presents good old Doc had given them. The door had been left open a little, for, you see, all the boys had forgotten in their excitement. Everything except the fact that Doc Watters had not failed to visit the clubhouse this Christmas, As he had done every Christmas, since he had fitted up for us boys this fine little place to meet in.

But no sooner had I closed and latched the door, when there came upon it once more a loud knocking. Good night, I heard Perry mutter, as he followed me back to the door. I swung it wide this time, and Pooley stood there. Dear old Pooley, of the fair and square idea. He stood there as nice as you please. Dressed in his square cap and wearing over his overcoat the long cape with the K and the emblem of a square table. One of my boys, he said softly, is taking refuge in your clubhouse. Will you please tell him that I and my boys are waiting for him outside? And Hawkins, please tell him that we will see to it that he gets home safely. There is no need for him to worry, I promise. I stepped out and drew the door behind me.

He's inside, I said, in a low voice. Perhaps you'd better come in yourself, Pooley. I've told the boys you've cut loose from Long Tom, and that there will be no fights between us any more. Pooley hesitated just a second. Then he nodded. All right, he said. Whatever you say, Hawkins. He followed me in. I noticed the boy with the scar spring up as he saw Pooley. He leaped forward. Pooley, he cried. And the next instant he and Pooley had joined hands. I noticed, too, that Herb Acom, when he saw these two hand in hand, fell back and tried to hide behind the crowd of our boys. I raised my hand. All of our boys were quiet, and they watched me closely. We will sing, I said. We will sing that old shepherd's song.

Lew Hunter hurried to the organ, and struck up the notes of our old favorite Christmas song. Softly, the voices started. And there were shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. Pooley listened. I watched him as we sang. The harmony of those boys' voices couldn't fail to bring out the best that there was in a boy, for it was Christmas Eve. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came unto them, and they were sore afraid. But the angel said unto them, Fear not. Before the song ended, I felt a draft. And turning saw the door had been opened by Pooley, who stood with bowed head while he waited for the boy with the scar to go out before him. And he followed him. And through the open door I could see, and the light from our lamps, the snowflakes coming down faster and thicker.

The last notes of our song floated out through the open door while a gust of wind carried into our meeting place a shower of sparkling crystals. I figured that our Christmas Eve was over. and that as soon as the song was ended, we'd better go home. Which we did.

24 24 - New Year's Eve 12:39

NEW YEAR'S EVE.

The old year was dying. Only a few hours, and a glad cry would go up welcoming the new. I'd spent the whole day with Shadow Loomis and Robbie Hood trudging together through the snow-covered woods with a camera that Shadow had received as a Christmas gift, and which he was anxious to try out. The beautiful scenes presented by the trees hanging heavy with snow seemed to me worthy of a picture, and I was just as curious as Shadow to see how his camera would work. We had held our meeting early in the day, and while the other boys had gone away to the sled-track to try out Jerry Moore's new bobsled that he had received from Santa Claus, we three had spent the day taking pictures. When it grew dark, we went back to the clubhouse, and having all things necessary to develop the films, we followed instructions and went to work.

You know, you must have a dark room to develop films. The clubhouse was fine at night. And Shadow had a red lamp with a candle burning in it, and by its feeble light we mixed the chemicals and started to work. We had great success, and the pictures turned out wonderfully. We washed the films and hung them up to dry, and then they went up to my house with me. After supper we went back down to the clubhouse, where we were all going to wait for the new year to come. Imagine our surprise when, on opening the door, we saw one of the wall lamps lighted. and a boy sitting behind the stove, his feet resting on the fender. One glance, and I knew it was the boy with the scar, whom we had saved from Long Tom's gang on Christmas Eve.

"'Excuse me,' he said, jumping to his feet. "'I'm bold, I know, but I just had to come in.' He had his big, broad-brim hat on, and it hid the upper part of his face, and I could see the curve of the red scar that circled around his chin. Shadow Loomis was angry. Listen, boy, he said, just because we helped you out, ain't any reason for you to come here and make your home in our clubhouse. How do you get that way? I'm sorry, said the boy, with the scar. I'll be going. I wish he hesitated, and then without another word he bowed his head and went out. Queer chap, said Robbie Hood. Seems like he isn't as bad as Long Tom's fellows. Why didn't you let him sit there and get warm if you wanted to? Don't cost nothing.

I don't like him, growled Shadow. But I was wondering what the boy with the scar had wanted to say when he stopped talking. I wanted to know just what he meant when he said, I wish. I would have liked to hear him tell what it was he wished. Because it was New Year's Eve, and durn if I don't feel like we ought to be nice and kind to everybody on such a night as that. But the other boys began coming in then, and the checkerboards were started, While Lou Hunter went to the organ and began playing his old favorite New Year's songs, Shadow and I went back into my little writing room, where we were going to print the pictures that we had taken that afternoon. We figured we could just finish the work before the bells and whistles started to bid good-bye to the old year.

Then we could all have a celebration. We started to work, following the directions, and Dick Ferris and Lou Hunter were singing. Happy New Year, Smiling New Year, What art thou bringing to me? And all of a sudden there came such a pounding on the door that you would think somebody was trying to break it down. Perry Stokes ran to open it. And there on the porch stood two tall boys, much taller than any of us, and one of them I knew. It was Grimm. I could never mistake him. No, he was the tall boy whom I met one day last summer while we were camping, and I had knocked him out in a fair, flat fight. He stepped in boldly. My name's Grimm, he said. I want to see Secretary Hawkins. That's me, I said, pushing my way through the boys till I stood before him.

He smiled when he looked into my face, but I knew there was no reason for that smile. We don't want any company, Grimm, I said. He waved his hand toward his companion. That's Watts, he said. He's my partner. There were three of us tall boys with long Tom. Long Tom was proud of us, I tell you. But we ain't got no more love for Long Tom. We cut loose from him tonight. We just come to tell you that. Maybe it don't make no difference. I don't know. But we come to tell you that. We got a gang of our own now. Watts and Grimm. That's us, and we aim to be fair and square, like he was. Like who was, I question. Like Pooley was, said Grimm. He was a fine fellow. And he cut loose, he did. And we stuck to Long Tom.

But when the other one broke away too, we just couldn't stand it. We liked them two kids. We did. Didn't we, Watts? I say we did, said Watts, in a low voice. Ain't been the same gang since Pooley and the other one cut loose. Who was the other one? I asked. Rags, Grimm answered. They called them rags. Nobody ever knowed where he come from, but he had a scar on his face, and—ah, I broke in, the boy with the scar. Yeah, Grimm interrupted me. That's why we came here. We know all about Pooley coming and telling you that he cut loose from Long Tom. Now what we wants to know is where we can find Pooley and the boy with the scar. They ain't showed up for days and days, and we miss them, don't we, Watts?"

I say we do," said Watts in a low voice. For a minute there was silence. Then I shoved out my hand. Grim, I said, you're a fine fellow. He took my hand and shook it. Nobody will stick to Long Tom, he said. His voice was barely a whisper. And he seemed pale and frightened. They all say he is bewitched. The lonely house. Yes, I said. Go on. What about the lonely house? Strange things are going on up there, said Grimm. The one man's name who lives there is Lotz, and he's got a partner named Sam. And they've been scared to death, too. What scared them? I asked. Something funny is going on in that house, said Watts, stepping forward. Things happen that shouldn't ought to happen. Things disappear. Nobody there but them two men.

They had long time, and us get things for them, and what we want to know, Broke and Grimm, is where we can find Pooley and Rags again. We got to tell them we want to join the nights of the square table again. We had good times. We did. I'm sorry, I said, but we boys don't know where to find Pooley or any of his friends. The two strange boys looked at one another, and I could see they were disappointed. I'm glad, though, I said, that You came and told us that you cut loose from Long Tom. I hope you will never have any reason to fight us boys again." Grimm nodded his head. Never again, he said. This is the last night of the old year. We turn over a new leaf tomorrow. Good night. And with that, then, they hurried out, and I closed the door.

Before I did so, I glanced out and noticed that it had started snowing again. Of course, there was a lot of talk going on after they left. Our boys were sure now that the end of our troubles with Long Tom had come with the end of the year, and it made us happy, too, to know that now we had signed a piece with Pooley and his Knights of the Square Table, and that Long Tom's gang was breaking up, so we would no longer have to worry about it. And I, too, felt happy over it. I could see the new year coming in with lots of promise for us boys in our little clubhouse. Supposing we could have no more fights, no more boys to be afraid of, Nothing more to worry about. Wouldn't it be a happy new year? We went back and finished our pictures under the dull glow of the orange-shaded lantern.

Then it came close to midnight, and who should come in but good old Doc Waters? I thought it would be best for a man to stay with you this late in the evening, he said laughingly. The judge and the sheriff said they might drop in, too. We were always glad to have Doc, and the judge, too, for that matter. Although we had to watch our P's and Q's when he was around, but it was New Year's Eve, and the first whistle began to blow. It was about quarter to twelve, I guess. A faint far-off sound, a droning of a locomotive whistle, beginning the mournful farewell to the dying year. Made us all hush. Somehow or other, I always get to feeling sad myself when I hear the whistles blow on New Year's Eve. I don't know why that is.

But most of our boys did, too, I think, for it was so quiet that even that far-off whistle sounded plainly, and then there came a step on the porch. Step, step, step. Of course, I thought it was the judge or the sheriff or both, but it wasn't. No. Before any of us could get to the door, it swung open, and Long Tom stood there. Long Tom, long and lanky, stood there, dressed to knee-breeches and wool hose and heavy shoes, He wore a sweater that came snug to his chin. A little knitted cap hit his ears. He was covered with snow. Across his shoulder, he wore a bright yellow leather strap. He stood, resting on one foot, his other poised, his arms folded, his face as ugly as ever, with his long curved nose, and his eyes flashed as they caught sight of me.

"'Well,' he said, "'it's come to this at last. I'm here, Secretary Hawkins.' "'Yeah,' I said, "'you come late, Long Tom.' He nodded. Better late than not at all, he said. There was a bitterness in his voice. I see I'm done for. There's no more use for me to waste time. Listen to those sounds. Do you hear those whistles and those bells? It's the end of the old year, I said, nodding. It's the end of Long Tom's Gang, he said, smiling sadly. It's the end, Hawkins. I know what you think. I know how you feel. Me and you have been fighting ever since Stoner first brought me here. He paused. The whistles were blowing louder. I could hear the chimes now, beginning to play, and I glanced hurriedly around and saw that Lou Hunter was missing.

He had scampered off a few minutes ago to play the musical bells in the church steeple. They gave me the shake, Hawkins, long Tom was speaking, every one. They liked Pooley better'n me, every one. When Grimm and Watts went, they all followed. I'm alone. I have no more gang. I'm going away. He paused again, looking at me. The sound of the whistles and bells came through the open door. "'You're going away, Long Tom?' "'For good. I figured it out a week ago. I didn't want to go, but I've got to go, Hawkins. I'm all alone. Time was when Stoner and Harkinson and the others were here to give me a lift, but now—' I shook my head. "'The old year's going, Long Tom,' I said. "'Why not let all your past go with it?

Make up your mind. My mind's made up,' he interrupted. I thought you'd be the one who was gladest to know. I am, I said warmly, believe me. But he held up his right hand. One second, he said. Then he tugged hard at the bright strap that hung across his shoulder. In another second he had pulled forth the old brass horn. He detached it from the strap. This came from you, he said. I give it back. And now I took the horn. He turned to go. But at the door he stopped. For a moment he stood, his eyes turned toward the floor. Then he swiftly turned and faced me. Next time you see me, he said, maybe you will have a good word for Long Tom. Then he was gone. I sprang forward to hold him, to tell him on this gladsome night that right now I had a good word for anybody who would turn over a new leaf on New Year's Eve.

But he was gone, only the snowflakes coming down through the light from the door. How the whistles screamed, how the bells chimed out. Doc Waters stepped up to me. Hawkins, he said, I think Judge Granbury had a party at his house and won't be able to get down here. Suppose we lock up the clubhouse and go up and pay a New Year's visit to the judge. Which we did.

25 25 - The Old Mill 14:31

The Knights of the Square Table, by Secretary Hawkins, Chapter Twenty Five, The Old Mill. Our Christmas vacation was over, and we were back in school. So we had to hold our regular meeting again every day after school. Shadow Loomis was very much interested in his camera that he got for Christmas, and every day he asked me to go out with him to take pictures. But I told him, as I was a secretary, I had to stay in and write down the doings of the club, and I couldn't be fooling my time away like that. Well, by the time I get through writing, these winter days, it's too dark to take pictures. So Shadow would go out alone, or with Robbie Hood or Herb or somebody. And then he would come back and develop his pictures in the clubhouse after it got dark, using his little red lamp to see by.

And every day he would show me the pictures he took the day before. And one day he showed me a picture of the old haunted mill. It was a fine picture, and he had it enlarged and put in a frame by some photographer in Watertown, before he even told me he had taken it. "'Here, Hawkins,' he said, when he handed it to me. "'This will look nice up on the wall.' I frowned as I looked at the picture. I could see Shadow was disappointed. He thought I would just praise him to the skies for it, but I shook my head. You know the rules, I said. One of our strict ones is not to go up near the old haunted mill, or anywhere around Banklet Creek. This picture proves that you broke the rule. You couldn't have taken this picture unless you were up at the old mill.

Aw, have a heart, Hawkins, he said. You know you can trust me. I won't get in any trouble. Anyway, I thought now that Pooley promised not to fight us anymore, and Long Tom is gone, there ain't anything to be afraid of anymore. I nodded my head slowly. I guess you're right, I said. It seems like it ought to be safe now. Sure, said Shadow. Now that Pooley's gang is broken up and Long Tom's gone, do you believe, broke in our old skinny guy who was sitting beside the desk listening, do you believe that Long Tom is gone? Or that Pooley's knights of the square table have busted up. We both looked at Link without replying. I asked him a question instead. What do you know? I demanded slowly. For the skinny guy was our scout and our spy.

It would never surprise me to hear him tell something startling. He laughed at my question. I was just waiting to tell you, he said. That I was paddling down the river, close to the shore, in my old canoe, when I got to the mouth of the creek. I happened to notice that there was something moving across the hill. I pulled in and watched. It was Pooley's Knights, about a dozen of them, all riding ponies, going along slowly on the ridge of the hill. They got away from me, or I'd have found out where they was going and what they went to do. By the time I crossed over and fixed my canoe safe, and scrambled up the ridge, they'd gone. Those ponies travel fast. I shook my head and began to tap the desk with my pen holder, and that's a sure sign that I'm beginning to figure out something.

I was trying to figure out whether or not Pooley would really live up to his promise, his gang never to fight ours anymore. But the more I thought of it, the more worried I grew, because I know boys pretty well, and while they patch up their differences and intend to continue friendly, it doesn't take much to start a fight. And I knew that it was almost impossible to keep all of our boys from running into some of the night somewhere, sometime. At last, I threw down my pen and put the stopper in my inkwell. Today, I said to Shadow, I will not write. Today, I am going out with you to take some pictures, and I think I'd like to take some pictures of the scene along Banklet Creek. Sure, said Shadow simply, and he smiled.

Best place for pictures for us. Let's go. We took the skinny guy along. We paddled down the river in Jerry Moore's long green canoe. The weather was pretty cold, and even though we wore gloves, our fingers grew cold as we paddled. Thin crusts of ice lined the shore that would cut a canoe like a piece of glass, and we kept well out of the current. We passed Hobbs Ferry just as the ferry boat was starting across, and we waved at Lige Hobbs, the boy who runs the boat. Then we moved swiftly down to the mouth of the creek. Just about here is where I first noticed Pulley's Fellas, said Link. He pointed toward the left, where the shore rises to a good-sized hill, a ridge that runs along the river about a half mile.

I turned my eyes toward where he pointed, and, Golly, Moses, I exclaimed, look! They looked, and they saw, too, what I saw, and we held our paddles down and slowed up. Upon the ridge was Pooley, on a white pony, or rather, a small horse it was. He didn't see us, for he was gazing up the creek. For a minute he sat there like a statue, and then he turned in his saddle and waved his hand. In a few seconds we could see another pony's head above the ridge, and then another, and another, until there stood upon the ridge sixteen ponies with boys in the saddle. In single file they began to move along the ridge. It's funny. muttered Shadow. Same thing Link told us about. Where do they go every day, I wonder?

We watched them as they moved, slowly in single file along the ridge. It was just like Pooley. He liked to make a parade out of everything. He liked to make a show. And what better show could he make than that beautiful sight of sixteen ponies, I counted them, parading in single file along that ridge. Somehow I envied Pooley. I wished I could do things the way he did. He looked so grand upon that white pony, like a real knight that you would read about in fairy books. Every time I write about him, I say to myself, I take my hat off to Pooley. We hurried over to the other shore and, carefully picking a spot to land, we beached the canoe and were just about to run up the ridge when suddenly Shadow gripped my arm and jerked me back.

Hold on, he said in a low voice. We're not the only ones who want to find out where Pooley goes. Look yonder. About a hundred yards ahead of us, a figure had sprung from some unseen hiding place. He was a boy dressed in a short brown overcoat and a pair of long trousers of dark blue color. Upon his head he wore a man's hat, much too large for him. He leaped halfway up the ridge and fell upon hands and knees, lifting his head high to keep out of sight of the pony riders, who were now disappearing beyond, descending. At this instant, another figure sprang into view. Oh, what a liar, exclaimed the skinny guy under his breath. It was Long Tom. Long Tom who had told us on New Year's Eve that he was alone now, and that he was going to turn over a new leaf with the new year.

Long Tom who said he was going away. It's him, said Shadow simply. Watch out. We must follow now. Long Tom ran swiftly to where his companion crouched. He gripped his sleeve and turned him about. We moved cautiously some feet forward. We could just hear Long Tom's voice. "'Be careful,' we heard him tell his foul. "'Take your time. We don't have to hurry. We can follow the hoofprints, can't we?' The other boy turned his face towards Long Tom. And in that instant, I knew him. Odor, the boy who was fourth in line at the Red Runners, when Harkinson lived and moved around this old riverbank. He snarled upon Long Tom. "'Who's doing this?' he cried harshly. We could hear the words plainly. "'Didn't I promise to be a pal to you after you told me you didn't have no more pals?' "'They all give you the shake, eh, Long Tom?' "'All right, let me be, or I might do the same to you.' Long Tom let go his hold to Odor's arm.

"'All right,' he said, nodding his head. "'But just be careful. You wouldn't have been a pal to me neither, unless I told you I could find the gold and you'd get a half.' But you ain't gonna find nothin'. If you let Pooey find out you're on his track, he'll know then that you found out about the gold in the lonely house. Suddenly, a sound of music, brass band music, came to our ears. It was not so far away. We saw Long Tom and his pal Odor start. They scrambled up the slope. For a moment, they hesitated on the ridge. Then, they disappeared beyond it. Come on, I said. Where's the music? We found out as soon as we reached the top of the ridge. The knights of the square table were holding a meeting down in the Little Hollow.

A dozen of their boys were playing brass instruments to the tune of Yankee Doodle. Their ponies were tied to saplings in a circle around the group of boys, who stood around a square table, on each corner of which was a letter K, and in the middle of which was a circle and a letter P. We had seen such a sight before. For some reason or other Pooley's knights of the square table held their meetings out in the open air. Not always, to be sure. They used the lonely house for a while. Now, again, they were meeting out in the open. Ah-ah, I said to myself. This Pooley boy knows something. Pooley is not a fraidy cat. He isn't afraid of ghosts. He doesn't believe the lonely house is haunted. He isn't afraid of the men we saw there.

No, Pooley knew something that he didn't want the other boys in his crowd to find out. He stopped holding meetings in the lonely house because he wanted to keep his gang away from there. Smart boy, Pooley. No wonder Long Tom was left alone. Pooley planned it, and when Pooley plotted, it usually went the way he plotted. All this went through my mind as we watched. Peeping over the ridge, the meeting of the Knights of the Square Table. But where was Long Tom and his pal? Nowhere to be seen. They had hidden themselves. Perhaps they were watching this strange outdoor meeting with as much interest as we. Perhaps they could see us watching it, but we could not see them. Sly fellows. Long Tom and those who formerly belonged to the Red Runners.

But about the meeting below us. Just as soon as the band stopped playing. We have a motion to consider, Pooley was speaking. Watts and Grimm have talked the rest of our old-timers to shake Long Tom. They have a gang of their own, Watts and Grimm. They want me to take them into the Knights again. Shall we do it? No, no, no, came a chorus of voices from the boys around the table. We saw that there were two tall boys standing somewhat away from the main group. Then a boy stepped forward. His broad-brim hat hung low over his eyes. He spoke. They were true to you, Pooley, when you bossed the old gang. And now they have come back to you. That shows they liked you then. And they like you now. I say take them back.

The others around the square table shouted, No! Again. But Pooley waved his hand. "'I like you, Rags,' he said to the boy with the hat, low over his eyes. And then I knew who that kid was, the boy with the scar. "'No matter what these kids shout, I'll take Watson Grimm and those who stood by him against Long Tom. Bring him here.' Rags motioned to the two tall boys. They stepped forward and laid their right hand on the square table. Pooley said something in a low voice that we could not understand, but I understood this much. That it made Watson Grimm and all those who followed the two tall boys members of the knights again. Pooley made a sign to the boy with a cornet, who raised the horn to his lips.

A bugle call came from the cornet. Pooley swung into the saddle of his white pony. Every boy in the crowd held up his right hand and cheered. That is, I thought it was a cheer, but I think now it must have been a salute understood only by them. And then, like lightning, Pooley's white pony wheeled and went galloping away. When he was out of sight, the other knights of the square table began to take their ponies, and one by one, they disappeared, going in the opposite direction from which Pooley took. We waited till they were all gone, and the hollow was empty. "'Well,' said Shadow with a grin, "'it's great stuff, isn't it, Hawkins?' "'I say it is,' I said. "'I wish I could run our club like Pooley runs his knights.' "'Where would you get the ponies?' asked Link.

"'Yeah, that's so,' I said. We went along now, snapping pictures of different places along the creek, until we came within sight of the old mill. It was almost too dark to snap another picture, but I took a look at the old ramshackle mill, the poor old thing. It was a good mill, once upon a time. Time was when it was a busy place, where the meal at ground made a good living for the old miller who had died there. And whose ghost was said to haunt the place. But suddenly, my eye caught sight of a white pony, hitched to one of the supports of the old wooden gutter that used to carry water to the wheel. Pooley's there, I said. And he was. Hardly had the words left my lips when Pooley came out the side window, stepped upon the gutter, led himself gently into the saddle of his pony, unfastened the strap and putting his heels into the sides of the beautiful animal, sped away from the mill as fast as he was able.

We stopped our canoe midstream. Pooley had not seen us. We had not frightened him. What had then? Before his white pony had disappeared in the woods beyond, two slinking figures came climbing slowly out of the hole in the roof of the mill. I recognized them at once. They were Long Tom and his pal, old fourth-in-line odor. They took a flying leap together, landing in the soft mud, and ran as fast as they could into the woods. "'What kind of monkey business is going on in that old mill?' exclaimed Shadow Loomis. "'If you're asking me,' I said, "'I'll tell you I don't know. But believe me, fellas, we got to keep watch on that old mill till we find out.' Which we did."

26 26 - The Fight on the Frozen Creek 16:00

The Fight on the Frozen Creek. I was surely puzzled about Pooley and his Knights of the Square Table. Pooley had promised not to let his gang fight our boys again. And I kinda liked Pooley, and I believed him. But when I saw him gathering together again all the boys that he could, all those that formerly had stood by Long Tom and Watts and Grimm and such tough fellows, I was puzzled. And Long Tom, too, had said he was going away. On New Year's Eve he had said that, and you would think a boy meant what he said on such a solemn night as New Year's Eve. Yet here they all were again, as strong as before, Only that Long Tom was out by himself, with an old-time friend of his, Otter, who was fourth in line in the old Red Runners gang, and who must, I said to myself, have escaped from the school of bad boys, where Judge Granberry had sent him.

Perhaps it was Long Tom who helped him escape, I said to myself. When Long Tom found out that all the others had given him the shake, he went to help Otter free, so that he would have a pal. It's awful when a boy finds out that nobody in the world wants to chum with him. But I was almost sure that sooner or later we would have another run-in with the Knights of the Square Table. And we did. Roy Doble and Jerry Moore were down around Hobbs Ferry one afternoon. I don't know what they went down that way for, but there they were, and they ran into a small group of the Knights of the Square Table. I only know what Jerry and Roy told me. They said that the boy with the bum eye was the leader of the group.

And that he didn't like some remark Jerry made about him riding on ponies, and so started the fight. Jerry got a beautiful black eye and Roy was nearly pounded to death, but the Knights got away without a scratch. I knew who the fellow with the bum eye was, Sadler, the kid who made Quail bring back the picture of the skinny guy that he stole from my riding room. I never will forget that time because it made me discover the hole in the floor that the Knights had made to enter our shack after we locked up. A day after this fight, Pooley had come to the clubhouse to see me about it. But I was off on an errand for Doc Waters that afternoon, and I missed him. But he left a note saying that if I would come the next day to the hollow behind Hobbs Ferry, he would talk with me.

That showed that Pooley was on the square. Everything he did was fair and square, and believe me, I liked him for it. So I said to the boys around our table next day that I was going to Hobbs Ferry to talk with Pooley. And if anybody wanted to go along, why they were welcome to it. There weren't many who wanted to go because the river being frozen over from bank to bank, it made good skating, and all of the boys in our club liked skating. But Perry Stokes said he would go, and so did the skinny guy and Shadow Loomis. So the four of us started right after meeting time. I had the directions in Pooley's letter, and I led the way. When we reached the little hollow mentioned, it was empty. But I could see that the snow had been trampled there, and that many feet had been treading the hollow sometime during the day.

We waited about ten minutes, but neither Pooley or any of his knights showed up. So I suggested that we take a look around Banklet Creek, thinking that perhaps Pooley's gang had held their meeting in the hollow and had gone to their favorite haunts along the winding creek. It was beautiful. That scene along the creek, the trees all covered with snow, the stream frozen solid, and the footprints marking the line of the footpath under the snow. There was a bridge across the creek where the main road crosses it, and just as we went under the bridge I heard the sound of footsteps above us. I had been leading the way. I stopped short under the bridge and held out my arms as a signal for the other boys to stop.

They wondered what had stopped me. But before they could ask a question, a boy came running down the bank at the bridgehead and started running out onto the ice-covered creek. I knew him in an instant. So did the boys at my side. I saw that Perry was going to shout after the running boy, but I clamped my hand upon his mouth. Keep still, I whispered. I don't want him to know we are following him. It's funny about him coming up here alone when he knows it's against the rules. Wait till he's further away, then we will follow. It was Herb Acom who had come up to Banklick Creek alone and was now running up the ice-covered creek ahead of us. Of course, I figured he might have heard that we had gone up to the creek and was trying to find us.

But I didn't believe that, no. Herb had some irons in the fire for himself. I meant to find out just what they were. So we slowly started after him, dog-trotting up the trampled footpath along the creek until a sudden curve and a growth of snow-laden bush forced us to take the creek. And we ran upon the ice. Herb was keeping a steady trot ahead of us, and suddenly he came to a stop, put his hands to his lips, and gave a peculiar sound. We stopped and drew in a little group to one side, where the slope of the bank gave us a hiding place in case we needed it. In a few minutes there appeared, from beyond, another boy, walking rapidly to the spot where Herb stood. He raised his hand in a salute as he saw Herb, and Herb answered it the same way.

He was just about fifty feet from where Herb stood when there came to our ears the faint, far-off sound of a bugle call. Both Herb and the other boy heard it, and I could see by the start Herb gave and the pause in the other boy's steps that each one knew that bugle call meant something. "'Hello, Herb,' said the new boy as he reached out and shook Herb's hand, and then I knew him. He was Rags, the boy with the scar." He had that same old broad-brim hat that hung low over his face. I was just about to think you couldn't come. Thought you'd forget me today, Herb. No, said Herb, but you know I can't always get away from the other boys when I want to. We've made a rule, and I've broken it today by coming down here alone.

But you know I'd do anything for you, Rags. Why did you send for me this time? Rags smiled a crooked smile, because the scar that crossed over his lips drew his face into a crooked slant. You just heard the old bugle call, didn't you? he asked, jerking his head toward the direction from which the sound had come. Same old thing, just like the Red Runners. Pooley liked the old brass horn, Harkinson's. But Long Tom gave it back to Hawkins. Pooley's got a fine brass band in his gang, kids that know how to play. He keeps the old signal up. Only you got to know the different tunes of the bugle to understand them. I see, said Herb impatiently. But why did you send for me, Rags? I can't stay long, you know.

Hawkins and a few other boys are up this way. They might run into me. Hawkins and the skinny guy in shadow and... How is he broken, Rags? That's why I sent for you mostly. I want to know. I want to hear you tell me what he says about me sometimes. I know he talked about me Christmas time. I bet. But he stopped short as he saw Herb shake his head. No, said Herb, he never mentioned your name. The boy with the scar looked at Herb's face as though he couldn't believe him. He shoved back his broad hat and ran his fingers through his hair, and that was the first time I saw his full face. Something in those eyes reminded me of days of long past. Where had I seen him? And yet I had never known a boy in my life with a scar like that on his face.

His hair was long, almost reaching his collar. Perhaps when I had seen him before, his hair was short, and his face without that ugly scar. I could not say. While I was thinking, the sound of the bugle came again, very near. I saw the boy with the scar shake hands hurriedly with Herb and run back across the ice, disappearing in the woods beyond. Herb, too, had turned and started coming toward us, and we moved back a little behind the shelter of the slope. But I kept peeping out, and I saw suddenly a different light come over Herb's face, and he stopped. Then he turned as the bugle sounded once more right across the creek, and I saw Herb draw himself up proudly and turn his face in the direction of the sound, folding his arms upon his chest.

And then he waited. I knew now. He knew Pooley was too near. Too near for Herb to get away without being seen. And Herb was too proud to be seen running away from his enemy, especially Pooley, for whom he had always had such an unjust hatred. But then Pooley hated Herb as much. I admired that boy for standing there so proudly, his arms folded, waiting the coming of Pooley. And slowly Pooley came into view, Pooley and another, Sadler with the bum eye. Pooley rode his beautiful milk-white pony, and Sadler rode the bay. Pooley carried a riding whip while Sadler had a silver bugle in his left hand. Together they came riding out of the woods and stopped at the edge of the ice. They were looking up the creek.

Sadler was saying something in a low voice to Pooley, at the same time pointing with his free hand across the ice. Evidently they thought they were alone. I would have given anything at that minute to have understood what those bugle call signals had meant, but they were new to me. Suddenly, Sadler caught sight of Herb standing with folded arms across the frozen stream. He jerked Pooley's arm. Pooley looked only once, then he turned and said something quickly to Sadler and slid out of his saddle to the ground. Sadler wheeled his pony and was gone the way he had come, taking Pooley's white pony with him. Pooley advanced across the ice, toward the place where Herb was stood waiting. "'Well, Herb,' he said quietly, "'it's the first time we met alone for a long time.'" It's been a long time, said Herb as quietly.

Too long for me, Pooley. That's just the way I feel, too, said Pooley. I've been waiting to meet you alone, all by myself, you see. I made a deal with your secretary, Hawkins. We don't want any more gang fights, but that's got nothing to do with single fights between fellas like you and me. I'll never forget what you done to me, Herb. And the way you treated me was a shame, retorted Herb, dropping his arms, his fists doubled. I don't let anybody get away with stuff like that, Pooley. I make them sorry they ever treated me like a snide. Don't call me a snide, said Pooley hotly. He unbuttoned his coat and threw it on the ice. He wore a red and black sweater. But Herb's temper was too much. He wouldn't wait to take off his coat, or maybe it was too cold for him.

Anyway, he sailed in as Pooley came forward, and then the fight was on. Well, sir, I've seen many fights in my time between boys as tough as they come, but I'm here to tell you that this one between Pooley and Herb was just about the best I ever saw. Pooley was a smart kid, and I could see by the way he went at it that he was handy with boxing gloves. But Herb had a system all his own. He was born that way, I guess. To understand the right way to do the right thing at the right time. And the way he got in his punches was a caution. Pooley's head rocked back twice before his fist landed on Herb's head, and then Herb slipped and fell on the ice. But Pooley is fair and square. He waited till Herb got up.

I had to laugh when I thought what a hard time Herb was going to have of it, because I remembered the fight I had with Pooley once in our clubhouse. Boy. That Pooley carries a ton of coal in his right fist, and there's no more stars in the night sky than you'll see when his left lands on your chin. Now a funny thing happened. Pooley had started in with rights and lefts on Herb's head, and it looked as though Herb was certainly going down for the count. My boys behind me watching with me wanted to go out and help him, but I said, fair and square. And then from our side of the creek, out of their hiding places, sprang two figures. Ah, how they reminded me of other days. The same old Long Tom and the same old otter, fourth in line red runner.

Ha! cried Long Tom. He's getting the best of you, Herbie. I'll help you, cause I don't like that Pooley fella. Pooley didn't have time to avoid the blow, neither did Herb have time to interfere. It happened so suddenly. Long Tom sent a crashing blow to Pooley's head. It caught him below the ear. And Pooley went down. His head struck the ice. Herb turned a horrified face toward Long Tom. What do you mean? He cried. I'll show you how to butt in you. Herb went for Long Tom like a wildcat. But here is where Otter stepped up. Two on one, that never meant anything to Long Tom or Otter. They figured it was alright to do things anyway, just as long as they finished what they started. Otter sprang upon Herb before he could reach Long Tom, who backed away.

Long Tom came forward then, and the two of them bore Herb down on the ice. Come on, I yelled to my boys. Here's where we take a hand in this fight. But we never did, no, because before we had a chance to start out of our hiding place, we saw another figure coming toward the fight. It was the boy with the scar. He jerked Long Tom back by the collar and threw him skidding across the ice. Herb sprang to his feet when Otter was looking around to see what had happened, and then he gave Otter a punch in the nose that made him yelp. Long Tom picked himself up as fast as he could and without a sound made off into the woods across the creek. Otter started to follow, and the boy with the scar gave him a punch that helped him move on.

Then he, too, disappeared behind Long Tom in the woods, with the boy with the scar chasing at his heels. Herb ran to Pooley where he lay upon the ice and took his head in his arms. "'Wake up, Pooley,' he cried frantically. "'Wake up! Talk to me, Pooley!' Pooley's blue eyes opened and looked into Herb's face. The next instant, with a flush of shame at his defeat, he struggled to his feet. Herb helped him up. They stood facing each other. Then Pooley held out his hand, and Herb shook it. "'You're a better fella than I thought you were, Herb,' he said with a weary smile." Same to you, said Herb, grinning. I'm sorry that you got that fall. It was the bump on the ice that knocked you out. But Pooley passed his hand before his eyes and turned away.

I don't know, he said. Time was when I could fight better than I do now. Then, turning suddenly, he added, Tell your Secretary Hawkins that there ain't any fight between us anymore, Herb. That's what I thought I would tell him, Pooley, said Herb. And no more fights between our gangs neither. No more whatever. And with that then, Pooley walked slowly and with a limp toward the opposite bank. He whistled and in a minute Sadler on his bay appeared, leading Pooley's white pony. Sadler dismounted quickly and helped Pooley into the saddle. Then he mounted again and the two rode away. As soon as they had disappeared in the snowbound forest, there came again the sound of the bugle call. Herb, with a smile upon his face, Turned and trotted down the frozen creek.

I wanted to step out and tell him how proud we were of him, but something made me hold my little crew back behind the slope until he passed us. Then I thought we would go slowly back to our clubhouse and say nothing whatever about what we had seen. Which we did.

27 27 - The Man who Disappeared 13:58

The Knights of the Square Table by Secretary Hawkins The Man Who Disappeared Hawkins said the skinny guy to me after the meeting. There is something very funny going on in the old meal on Banklet Creek. I looked up from my writing. You're still breaking the rules, eh? I asked. I'm a spy for our gang, said Link. I got to break the rules when it's best for our club, and you'll be glad I did when I tell you all I saw. Tell it, I said. Let's waste no words. Well, said Link. I paddled up the river last night, and when I came to the creek, I said to myself, I might as well take a trip up the creek. When I came to the old mill, I saw a light in it. It might have been Pulley and his knights on the square table, I said.

No, said Link. I passed them. They were all on the riverbank. They had a big bonfire and were holding a meeting around it. But this light in the old mill, it was funny. It would shine for a minute, then it would go out. Just like we saw last summer, I said. Some fellas think the mill is haunted. Don't you think so, too? Not quite. I don't know what the light is, but I ain't interested enough Link to bother my head about it. I'm willing to stay away from the old mill and let things be, but Link wouldn't see things my way. Although he didn't say any more to me about it, he talked to some of the other boys, and the next day Shadow Loomis came to me. "'Hawkins,' he said, "'suppose we find out what's wrong with the old mill?' "'Shadow,' I said, "'we are just through signing a peace proposal with Pulley, and Long Tom is done and out, and things look pretty nice for us.

What's the use of poking our heads into a hornet's nest now?' So he went away, and I thought I had settled the question once and for all. But a little later, Robbie Hood came to me with the same suggestion, and I told him flatly I wouldn't bother at all about the old mill. Then the next day, Dick Ferris, our captain, came with the same story, and when I told him that I wouldn't stand for such things when we had made a rule to stay away from Banklet Creek, He up and said, "'Well, we will go without you, Hawkins. Our minds are made up. We think Pooley has something to do with this haunted mill.' "'Yes,' I broke in. "'But we signed peace with Pooley. What's the use of starting new trouble?' "'Can't help it, Hawkins,' said Dick.

"'The other fellas are set on doing it. They are going to look at the meal tomorrow.' The next day being Saturday, we held our meeting at 10 o'clock in the morning. After which I noticed that there were only a few boys skating on the frozen river. I knew where the others were. They had gone to the old mill. "'A boy to see you, sir,' said Perry Stokes. "'Who is it, Perry?' I asked. "'Rube Miller, sir.' "'The same as belonged to I called last summer when we were in camp. "'Show him in, Perry.' "'In came Rube, the same old Rube whose father owned a farm up on Banklet Creek.' Hello, Hawkins, he sang out. This is the first time I have had a chance to come and see you. Where are all the fellas? I told him, and he said to me that he had come down to ask us all to spend a day up at his pup's farm.

I told him I would be glad to go with him, though the other boys were gone. He seemed glad, and I told him I'd have to go home first and tell my ma where I was going. So he went along with me, and after that we went back to the clubhouse, where he had a one-horse sleigh hitched to a tree. We got in and had a jolly ride, the sleigh bells making music as we went. It was after dark when I started home from Rube's in the same old sleigh. Rube was so jolly and the crisp winter air was so good to feel on your face that I hardly noticed the old familiar places along the creek, until Rube called my attention to a glow in the sky. Look," he said, Polly's Knights of the Square Table have a bonfire somewhere.

Reeve rode on in silence, safe for the jingle of the sleigh bells. We crossed the ice-bound creek at the point where Polly and Herb had had their fight last week, and then went on down until we came to the place where, across the creek, the old mill stood. Suddenly we heard a call. "'That you, Hawkins?' And a moment after Reeve had pulled up the horse and the slice stopped, we were surrounded by boys. I thought it was you, said Shadow Loomis. We've been watching the old mill across the creek all day. Not a sign of anything. I told you so, Shadow, I said. Pile in. This slave will hold all of us. Let's go home. Not on your life, spoke up the skinny guy who came out of the shadows behind us. We've been watching that old mill all day, and we won't go now.

You'd better go, said Rube Miller. It ain't safe around the old mill after dark. It's haunted. That's what we want to find out for ourselves, said Nick Ferris. Well, look, then, right now, said Drew, pointing across the creek. I turned my eyes toward it, too. There was a soft light moving toward the mill. So soft it was that it reminded me of a firefly. It disappeared, and then for a few moments all was dark. But suddenly we saw a light in one of the windows of the old mill. For a minute it stayed, then was gone. "'I hope you boys are satisfied,' I said. "'The old mill's haunted. Why bother about it? We might find it dangerous.' "'No,' said the skinny guy. "'It ain't like you, Hawkins. You never turned away from such a thing before.

We're going to find out. If it is a ghost, we want to see what kind it is. If it ain't—' We want to know what's going on in that old mill. More than likely, it's old Polly up to some of his tricks. Don't forget, I said, that Polly has signed peace with us. We're not to have any more fights with him or his gang. Let's let him alone if it's him. We're going over, Hawkins, spoke up Shadow Loomis. So I saw that there was nothing to do but go over, so I told Rube to wait. and I got out of the sleigh and followed the boys across the frozen creek. But before we got started, I saw the other boys stop and wait for me. "'You'd better lead the way, Hawkins,' said Dick Ferris. "'All right. Come on,' then," I said, and I started running for the old mill.

Why did I care for Hawks? Didn't I know that there was no such thing as a spook? And I learned in Cuba that human beings have a slick way of making people believe that places are haunted. Sure, I said to myself, if there is a spook in the old mill, you can bet your last bum nickel that it is a real-life human being. We reached the old mill. Not a sound, not a light. The old misshapen windows showed their black patches of darkness within. The old ramshackle roof seemed to be ready to slide off the walls that supported it. The tall pine-tree that lifted its head behind the mill sifted a shower of flaky snow upon us as we stood there. "'You see,' I said, "'there we have been fooled. It's easy to fool the human eye, fellas.

We think we see a light sometimes when we don't. What we think might be a light might only be—' But my words froze upon my lips. For suddenly there appeared a soft glow in the mill. Brighter and brighter it grew, until each window threw a soft light. The ghost whispered Dick Ferris behind me, and his words frightened the others so that they turned and ran. Only the skinny guy and I stayed to watch. We looked in the ramshackle mill through the misshapen window, and we saw, we saw, like a part of the floor suddenly moving, a door opened up, and the old man, the same old man who had come into my clubhouse that memorable day to ask me to read his letters. Yes, it was he. He came out of that hole in the ground, and he carried a lantern.

He seemed so old that it was a hard job for him to hold up the floor door. He stepped upon the floor and let the door slam back into place. He looked all about him, and we quickly drew our heads away from the window. The next thing we knew was the light of the lantern moving among the trees. "'Come on, Link,' I whispered to the skinny guy. And together we raced back across the frozen creek where the other boys and Rube and his sleigh waited for us. Take the sleigh-bells off, Rube, I said hurriedly. We've got to follow that line. See it? Rube saw it. We had the sleigh-bells off the harness the last time that it takes to tell, and stowed them under the seat. Then we all piled in, one on top another, and Rube turned the horse around, and back we went, following the light of the lantern that winded its way among the trees to the lonely house.

Yeah. Rube reached it almost as soon as the old man who carried the lantern. Wait, I said, catching the skinny guy's arm. Don't be in such a hurry. What's to be gained by following the old man? I've got to see whether he's a spook or not, said Link with a grunt. Hawkins, he didn't own that lonely house. He hasn't any right in it any more than he has in the mail. "'I know,' I said, but neither have we. "'But we are going to see,' said Shadow Rumors. "'You can stay here with Ruben to sleigh if you want to till we find out for ourselves.' "'Not so you can notice it,' I said doggedly. "'If you boys are going to follow the old man, I'll go with you.' "'But what will you say to him? What excuse will you give him?' Leave that to me, said Shadow Loomis.

Come on. And so then together we walked. We saw the old man go in the front door. That old lonely house looked more spooky than ever now, for as soon as the old man entered the door, the lights seemed to go out. When we reached the door, we couldn't see a sign of the light. Here's my electric flashlight, said Shadow Loomis. You take it and lead the way, Hawkins. So I took the flashlight, and in we went. We went all through the house. Not a sound did we hear. Not a sign of life anywhere. It seemed as if the old man had simply disappeared. We went upstairs. The same thing. No sound. No sign of the old man. It got on my nerves. We were sure we saw him enter. We saw it with our own eyes, yet the house was empty.

Dick, I said to our captain. You take your flashlight, you and Shadow, and stay downstairs. Link and I and Robbie will go upstairs with our lights and look around. If you see or hear anything, just call. So Dick and Shadow stayed below while we three went up the broad staircase. The steps creaked under our feet as we went, and strange to say, those creaks seemed to me as so many warnings as if they were saying. Stay below. There is no good for you above. And now the thing began to nettle me. It began to make me think that perhaps after all I might be mistaken. I'd always thought that there were no such things as spooks. Supposing now that I was but face to face with the fact that there were spooks, that the two men who had posed as real estate agents had killed the old man, and that his ghost had wandered these old forsaken haunts to frighten people.

Hawkins, said Link, as we stood in his spacious library, its empty bookcases lining the walls, looking like so many shelves in an abandoned grocery. Hawkins, this place is surely haunted. We saw the old man come in here. Where did he go? I shook my head, but I went once more through the whole section of the house, upstairs, and with the aid of my electric flashlight, Examined every corner of the place. There was no old man hidden here. Nobody was in the lonely house, neither upstairs or down. We looked everywhere. Nobody was in the lonely house. Fellas, I said as we joined the boys below, there is something darn funny going on in this house. I think we had better get out of here as quick as we can.

There certainly was something strange about it. Nobody could fool me. I saw the lantern that the old man had carried when he came out of that floor door in the old mill. I saw the same lantern through the woods to the old house. I saw the old man with his lantern go into the lonely house. And yet, when we went into the lonely house, there wasn't a sign of the old man. You might say I didn't look thoroughly, but I know I did. I looked into every corner, but I will give you my word the old man wasn't in that house. So that's why I thought it was high time for us to get out of there as quickly as we could, which we did.

28 28 - The Trap is Set 14:38

The Trap is Set. You might not believe me, but after I saw that old man disappear in the lonely house, and I could not find him, although I looked through every room from cellar to garret, I came very close to believing in ghosts. Yes, sir, I thought this old man was a spook. You see, there were plenty of our boys surrounding the house. The old man couldn't possibly have left the house while we were looking for him. He went in. We saw him go in, and he didn't come out, yet we couldn't find him, although we went into every room. Perhaps he hid in the chimney someplace, said Jerry Moore as we talked it over at our next meeting. But no, how silly such a thing would be. What would the old man want to do hiding in the chimney someplace?

Not at all. He was in the house. But where? I couldn't answer the question. And here is where I thought it was about time that we told good old Doc Waters about it. Seemed to me like it was time to have a man come in on this case. It's all right for boys to figure out their own affairs, but when you get to hearing so much about hidden gold in an old empty house and see so many strange and ghostly things, it's about time for a grown-up man to look into the matter. So I went down to Doc Waters' office right after school and told him the whole business, start to finish. Doc wasn't surprised. He is never surprised at anything, I tell him. But I saw him chew hard on the end of his cigar and looked pretty hard at me.

I'm sorry, he began. Then he paused and chewed his cigar some more. I'm sorry, Hawkins, that you didn't tell me about this sooner. I couldn't, Doc, I told him. You see, in the first place, the old man asked me to read a letter for him, and he couldn't see very well, and of course after I read it for him as a favor, mind you, it was up to me to keep his secret. But you haven't kept it broken, Doc. You've just told me. Yeah, I said, and I didn't feel so good then, but I just had to, Doc. He nodded. Always the case, he said. You know enough Hawkins to tell you that it's Such a case as this, it's wise to bring your tails right to me. You know I've always kept an eye on you boys, and ever since I helped you build your clubhouse, old Judge Granberry has sorta thought I was responsible for you fellas.

Well, I am. That's why I'd want you to bring such things to me right away, especially when it's a case such as this. A lonely house and a rumor of hidden money in it. What about the two men? The ones you call tramps that lived in the old house for a while. They're gone, I said. Rube Miller told me they believed the old man was a ghost. It got too spooky for them, and they laughed. Doc nodded again. They knew about that hidden gold, he said, and they were after it, too, and while they may have left the lonely house, you can bet your last dollar that they are watching it from a safe distance. Suppose we make up to go down to Banquet Creek and take a look at things. Nothing could have sued me better, and I told Doc so.

So he said for me to wait for him at the clubhouse after the meeting, and he would call for me. I went right down the river path, and when I reached the clubhouse, there was an argument going on. What's all the talk, I asked. Shadow Loomis stepped up to me. I don't like to say it, Hawkins, he began. "'He's had a fight with Pooley's gang,' broke in Robbie Hood. "'Those fellas never mean a thing they say, Hawkins.' "'It was only the boy with the scar,' interrupted our captain, Dick Ferris. "'It seems like he and Shadow never will get along, Hawkins.' "'Once before they had a fight, and none of us fellas told you about it "'cause we thought it would blow over, but it's broke out again.' "'Yes,' said Shadow with a scowl.' Broke out again it has, and believe me, I'll see it through to a finish, and I'll make that boy sorry he ever crossed my path.

Good night, thought I, as I winded my way through the crowd and settled myself in my little writing room. Not one of them attempted to follow me, and believe me, I wanted to be alone. Here was a new problem. In the middle of all this mystery and worry, after I had tried so hard to settle our quarrels after Pooley had signed a peace with us, his gang never to fight ours again, here comes Shadow, the best fellow that I had to depend upon, one of the finest boys you ever saw, fighting with the boy with the scar who had always seemed to me to be such a good-natured, easy-going kid. And with that scar on his face, he always looked too pitiful trying to hide his face by pulling down his broad-brimmed hat.

Oh boy, how blue I began to feel now. I hate him, said a voice. I looked up quickly. Shadow stood alone beside my desk. As I looked at his face, I wondered how could any boy feel so hard against such a fellow as the boy with the scar. You don't know what you were saying, I said to him. Shadow, for heaven's sake, think. I'm your best friend, ain't I? You've always been that. Well, then listen to me once. This poor little ragpicker with a weld on his face, he wouldn't do anything against anybody willfully. If he's hurt your feelings, Shadow, it's because of some mistake he didn't mean to, I'm sure. What makes you so self-carded to him, demanded Shadow angrily. What'd he ever do for you or for us?

I'd like to know, and believe me, I just can't stand the sight of him. This morning when I saw him round here, I just had to order him off, and he wouldn't go. Said he wanted to stay where he could look at our little hollow and our little clubhouse in it. I told him he had to go. He wouldn't budge, so I up and punched him. You punched him? And I punched him good. He won't forget it soon, believe me. I leaped to my feet and stood close facing Shadow. For that one instant, I was angry enough to punch Shadow myself, only for that one instant. The next I had sunk back into my chair and resting my elbows on my desk dropped my chin in my hands. You punched him, I said drearily. Oh, Shadow, how will I ever get things settled around here if you boys don't keep their heads?

And you, Shadow. I thought you were so sensible. I am, he said proudly, and he thrust his hands into his coat pockets and strolled over to the window and looked out at the boys playing in the hollow. You seem to have a particular interest in this boy with a scar, Hawkins, he said, without turning his head. I wheeled my chair around. I have, I said, and believe me, Shadow Loomis, I like that poor little rags about just as much as I like you. And I'll not have you or any boy in this bunch picking on him, either. If it comes to it, I'll resign my membership in this club before I'll see anybody picking on that fella. I mean what I say. Suit yourself," said Shadow lightly, and he went over to the clothes hooks and took down his scarf, which he began to put around his neck, turning to me as he did so.

If you ever find any boy that you'd rather stick to, Why, just forget me, Hawkins. And with that then, he clapped his hat upon his handsome head and stalked out of the clubhouse. Pooley came to see me that same day. I had a sneaky notion in the back of my head that he would. He was outside with his two ponies, the White and the Bay. Perry Stokes had come to tell me that he wanted to see me, and I knew at once that it was about the new fight that seemed to have broken out among our boys. "'Come in, Pooley,' I said, but he shook his head. "'I'd rather ride with you,' he said. "'See, I've given up my white pony for you, Hawkins. Nobody in my gang has ever ridden it but me. I want to show you that I think a heap of you.

I've got Sadler's Bay.'" We'll take a ride through the woods. All right, I said. Which way will we ride? He led the way on the bay, and the beautiful white pony followed. We drew away from the hollow where the boys played and cut a detour to the main road, upon which we rode for a mile before we said a word. Then Pooley spoke. There's been trouble, he said. I nodded. I heard about it, I said. What does it mean? Am I to understand, Pooley, that our peace contract is broken? Are our gangs just started all over again fighting? No, exclaimed Pooley emphatically. Not by a long shot, Hawkins. That's why I wanted to talk to you alone. That's why I got you out riding with me. My boys haven't quite got over the idea that you boys are our enemies.

Seems like you just can't kill that feeling in them, Hawkins. I know, I said. But of all the boys you have, Pooley, the one I'd least expect to start trouble is the boy with the scar. He's the one we'd like to talk about, broke in Pooley. I lost him. Lost him? Yes. After his fight with your shadow Loomis, he told some of my boys that he'd only start trouble all over again, so he'd die. Resigned from the knights? Yes, and I know he won't return. He's just one of those kind, Hawkins. But I want to get him back. That's what I want you to tell him if you see him. He likes your little old clubhouse in the hollow, and he's likely to come to see you sometime all by himself. It's then I want you to tell him that I want him back, and there won't be any more fights between your gang and mine, Hawkins.

Believe me that, will you? I'm glad to, I told him. And with that, we rode on and back to where we started, and Pooley rode away with the ponies while I went into the clubhouse, which I found deserted, with the exception of Perry Stokes, who was always our faithful caretaker. Now it came to the time when I was to go with Doc Waters to the lonely house. I thought I was to meet him at his office, but somehow or other I misunderstood him. He was gone when I reached his office, and he left a note telling me he had gone ahead and for me to meet him at the lonely house. So I felt a bit disappointed and sore myself and went back to the clubhouse where I ran into the skinny guy. Blink, I said, for the love of Mike, come along with me.

It's growing pretty dark, and I'll own up to you that I'm afraid. Where are you going? He asked. To the lonely house, I said. Link didn't seem to care to go, but when I told him Doc would be there and that we intended to investigate a mystery, he went willing enough. The ice in the river was broken enough, but we used a skiff, not risking the canoe. And when we reached the creek, it was still frozen, although running fast beneath the ice. So we left a skiff at the mouth of the creek and walked up all the way to the path leading to the Lonely House. Lonely House showed a light in the first story window of the round tower, and when we reached it, we saw Doc Waters sitting inside with a strange man.

Aw, Hawkins, said Doc, getting up. I'm glad you came after me. You see, I brought a friend of mine along. After the story you told me, I thought it would be wiser to get somebody who was more experienced. Meet Mr. Checkerson from Watertown. "'So this is Secretary Hawkins,' said the dark man, rising, smiling as he shook my hand. "'I've heard lots about you from Dr. Waters, Sonny.' "'I've heard lots about you, too,' I said. "'I remembered all the things I had read about this famous detective from Watertown.' "'So you think you will solve this mystery of the lonely house,' Mr. Jefferson bowed. "'Pardon me,' he said in a soft voice. The doctor has just been telling me of some remarkable mysteries that you have solved, Secretary Hawkins, and I am always afraid that I might be beaten by a boy if what he says is true.

He has told me all the details of this strange house. What do you make of it, old boy? If I knew, I said, I'd never have told Doc Waters about it. And I smiled. So did Jekerson. We shall sit in the night out here, he said. I hope you and your friend will stay with us. I looked over my shoulder at the skinny guy. No, I said, finally, I'm afraid we can't stay through the night. Our mothers, you know. I've taken care of that broken duckwaters. I told your mother, Hawkins, that I would need you tonight, and that I would take care of you. And I thought perhaps you'd have skinny Link with you, too, so I stepped in at his folks and told him that he'd be with me. They're all set, and our trap is all set, and we need you two boys.

So you might as well make up your minds to spend one night in the lonely house and see what happens. Which we did.

29 29 - One Bag of Gold 13:29

One Bag of Gold. I never will forget the night we spent in the lonely house. Even with two men beside us, somehow or other we could not shake off the gloom of that old empty house. And with all the memories that it held for us, the strange thing going on in it and around it for the last six months, nobody could blame us for being a bit nervous. The first thing we will do, said Mr. Juckerson, after we had decided to stay, will be to have a little tea. You know I'm fond of tea. It braces me up. Suppose we will find a place to light a fire, secretary. We can look in the kitchen, I said. Two tramps were living in this old house for some weeks. Maybe they had a stove. We went to the kitchen, lighting the way with my pocket flashlight.

The rooms were the dirtiest, dustiest rooms I ever saw. All kinds of rubbish. Old newspapers, broken bottles, pieces of wood and wire and such things littered the floors in every room. And the kitchen? Oh boy. Looks like a pig pen, said Mr. Jekerson. But isn't that a stove, I see? It was a little two-burner oil stove on the sink. Doc Waters drew forth a candle from his pocket. I thought we might need some light, he said, so I brought plenty of these tallow candles. The skinny guy struck a match and lit it. Doc poured some candle grease and stood the candle up on it beside the oil stove. I shook the container to see if there was some oil in it, and was glad to find there was. In a few seconds, we had the stove lighted, and Mr.

Jekerson drew out of his little satchel a teapot and a few little cardboard boxes, in which he had tea and sugar and little china cups. We spoke about this, that, and anything, but always in a low voice. It seemed like not only Link and I, but Doc and the detective, too, were under the impression that somebody might hear us. The teapot began to sing in a little while, and Mr. Jekerson was just telling us how good tea was for a person who stayed in lonely houses at night, waiting for something to happen, when suddenly there came a loud thump over our heads. "'What's that?' exclaimed the skinny guy nervously. "'Don't get excited, youngster,' said Mr. Jekerson. "'The spooks in this house are beginning to walk.

"'Here, take a little tea. It's ready. "'Won't do for any of us to get nervous now. "'Time for that later, when we meet this spook face to face.'" Drink this, Sonny. Here, Secretary. I'll give you one next. It's alright for a man like Mr. Jekerson to talk like that, but believe me, when a boy is in a lonesome house which he thinks he has a good reason to believe is haunted, he wants to see how fast he can travel with his feet. And I think both Link and I would have started, too, if Doc Waters hadn't laughed. That laugh brought us around, and we drank a cup of tea. Somehow or other, we felt a little bolder after that. The warm tea did it, I guess. Leave the teapot where it is. Said Mr. Jackerson as he put down his cup, empty.

We will now go carefully upstairs and try to find out what made that disturbing sound. I'll lead the way, Doctor. You follow the boys so they can't run away if we hear anything else. But Mr. Jackerson couldn't frighten me. The tea had warmed me, and I felt again that it would be foolish to think this house was haunted. So I followed right behind Mr. Jackerson, who took my flashlight, and we went up the creaking steps to the second floor. Now understand this. We went into every room. And there wasn't a living thing in any place. We opened every clothes press, every corner we peered into, and yet there wasn't a single solitary person in that ancient house. No. And yet we had heard, as plain as could be, the sound of a thump on the floor above us as we had stood drinking tea in the kitchen.

It beats me, said Mr. Jekerson with a shake of his head as we came downstairs again and settled ourselves in the little round room of the stone tower. There's surely somebody in the house, Dr. Waters. We heard the sound plainly enough. Now, we won't consider spooks. That old idea has gone out of date. There are no ghosts. There's a man in this house. Yes, said Doc. I'm inclined to think you are right. Yeah, I said, there aren't any spooks, Mr. Jekerson. Then why do you shake so? asked Mr. Jekerson, smiling. I noticed, then, that I was trembling quite a good deal. The skinny guy was fairly shaking. His teeth were chattering. Well, I said, I don't know how that is. I recollect when I was in Cuba with all those spooky things going on, I just had to shake some.

I couldn't help shaking some. It's a habit I got, Mr. Jekerson, but it doesn't mean I'm afraid of anything. Both he and Doc laughed, but Link and I, we just looked at each other, and I don't think either of us could laugh. We couldn't even smile, for all of a sudden. Came that awful thump again, right over our heads on the floor above. It made the old chandelier jingle. And right away I saw the laughter die out of Mr. Jekerson's face. There it is again, he said in a low voice, and then he was silent, listening. But though we listened, the sound did not come again. Secretary, said Mr. Jekerson, Doc Waters has told me you're good on solving problems. Now I'm going to try you out. I'm going to ask you to go upstairs and stay there till that sound is repeated.

We will stay down here till we hear it. Then you come down and tell us what caused it. But Mr. Jackerson, you're not afraid. No. You see, that got me. That thing about being afraid. You ask any boy if he's afraid and see for yourself. He'll always shout, no, just like I did, even though he doesn't mean it any more than I did. And I had to go up. No turning back now. You won't ever catch me showing a yellow streak. Not me. So I went. All I had was my pocket flash to light the steps, and oh, how they creaked. Seemed like they made twice as much noise now. Crack, crack, crack. Every step, the creaks got louder. Oh boy, and I am a boy with a habit of shivering at night in lonely houses. My flashlight wiggled so in my hand that my light danced before me like a dizzy firefly.

I had just turned the landing, started to go up the second set of steps, when I saw a sight that made me put my hand to my mouth to smother the cry of fright that threatened to give me away. In the front room, the round room on the second floor of the stone tower on the right front of the house, in that room was a dim glow, but it grew brighter as I watched. I had sense enough to take my thumb off the button of my electric flash and let myself in darkness, and the light grew brighter. Until I saw the light itself, a lantern, an old ship's lantern, carried in the hand of an old bent figure. I knew him by all the saints. I knew him. It was the old man, the same old man who had come into my writing room one day to ask me to read a letter to him that told of hidden gold in this same old lonely house.

It was he. Only an instant did I pause to look at him. Then I turned and ran as fast as I could downstairs to the room where Doc and the detective and Link were waiting. "'He's coming,' I whispered hoarsely. "'Wait, and watch him closely, or he'll get away from us before we know it!' Slowly and with a creaking of the rickety stairs came the old figure with the ship's lantern down the steps. We had snuffed out the candle on the table. We sat in darkness. The old figure passed into the hall, and we could see that in one hand he carried the lantern. In the other, a bag made of some white cloth. His lips seemed to be moving as though he were talking to himself, but no sound did he make. Slowly, he opened the door and went out.

The door swung behind him, and with a soft click. Now, exclaimed Jekerson, leaping up, hand me that flash lamp, secretary, and follow me. He needn't have told us. We would have followed him anyway, because he followed the old man. And if he hadn't gone, believe me, I'm one that would have followed the old man that night, just to see what all this funny business meant. But though the old man moved slowly in the lonely house, it was no sign that he couldn't move swiftly when he wanted to. By the time he had stepped out of the door, his old lantern showed a good thirty yards away, heading for the creek. Well, we moved swiftly, but not swift enough for the old man. By the time we reached the creek, he was halfway across in a skiff.

Rube Miller's boat is up a piece, said the skinny guy excitedly. I'll fetch it. Link was spy of our gang, and I wasn't surprised at him knowing about Rube Miller's boat, but Mr. Jekerson and Doc seemed to think Link was a wonder for thinking so quickly. Link brought down a flat-bottomed rowboat, and in we got. By the time we got started, the old man had crossed the creek and was already out of his skiff. We could see his lantern moving through the trees. By the time we landed, the old man had disappeared, but a light showed in the windows of the old mill. That's where he is, I told Mr. Jekerson. We all started running for the old mill, but by the time we reached it, the light had gone out within it.

We peered through the misshapen windows into black darkness, but suddenly a light sprang up within it. A trap door in the floor of the mill was raised, and we heard a peculiar old whining voice. One, one, one, whined the old voice as the bald head of the old man appeared, coming up the steps from the trap door. Always one, one, one. Tomorrow I shall see two, I say, but always one, one, one. His voice hushed suddenly. He paused halfway out of the cellar and lifted his lantern above his head. Who's there? he cried in a plaintive, frightened voice, but we did not say a word. We backed away from the windows. Then his voice came again. One, one, one. Always one. Tomorrow I shall surely make it two, two, two.

And so saying, he came out of the trap door. He let it fall gently. Then with slow steps he came out of the mill. We all crouched close to the crumbling masonry to let him pass. If he had turned his head just an inch, he would have seen us, for the light of his lantern was upon my boots. But he went on muttering, One, one, never more. We let his voice die out amid the trees. Then Jekerson, without a word, sprang around the corner of the old mill and leaped into the doorless entryway. We all followed. In an instant, Jekerson had the trapdoor up, leaving a gaping hole in the floor. Five steps led into a cellar, and when we stood in that damp, dark place so close to the ancient creek that seeped through the muddy walls, we saw by the light of our electric flash a little flat wooden tub.

Such a tub, perhaps, as you used to see butter sent to town in by country folks. And in the bottom of this little flat tub, a sack. The very cloth sack that we had seen the old man carrying away from the lonely house. Jackerson did not touch it until we all four stood around it. He played his flashlight upon it. Hawkins, he said, suppose you see what it is that the old man brought here. Look, it's the same sack we saw him carrying. See what it is. I stood for a moment like a statue. I could not move. I shook like the leaves shake when the fall comes around and the leaves are dry. But I finally moved myself and picked up the sack out of the wooden tub. It was heavy. I shoved my hand into it and clutched something cold.

Cold, round little pieces. I drew my clenched hand out, full. Gold, I said. Gold money, Mr. Jackerson, look! Jackerson's hand trembled as he reached for it. I dropped the gold pieces into his outstretched palm. They jingled. Gold, he said. By- Gracious, Secretary, you're right. This whole thing's right. There is gold in the lonely house. That's no ghost story after all. By gracious, Doc Waters, if we can find the answer to this, we are going to be rich men. Secretary Hawkins, I want to congratulate you. Congratulate the dickens, I said. Get out and follow that old man. He's got the answer. We gotta find out where he goes to. By gracious, you're right, Secretary. But by the time we had left the mill, the light of the old man's lantern was far beyond.

He had already landed across the creek. We could see the light moving toward the lonely house. We all tumbled into Rube Miller's flatboat, and Link and I rode across twice as fast, I know, as the old man had rode. And we leaped out, the skinny guy leading the way, and ran following the light that was making for the rickety steps of lonely house. Twice in the darkness, Link stumbled over some tangled vines and fell, and once I fell over him, but each time it meant to stop. And by the time we reached the lonely house, the old man and his light had disappeared within the doorway. We sprang up the steps. The door was ajar. We pushed it open. The light of the old man's lantern was still faintly visible beyond the landing.

I outran Link, and though I had given my electric flash to Jekerson, I felt that I wouldn't need it. And so ran up the creaking stairs, but I was fooled. Yeah, you can hand it to the old man, or you can call it a ghost. That is, if you want to. Because by the time I reached the landing, where the stairway turns to the second floor, all sight of the old man, even the glow of his ship's lantern, all was gone. I ran back down and got my flashlight from Jekerson. Again, I raced up the creaking stairs. This time, they were all behind me. We went through every room. Believe me as I tell it to you, there was no old man in that house. No, sir, there was no old man upstairs nor down, for we went through the whole house.

30 30 - The Secret Room 16:21

The Secret Room.

Well, said Mr. Jekerson as we came back to the round room on the ground floor of the old stone tower, I guess we will sit the night out here. It's as good as any place. We have full view of the staircase and the outer door. Perhaps our old man's ghost may walk again later in the night. I'll wager you this time he will not fool us.

He's too slick for us, I said gloomily. Or else he is a sure enough ghost. What? exclaimed Mick Jekerson. You don't want to admit now that there is such a thing as a ghost, do you, Secretary?

I shook my head warily. No, I said, but after all the strange things I've seen in this house, I'm ready to believe that the old man is the nearest thing to a ghost I ever saw. Jekerson laughed. Doc smiled as he chewed his cigar.

Well, said Jekerson, I've said all I have to say. My business from this minute on is to be silent and watch.

I saw that Doc Waters was going to be silent, too. He settled himself for a quiet nap in one of the rickety chairs.

Link was like myself. Too nervous and frightened to think of sleeping. A half hour passed, one of the quietest half hours I ever spent in my life, awake. And then I stood up and began to walk. I noticed Jekerson look up once and watch me as I paced the little round room. But then he dropped back into his careless attitude and seemed to fall asleep. Although I knew that he was only half asleep, like the rabbit. Which animal always sleeps with one eye open?

Link followed me. His steps were right behind mine. I knew he would stick with me. I walked a few times around the little room, and then out into the broad living room. The more I walked, the braver I seemed to get. I suppose it takes exercise to make a fellow's mind stronger. Anyway, I walked up and down that living room. And the skinny guy was walking right behind me. Where are you going? He would ask about every other time I turned around. But if he would have watched me, he would have known that I wasn't going anywhere, just walking up and down to keep myself from thinking about spooks. Where are you going? He would ask. And I would never answer him. Yet his question, repeated so often, got me so rattled at last that, to keep from hearing his silly talk, I began to count my steps.

One, two, three, and so on I counted as I walked, and by the time I reached sixteen, I was up to the other wall and turning around to walk back.

What you trying to do, Hawkins? asked the skinny guy at last, as he stopped. and watched me walk up and down. What's the use of wearing yourself out walking like that? You don't have to if you don't want to, I said, sort of snappish. Sit you down in a chair and sleep like Doc. And that other man. I've got to walk. I'm nervous, I am. The skinny guy laughed, and then all of a sudden he let out a startled cry. That he smothered the next instant with his hand over his mouth. It was the sudden flickering out of the candle on the table in the tower room next to us that plunged the whole place into darkness.

It startled me, too, for a little, but I hurried over and fumbled around on the tabletop for another candle, got it, and struck a match and lit it. And then I knew that both Doc Waters and Mr. Jekerson were asleep. They hadn't even noticed the candle go out. Maybe Jekerson had, but if so, he pretended to sleep on, maybe to see what we would do. After I lighted the candle and stuck it tight in some of its own grease, I turned back to find the skinny guy walking up and down in the next room as I had. Hawkins, he said, do you think the man we saw come into the house is still here?

Don't ask me, I said, and picking up the electric flashlight, I walked to the outer door and threw it open. Somehow or other, I just had to get out of that house or suffocate. I don't know what it was that made me want to leave, but I knew I needed a breath of fresh air. Skinny Guy followed me out. I stood for a moment in the crisp night air, and then with a shiver I turned back into the house. But I didn't go back into the room where Doc and the detective were, no. Somehow or other, I felt stronger, braver now. I started up the stairway. Link was at my heels. Slowly we went up, the creaks of the stairs sounding twice as loud in the stillness of the night. All was dark. Save where the little shaft of light from my electric torch pierced the inky blackness.

I paused on the threshold and threw my light into every corner. Not a sound. Not a thing to be seen. Empty rooms. Dusty and grimy.

I stood the flashlight on the window sill, from where it threw its light to the center of the floor. And hardly without noticing what I was doing, I began to pace up and down as I had done in the room below. One, two, three. I could not tell you why I counted my steps. Perhaps because I had been doing that in the room below. I don't know. But I walked up and down and counted my steps silently. One, two, three, and so on. And I came to the other wall when I had counted twelve. Suddenly I stopped as I turned.

Link! I exclaimed, and then I was silent. The skinny guy coughed nervously. The flashlight somehow or other was loosened from its place on the windowsill and tumbled to the floor with a loud noise. The skinny guy cried out. Hawkins, he yelled. Where are you? For the light had gone out, and we were in the dark. I hurried over and took hold of Link. Hush, I said. Everything's all right. The only thing I was going to say is this. The room below is sixteen steps from wall to wall. The room up here, right over the one we were in below, is only twelve. You understand what that means, Link? No, he said. And I could feel his skinny bones shaking like the dickens. A light came from the door. Doc Waters held it, and behind him was Jekerson.

I give you credit, Hawkins, said Jekerson. You've discovered the old man's hiding place?

How so? broke in Doc Waters. He seemed to be still half asleep. What's up, anyway? The room below measures sixteen strides, I said. This one up here is only twelve. There's a secret room up here, somewhere. Hawkins is right, said Jekerson. Now, how to get at it is the next question. Light up these candles, boys. We lit a half dozen candles and placed them at different places in the room, so that the whole room was lighted, although dimly. Then Jekerson took my flashlight and ran the light all over the walls.

Here, he said, pounding on the wall opposite the door into the round tower room is where the room is.

And he thumped his hand again and again upon the wall. Suddenly there came a faint, high-pitched voice from beyond the wall.

Who is it? Is it you, boy, with the sad face? We didn't answer. It sounded so hollow, that faint voice, and so ghostly. We couldn't say a word. Jekerson motioned us back while he again examined the walls, but he came away, shaking his head. No use trying to find it tonight, he said. Tomorrow will do. There's a secret about opening a door to this room. Put out these candles and let's get downstairs. We have him safely anyhow, and tomorrow we'll break through that wall. Listen! What is that sound? Like a flash, we had snuffed out all the candles, and Jackerson snapped off the electric torch. We were in darkness. From below came the sound of the door closing slowly. You could never mistake that sound once you heard it, and we had heard it often enough.

For the hinges of the outer door were so rusty that they played a tune every time the door was opened. Don't breathe a sound, whispered Jekerson, as he held out his arms and shoved us back far from the doorway. Steps were sounding on the stairs, light steps and quick. Although it was dark in the room, We could still see the darker shape that flitted quickly through the door into the room, and turning to the left, stood in front of the wall, from behind which had come the faint voice. He seemed to be unaware that anyone else was there beside him, and suddenly he stooped, and then right afterward a square of the wall swung outward, and a flood of light came streaming through the opening. And in the opening was the old man with the lantern.

He held it out of the opening in the wall, and there was a smile upon his withered face. The dark figure that had come up the steps came forward into light, and I saw it was a boy. I knew him. The boy with the scar. I could tell by the way he wore his hat pulled down low over his eyes. I brought you your supper. said the boy with the scarf, holding out the parcel to the old man. You must be terribly hungry by now. Oh, said the old man with a smile, I don't need much, Sonny. You're so good to an old man. The boy with the scarf pretended not to hear him. The old man's look turned to one of sadness as he shook his head. It never grows, he said, always one. One. One. Every time. I bring one. Did you go over there tonight?

asked the boy quickly. Yes, I was there, answered the old man, but I left only one. There was no more. The boy with the scar lifted his hand and shook his head impatiently. That'll do, Grandpa, he said. It's all I wanted to know. Something funny's going on. Then, without another word, he turned swiftly and left the old man. We heard his footsteps clattering down the rickety stairs, as though he weren't afraid of ghosts. The outer door closed with its old, familiar, rusty tune. The old man stood unmoving in the doorway, listening to the sounds of the retreating boy. But before he had time to close the door, Jekerson was before him. He shoved himself between the old man and the open door. The old man gave a cry of surprise and sudden fright.

Who are you? He screamed. What do you want here? Who are you? Come now, said Jekerson soothingly in a low voice, patting the old man upon the shoulder. We are your friends. We've come to help you, sir. Look, these friends I have with me, see, they are all your friends. He gazed with glassy eyes as Doc and the skinny guy and I followed Jekerson into the secret room. As soon as his eyes fell upon me, however, his face lit up with a smile. Oh, Zachary Hawkins, he cried. I know. Yes, you are friends. He helped me once, helped me as God knows I was helping somebody else. I stepped up to him and held up my hand. Mr. Gellerio, I said, I'm glad to see you again. Can we help you? He took my hand in his bony fingers and pressed it, just like he did that night when I read for him the faded letter.

Perhaps, he said weakly. Perhaps you can help, though I don't know. He passed his shaking hand before his eyes and sank into a chair beside the little table. And it was then that I noticed what a queer room it was, as narrow as a packing case. No windows, only three little ventilators in the ceiling, and yet crowded with bookshelves. Filled with musty-looking volumes of olden days. Colors faded and edges ragged. The old man was crying. He had his withered face buried in his bony hands, but we could hear his whimpering. All over, he whimpered, trying to fix it right. But too late now. All over now. You did your best, old man, he said. Everything will turn out all right. The only mistake you made was hiding yourself in this secret room.

You should have come right to me. Look at my face. Have you ever seen me before? The old man raised his eyes and gazed into the brown eyes of Jekerson, and then he started back. By the Jehovah, he said. You're one of the two tramps who lived in this house. I played the part of a tramp, said Jekerson, with a smile, just to try and find out what you were doing here. But you were too slick for me, Mr. Grillerio. You'll have to hand it to young Secretary Hawkins here for figuring out where your hiding place was. The old man turned his eyes upon me, and this time they were not friendly. "'You,' he exclaimed, pointing his bony finger at me, "'you promised to keep my secret.' "'I never knew of this secret room I broke in.' But Jekerson cut me short.

"'Come,' he said, "'we must explain this whole matter to Judge Granbury.

31 31 - The Boy With the Scar 14:45

The Boy With The Scar When we found out that the ghost in the lonely house was really an old man and not a ghost at all, believe me, every boy in our club I was just as glad as I was. I don't like to believe in ghosts, and I'm always so glad when I can prove that what the other fellows think is a ghost is nothing but a real, live person after all. I expected to get a call from Judge Granberry to come up and tell what we knew about the old man and the lonely house, but on the day after we made our discovery, Doc Waters came down to our clubhouse, and after the meeting was over, he followed me into my writing room. While the other boys went out to skate on the frozen river. Well, Hawkins, he said, your old man has been taken to the hospital in Watertown.

They say he is crazy, but I'm not so sure. How much do you think was in that one bag of gold coins we found in the cellar of the old mill where he had hidden it? How much? One thousand and twenty-seven dollars. And if we can believe the old man, there was about a hundred thousand dollars hidden away in that whole house. How can you tell? Well, you told me that the old man was there about three months. Jekerson says that's about right. It tallies with the disappearance of the old man from his home in Watertown, according to the information. Well, that's about ninety days. The old man says he has been putting away a sack of gold each night, hiding it under the mill. Ninety sacks? Ye understand?

Godly Moses, I broke in. Where did it all go to? We only found the one bag of gold. That's what I'm coming to, if you'll give me time," said Doc. Of course. Those smart doctors from Watertown say the old man is crazy. They say he carried the same sack each night, and imagine he was carrying another sack each night. But he tells Mr. Jekerson and me that he took one sack from the hidden room each night to the mill and hid it, yet each time he came to Fine. Will the hiding place empty? Of course. He's a little off his noodle. He couldn't understand why the pile of sacks didn't grow. The great doctors from Watertown said he never had but one sack and— But we saw him take it there, I broke in again excitedly, and we found it.

Yeah, said Doc, and believe me, Hawkins, he brought about ninety more sacks of gold into that old mill, and they disappeared. Take it from me. There was a fortune in that old, lonely house. The question is, where did it go? I glanced up quickly at Doc's eyes, then, catching him, look, I nodded. I know, I said. I know what you're driving at now. You think I can tell you? You got a sneaking notion somewhere back in your head that I know who took those bags of gold out of the old mill after the man put them there each night. Well, I'll tell you the truth. As I always do, Doc, I don't know. Doc got up, and if you didn't know, he said, it happened to be somebody you had promised not to tell. I guess you keep your word.

I looked at him square in the eye. I looked at him hard, and he returned the look with a little smile about his lips, and then he went out, and he closed the door softly behind him. Left alone, I sat dreaming. What an awful mess we boys were always getting into, and all the time the worries were left to me, all the time I was given the job of setting things right. Always there was trouble in our town, and whenever there was, the trouble was sure to drift down until it came around to our old clubhouse on the riverbank, and we boys got tangled up in it, and then it was nobody but myself who was expected to figure a way out of it. Ah well, I smiled. What difference? We had come through many troubles, but always in the end we had come out all right.

Many times we had been under suspicion, but always had proven ourselves worthy of Judge Granbury's trust. He called us his junior police, by the Saints. We would still prove to him that we were true blue, and with that thought in mind I threw my worries to the winds and started to write minutes of the day's meeting. I scribbled on my book for half an hour, I guess. I'm a slow writer, but I like to write, and the time peaces quickly when I have my pen in my hand. The little old brass clock ticked away, and the ticks sounded loud. Once in a while, I could hear the whistle of an ice-locked steamboat on the river, and then, all of a sudden, I felt as though I were not alone. I looked out the corner of my eye without raising my head.

and I saw there was somebody standing between the curtains in my doorway. I went on writing as though I didn't notice, but a soft voice brought me around suddenly. "'Secretary Hawkins,' it said, and the sound was soft and mellow, like velvet.' I slowly lifted my pen from the page and turned my eyes upon the doorway. "'Well,' I said, "'and what do you want?' It was Rags, the boy with a scar, who once belonged to Pooley's gang. He had his Broad hat drawn low upon his forehead, so that only the lower half of his face was to be seen. He carried in his arms a number of bags by Jove. They were the same kind of bags that we had seen the old man carry out of the lonely house. I come to ask you something, said the boy with a scar.

You have always been nice to me. I kind of feel like you would help me out. So you're in trouble, eh? Might have known it. Nobody ever comes to me, lest they're in trouble and want to help them out. Don't you think I get tired of that sort of thing, boy? Why should I help you now, for instance?" he smiled. You're always helping somebody, that's right, he said. But I ain't asking you to help me this time. I can get along, but look here. He stepped forward with his armful of bags and dumped them all before me upon my desk. I'm asking you to help me, some of those other fellows this time, he said. And voice was so soft, so kind, that my heart melted right then and there. I'm asking you to help me give this gold.

Gold, I broke in. Yeah, gold money that don't belong to me. It belongs to an old man that used to live in the old lonely house up on the creek. Ah, I said. So you are the one who's been taking these bags away every night after the old man put them in the old mill? Is that right, Rags? He winced when I said, Rags. He made a motion as if he would raise his hand, but he stepped back and put his hands behind him. Count them, he said simply. I counted the bags. There were thirteen. Once he had fallen upon its side and spilled its yellow pieces upon my desk. Just thirteen, said the boy with a scar. That tells you just how many days I've been taking these bags out of the old mill after the old man put them there.

Each night he brought one bag to the mill. Each night I come up and got it as soon as he went away, on out in my head, and for a moment didn't say a thing. The boy with the scar looked at me anxiously. "'You don't think I stole them from myself, do you, Hawkins?' he asked. I smiled. "'No,' I said. "'And if you had—' You wouldn't have brought them here tonight, Rags, because you're not going to take them away from here when you go. Ye understand? I want you to give them to the old man, he said. You was with that detective fellow when the old man in the lonely house was caught. You know where he is. I've been searching all over. I can't find out. But you can find him. You will give him these bags.

Tell him it's all I could say for him. Tell him it's from the boy with the sad face. He used to call me that. The boy with the scar broke off in a sob and turned away from me. I felt a sudden pull at my old heartstrings. This poor kid with a marked-up face was a good scout after all. I stepped up to him, where he stood with his back turned to me, and I put my arms around his shoulders and patted him on the back. Buck up here, I said. You're with an old friend of yours now, Rag.

At that, he turned suddenly. But as quickly he pulled his hat lower upon his face, and turned away again, as though he were afraid to let me see his face. At the time I thought it was because he felt touchy about the scar on his face. It was an ugly, disfiguring welt that would have turned once heartsick to see, but only his chin being in view. One did not quite get the impression of it when he gave his whole face was exposed, as it found out later on. It was a good ten minutes I had with him to get him to stop crying. I wondered what was going on in his mind. Then later on I understood, but now I couldn't. I will see to it that the old man gets his gold, I said. Believe me, boy, I thank a whole lot of you.

You could have run away with this money and spend your night and I could have had a good time. I think you are a square and fair fellow for bringing it. Fair and square, he broke in. That's what he used to say. Who, the old man? No, him. I liked so well. Pooley. And yet, he was the one I saw stealing this old man's gold every night. He would leave his knights of the square table gang. He would sneak off alone and go to the old mill and get the sack of gold money that the old man brought there. Hold on, I broke in roughly. Pooley wouldn't have done that. It must have been a long time. No, it was Pooley, said the boy with the scar. No use. I tried to believe different, too. I didn't want to think that Pooley did it.

I liked Pooley so much. But I saw him. Hawkins, I saw him take it, night after night. And then I felt sorry for the poor old man. And I always got there before Pooley did. And I got the bag each night for thirteen nights. Thirteen bags, almost two weeks, and then came the knight and skinny guy, and those two men followed the old man. That was the last. After he stopped talking, I couldn't say a word, because I was too surprised and shocked beyond words. I was thinking, a heap, though. Pooley, a thief? Pooley, leader of magnificent knights of the square table? A thief? No! I couldn't believe it. Surely. There must have been a mistake. It must have been Long Tom. There was a bunch of noise outside, our boys returning from their skating frolic on the frozen river.

Shadow Loomis and the skinny guide led them. They came trooping into the meeting room, which was dark, for it had grown late. Seeing the light in my writing room, they broke in upon us, as I hurriedly took my seat in front of my desk. "'Ah!' cried Shadow Loomis, seeing the boy with the scar. Shadow said the boy with the scar, stepping forward. Both his hands were extended. It was the most friendly show a fellow would want, but Shadow snared him away. "'Get back,' shouted Shadow. "'You neat, messly coward. You wouldn't fight me when you had the chance, would you? When you had all the odds on your side, and everything in your favor, you wouldn't fight me, would you, you messly coward? And I guess you think I won't fight you now, cause you're in my clubhouse.'" And all my chums are around me, eh?

I'd never fight you, Shadow, said the boy with the scar. The day you hit me, I wouldn't fight you, because— Shut up, cried Shadow, and I could see that he was mad. Shut up and put your fists, because— But here's where I stepped in. I saw the boy with the scar shrink back into a corner, pulling his broad hat over his face as he did so. I stopped between him and Shadow. Just one moment, I said. I'm secretary of this club. If I don't amount to any more, you might as well take my name off your list, and I'll shake hands goodbye all around. I'm going to see that this boy gets out of this clubhouse safely, even if I have to fight you, Shadow Loomis. Shadow fell back as if I had struck him. Nothing could have surprised him more, but I stood firm, and the next thing I knew...

Dick Ferris, her captain, stepped between me and Shadow. "'Boys,' he said, "'we always get along well by following Sig Hawkins. Let's stick to him now.' Then came a cheer from every boy in the club except Shadow. I waited for Shadow, but he wouldn't join. However, I walked to the door and drew upon it wide. "'Go, Rags,' I said to the boy with the scar. He gave Shadow one last look. It wasn't a look of anger, nor a hard feeling of any kind, but rather of pity and regret. And then he started toward me, where I held the door. As he passed me, I felt a certain feeling, as though I had known this boy long ago. I caught his arm. Let me see your face, I said. But he pulled his hat down closer over his face and beat down my hand.

No, he said. No, Secretary Hawkins. Not yet. And with that... Then he was out of the door and swallowed up in the gloom. There was a strange silence in the clubhouse after he had left. One by one, the boys went home. Shadow, the first to leave, followed by Robbie Hood. At last, there were only two of us there, Dick Ferris and I. After explaining the whole thing to Dick, I pointed to the bags on the table. We can't leave them here, Hawkins, he said. We'd better bring them to Doc Waters' office, which we did.

32 32 - The Secret of the Cave 17:10

The Secret of the Cave.

We held our meeting next day, right after school. It was the quietest meeting I ever knew. Seemed like all the boys in the club were afraid to say a word. As soon as the meeting ended and the boys went out to play, I went to my writing desk to write the minutes, while Perry began to busy himself with the straightening up. And believe me, after a meeting of a dozen boys in one clubhouse, there is plenty of straightening up and cleaning to be done.

Begging your pardon, sir, began Perry, but I cut him short. Perry, I said in a soft voice, and smiling as kindly as I know how, when will you ever forget that sir business? Can you talk to me like the rest of the boys? Why use that sir all the time? You're one of the club now. I know it, sir, he said with a smile, but somehow it sounds good to talk that way, Hawkins. I like to be polite and kind, sir. It makes me feel so much better. If I couldn't be that way, sir, I wouldn't want to live at all. Might as well be dead, I say to myself, as not to be kind and polite to everybody. It gives me some kind of pleasure that maybe you wouldn't get by being that way, sir. I laughed. You mean I'm rough and ready, eh, Perry?

I said. I know I'm not just as nice as I ought to be, perhaps. No, no, sir, not that, he broke in. But you don't understand my way of looking at it, sir. You're Hawkins, that's enough. But you, sir, can't see things like I see them, sir. I hope you won't say any more about it, sir. I shook my head as he went about his business, and I started to write the minutes in my book. Hardly had I written five lines when there was such a commotion outside that I laid my pen down hurriedly and ran to the curtains that hung in the doorway to the meeting room. I saw the outer door flung open. A group of boys shoved an unwilling member into the meeting room. And he fell upon his hands and knees before the table.

"'Fellas,' I yelled, "'what's all this roughhouse mean?' They were all my own boys, all but the one they shoved forward. He was Pooley, leader of the Knights of the Square Table, who had signed a piece with me, his gang never to fight mine anymore, and he was always fair and square.

Ask him what it means." yelled Jerry Moore, our tallest and roughest member. Yeah, let the square table guy answer for himself, shouted Shadow Loomis, the boy in whom I always trusted most, whom I always credited with the most common sense. Let him tell you where we caught him and what we caught him with. We caught him with the goods, shouted the skinny guy. Ask him about the gold, Hawkins, about the gold, you know what I mean. Pooley had drawn himself up straight, stood proudly, his arms folded, his eyes showing defiance. "'I'll tell him,' he said quietly. "'I'll tell him without his asking me. I'm not ashamed of anything I did, and I'm not afraid of any of you single-handed, and some of you two by two.

They would have jumped him, all except the skinny guy for that last crack.' But I stood between him and the crowd. Stand back, I said, and let's give a chance to a fella who is always fair and square. They glared at me, but they were excited, mad, and they stood waiting for a signal from one or the other to rush Pooley in spite of my words. But I stood fast, and I held up my hand, and Pooley spoke. Hawkins, he said. There's been enough trouble around here and Banklick Creek, especially around the Lonely House and the Old Mill. I'm caught today on your ground, up on your cliffs. You see what they have there. For the first time I noticed, as he pointed to it, the bag that Shadow Loomis carried.

Look here, cried Shadow. A bag of coin. Money, Hawkins. Money as we seldom see. And this guy has it hidden all in our old cliff cave. Fifty bags of it, or I'm a monkey. You're an ape, broke in Pooley with just the shadow of a smile, for there's eighty-seven bags of it. Stolen, Jerry Moore interrupted him. From the old haunted mill, chimed in the skinny guy. I'm Spy of our gang. You didn't know that, did you, Pooley? I saw you going and coming, and I followed you at nights, and I didn't tell even Hawkins. He was excited now, or he wouldn't have told me either. But when he saw that he had given it away, he came forward to me. This is the guy who's been watching the old man come out of the lonely house every night.

He watched, and as soon as the old man went away, he got the sack of gold and took it to his hiding place. Which is in our old cliff cave, where the stoner's boy used to hide. Same place. It's stacked with bags of these gold pieces, Hawkins. This Pooley fella stole them, every one. And who had a better right? broke in Pooley in a loud voice. You, you skinny bones. You think it's mighty smart to spout like you do about what kind of a good spy you are and what you know, but just what do you know? Do you know that that money belongs to me by right? Or do you not? I ask you that question. Our boys all stood around. They stepped back to pace. They stood silent. Or do you, smart shadow Loomis, continue Pooley, Do you know what's kept me from breaking your nose many times when I saw you get a so-flip?

No? Don't answer. I know you can't. All right, let me talk a little. You've got me cornered here now, when I haven't a single of my own gang around me. Yet I tell you this, that if my whole gang of Knights of the Square Table were with me, I'd make them all go away, so I could tell you and your whole bunch face to face. Who's got a better right to that goal than I have? Nobody answered him. He looked around from one to the other, and then, when his eyes met mine, and he saw my look, which was of sympathy for the old leader of the square table boys, he gave a sob, and sinking into the chair beside the pine table, he bowed his head upon his arm and shook while he cried out like As if his heart was broken.

I couldn't stand it. I went over to him. I put my arm around his sturdy shoulders. Poor old Puli.

You always did the best by me, Puli, I said softly. Let the others go. If they want to stand against you now, it's time they begin to pick another secretary of their club. Look up at me, and say you believe me. But Puli wouldn't look up, although his hand reached around and took mine and held it. There was a silence, broken only by the sobs of Puli, his bowed head upon the table. What's all that fuss? It was a new voice that broke in, a man's voice, Doc Waters. I saw him standing in the open doorway as I looked up. We found the thief, began Shadow Loomis, but I cut him short. Pooley had a raw deal, I said. The boys found all that money, Doc. The lonely housegold? Yes. Eighty-seven bags of it, in the old cliff cave.

Good lord, let's remove it at once. No wait. Better send for Lord Granbury himself, and the sheriff. I'll not have anything to do with it. Who can go? I sent little old Perry Stokes, my most faithful friend, and he took it as an honor to go. Just to show you how gold will act, it didn't take ten minutes to bring both the judge and the sheriff to the clubhouse. With a little explanation, we started for the cliff cave. As we approached the cavern, led by Pooley himself, Doc and the sheriff talking earnestly together, I caught sight of a figure coming out of the mouth of Cliff Cave. For an instant only was he to be seen, but enough to tell me that it was Rags, the boy with the scar.

How strange, thought I, that we should all be meeting here, Doc, Judge, and the Sheriff, all of our gang, Pooley, and the boy with the scar. What was that? cried the Sheriff. None of us answered. I flew along on swift feet now. I made for the head of the path, where the dark mouth of the cave faced us. I pulled out my pocket flash lamp and lit my way, but I could hear the rest of the bunch at my heels. Into the dark tunnel I ran, the same dark passage through which we had chased Stoner's Boy so many times. Patter, patter, patter came the sound of the feet behind me.

Once or twice I caught the sound of the voice of Doc or the Sheriff, but never did I listen nor pause. On I ran until I came to a dead stop, stood stock still staring at a sight that I never will forget. It was a sight. You might remember that there is, in the cliff cave, a deep pit, a split in the rocky floor, over which Stoner's boy used to swing upon a rope to get to his hiding place, while upon the other side of this deep pit, beside a great pile of sacks, stacked on top of one another, stood a figure with a flaming torch waving it wildly back and forth, and shouting to us in a loud voice that echoed back its sound. Stop where you are. Nobody will get this money. I'm going to see that it goes to where it belongs, so long as I got my grandpa."

The voice died out there. Our flashlights flickered, flashes flitting across one another, making the place seem ghostly. The flame of the torch in the boy's hand across the chasm shot high against the glistening rocks, and suddenly it wavered, then began to sink. And with a piercing cry, the boy who held that flaming torch began to fall. Oh, poor boy, how he fell! Swiftly like a plummet, down, down, down. I covered my face in my hands to blot out the sight. Oh, heaven, I have never wanted to see that again. Years before, I had seen one other go down into the dark, dark space. One stoner's boy, and now I knew who it was. Back came Doc Waters' voice. And back, I cried loudly. Back, everybody. Link, Link, Link, Link Lambert and Shadow Loomis.

We three. Doc, we three. We know the way. Let us go. Let us go. They let us go. They were too stunned to move, but I could hear the skinny guy's feet behind me as I ran, and behind him came Shadow. I led the winding way. Down through those awful ghostly holes into the very bottom of the cliff. Where ran the cave river? And there we found him. We found him. Yeah, it was Rags, the boy with the scar. He had slipped from his dangerous position on the edge of the treacherous precipice. He had fallen, as Stoner had fallen, into the deep dark pit. But, unluckily for him, He had not struck the water of the cave river as Stoner had. No. He had landed plump upon the stony banks of this underground stream, and as I bent over him I could see that the life was knocked out of him.

He was going.

Hawkins, he whispered as I bent over him. Dear old Hawkins, I'll never see you again, boy. But I'm glad you're here. Tell him, tell him, tell him I did it for him. Tell him I'll forgive him, as I hope he will forgive me. And tell my dad. But I never heard what he wanted me to tell his dad, no. But I made up a lot of good things that I thought he wanted to tell, and that's what I told. But before he could really tell me, the boy with the scar stopped speaking.

Doc Waters brushed me aside, and I remember that I fell upon my knees and buried my face in my hands. And you can believe me, boys, I cried. Why? You ask me why? Because I'm soft-hearted, I guess. He is dead, said Doc Waters.

Judge Granberry stepped up and looked at the poor little figure that lay upon the cold rocks of that underground place. Then he took off his hat. We all did. Shadow Loomis looked puzzled. He stepped forward, but I caught him. Shadow! But he wouldn't listen to me. He stepped forward. The boy with the scar lay still upon his back, and his broad-brimmed hat was gone. There! Within full view for the first time lay the face, and as the flashlights of our crowd played upon it, there came a sobbing cry from Shadow.

John, he cried. John! And then again, before I could get to him, he cried out, It's my own brother, John, the Rolling Stone!

Ah, boy, how he cried then! How I cried, too. I'm soft-hearted, but if I was the stoniest-hearted boy on earth, I would have cried then, when I saw Shadow Loomis stooped over his fallen brother and cry his heart out, because—because why? Because he had treated him so shamefully when he lived. Now that he was dead, Shadow felt the dreadful pain of genuine remorse. Poor little rags. Poor boy with the scar. He had traveled much. He was a rolling stone. How he had come by this terrible scar on his face, which disfigured him, so that even his own brother couldn't recognize him. All that would remain a mystery now and forever. And poor old Shadow Loomis. It was Judge Granberry who finally got us started away from the solemn place, that eerie spot that seemed to be haunted ever since Stoner's boy had his headquarters there.

None of us boys were allowed to stay. Judge Granberry and Doc Waters stayed and took care of that poor, broken little body with the scarred face that we had known as Rags. But the sheriff herded us together and made each of us carry a few sacks of the gold that was hidden this side of the pit, and bring it up to Judge Granberry's office, which we did.

33 33 - Pooley Makes Good 19:49

Pooley makes good.

Today was the first day we didn't hold a meeting in our little clubhouse on the riverbank. The first day we missed for more than a year. We didn't even go to school today. And every boy had his daddy along with him when we did meet, up in the judge's office that he uses for a courtroom.

It was the strangest meeting we boys ever attended, and... Believe me, I shall never forget it, as long as I live. This court, said Judge Granberry, intends not to prosecute, but to investigate. A charge has been brought against the boy called Pooley. This charge nobody was willing to bring, so the sheriff made it out against the boy. To it for stealing certain monies said to have been taken from an old place known as Lonely House, up on Banklick Creek. I hope all of you understand this perfectly. He stopped speaking, while he let his gaze wander slowly around the crowd. I guess everybody there understood perfectly, because nobody said anything.

Very well. Sheriff, bring up the boy. Pooley leaped to his feet before the sheriff could move. I saw his father try to hold him, but Pooley was too quick. He stood before the judge's desk. Here I am, Judge, he said quietly. Judge Granberry glared over the rims of his eyeglasses.

So, he said, slowly nodding his head. So you are the young villain who stole all that money, eh? You don't look like a thief. But then, I have learned from experience in the courtroom that one never can tell by appearances. Do you know what those bags contained? How much gold there was all counted up? Do you know just how much you stole, boy?

Not a cent! Pooley's reply came like a shot. His voice was clear and unafraid. The judge sat back in his chair and glared at him.

What? he exclaimed, then turning to the sheriff. Did you hear that, Sheriff? I hope he did, spoke up Pooley. I want to have this privilege, Your Honor. I want to tell just what I know about this gold. "'Oh, that isn't the only thing,' broke in the judge, shaking his finger before Pooley's face. "'You've been a great source of annoyance to me, young fellow. You took it into your head that you could go around frightening the boys of our town, didn't you? You thought the boys in the little clubhouse on the riverbank would be afraid of you and your rowdy gang because you all rode around on ponies, eh? Tell me, please, if you can, where did you get the ponies, eh?' You bought them with gold that you took out of some of the bags that you stole out of the lonely house, didn't you?

There was something in Judge Granberry's voice that made me doubt his sincerity. And when I looked again in his eyes, I felt as though the judge did not mean to be as nasty as his words would lead one to believe. He was trying, Pooley. But before Pooley could answer, his father had stood up. I beg leave to make explanation there, said Pooley's dad. The ponies that my boy used were not bought by him, Your Honor. I run the pony track up at the summer park. Out of season, my boy takes care of the ponies for me, and he does that work well. He and his pals were using my ponies, Judge. Judge Granbury nodded satisfied. All right, Mr. Poole, he said, since you are testifying now, suppose you tell us what your boy means when, in spite of the fact that we all know he took the bags of gold out of the lonely house, he still says he did not steal a cent.

Pooley's daddy shook his head. I cannot explain that, he said. But I can, spoke up Pooley. My father doesn't know, and it wouldn't do him much good if he did, because the money isn't his. It's mine, you see. Where's Secretary Hawkins? Is he here yet? I stood up and waved my hand once. I'm here, Pooley, I said, and then I sat down again next to my daddy, who was terribly embarrassed about me getting mixed up again in a court case. But Pooley was satisfied. Judge, he continued, I got proofs that I didn't steal a cent of that money. You admit that you put those bags of gold in the cliff cave, don't you? asked Judge Granbury. Yes, but it was all mine, Judge. You could have heard a pin drop in that courtroom between Pooley's last words and the judge's next question.

Can you prove it? Yes, answered Pooley. Quickly and tugging inside his shirt, he brought forth a bundle of yellow faded papers. Here, Judge, he said. Here is the proof. Read it yourself. I cannot write good enough to tell you how I felt, how everybody in the courtroom felt when the old judge read the faded papers that Pooley handed to him. It was five minutes before the judge spoke again. Tell me how you came by these papers, boy," he said in a low voice. Well, Judge, I had a gang. It was called the Knights of the Square Table, and we had our headquarters in the old lonely house. I had to be careful, Judge, because my dad told me always to stay away from that lonely house. But it was a good place for my gang to meet, Your Honor, and one day I discovered a notch in the wall upstairs, in the room next to the tower.

And I put my thumb in it, and it pressed something, and a door swung open, and I went into the room. It was a secret room, Your Honor, and I found these papers. You see what it says on the papers? Not to Laura B. Poole should the money go, but to his son. If he ever has one, that's the way the papers read, Judge. You saw it for yourself. Well, sir, Laura B. Poole is my father's name. And I'm his only son, you see. So I figured it out right away that it was my money, if I ever could find it. Well, you found it, didn't you? No, Judge, the old man found it, but I got it all away from him, all but a few sacks that my pal got when he found out I was fooling the old man. If I did wrong, just a moment, broke in Judge Granbury.

Let your daddy explain this, Mr. Poole. Just what is the truth of all this? Pooley's dad looked sad. He rose slowly from his chair and advanced a few steps. The boy told you the truth, he began in a low voice. My name is Larrabee Poole. My father lived in the lonely house. He never liked me, your honor, and sent me away when I was a little chap. He put me in a school where I was treated like an orphan. I knew, when I grew older, that he had plenty of money, but never did I dream that there was so much. When I realized how unkind he had been, I swore never to go near him or the house again. I have kept my word to this day, and I don't want a penny of that money. If those papers are genuine and legal, and if they give this wealth to my boy, It is all right.

I want him to have it. He's been a good boy, Judge. He wouldn't take a thing that didn't belong to him. I know my boy.

As he stopped speaking, he turned toward Pooley, and their eyes met. There was a happy expression on Pooley's face, but his father's eyes were wet. And he turned his face after a moment and brushed his lashes with his kerchief. The Judge coughed and said, Yes.

At that moment I saw Doc Waters step hurriedly into the hall. He came back almost immediately with Mr. Jekerson, and between them walked the old man who had lived in the lonely house for three months.

Every eye in the courtroom turned upon the old bent figure as he shuffled forward between the two men. He seemed not to notice the crowd of people that had gathered in the room. But all of a sudden he gave a little cry, and pulling away from Doc and Jekerson, he bobbled over to Pooley's daddy and clutched his arm. "'Larry!' he cried in a cracked voice. "'I've been looking all over for you, Larry, Larry, for twenty years, for twenty years!' I saw Puli's daddy reach out and catch the old man. There was a shadowy smile upon his face as he patted the old man's shoulder. "'Gralerio,' he said softly, "'and I didn't want you ever to find me, Gralerio. It's all over. Let's let the dead past sleep.' "'You are a grand old man.' You haven't changed at all since I was a little boy, and you took me round with you when you worked for my father, and he was too busy for me.

He never liked me, Grillerio. That is why I never wanted to see him again. That is why I never wanted you to find me, you see. The old man's face was happy. But the deep wrinkles that ran like furrows upon his skin were filled with flowing tears as he patted the hand of Puli's daddy. He was about to speak again when the judge spoke. This court is adjourned. All of you who have no business here had better get out and leave us. This case is settled. What they did in that courtroom after that, I never knew. I went right home with my dad, and he gave me an awful lecture on the subject of keeping out of trouble. Suspicion, he said, was almost as bad as being charged with something. Only that when you are charged and you're not guilty, you've got a chance to prove it.

While if somebody has a suspicion against you, there's no way to remove it. Because nine times out of ten, you don't even know you're suspected. And those who suspect... Just keep their thoughts to themselves. But my Pop knows that I'll take care of myself, so I said goodbye to him. He had to go up to his office again, and I walked slowly down to the little old clubhouse on the riverbank, intending to write down in this book just what I could remember took place in the courthouse. I thought I'd be all alone. But when I came in sight of the clubhouse, I saw a boy waiting for me on the steps of the porch. It was Shadow Loomis. "'Hello, Hawkins,' he said in a weak voice, and I could tell by the red around his eyes that he had not yet stopped thinking about his poor old Rolling Stone brother, John, who had fallen to his death in the cliff-cave pit.

"'I've been waiting here for you an hour.' I just couldn't come to that courthouse. Everything has gone wrong, it seems. The world looks upside down to me. Oh, cheer up, Shadow, I said, unlocking the door. Come in and talk a while. When I had lit the lamp on my desk, and we were seated facing each other, he opened up. You're the only boy I can talk to now, Hawkins, he said. I think I got a lot to answer for the way I treated John, poor fella. Dead. I can't believe it, Hawkins. Seems like it can't be.

I sighed. Shadow, I said, someday you're going to find out that this world is full of two things, good and evil. You're going to find out that no matter what we do, good and evil is going to have a hand in it, and sometimes the good wins, and sometimes the evil gets the best of it. It's just the same way with you and poor old John. I know how you feel. I always told you John was alright, but you wouldn't believe me. Why? Because the evil in your mind was stronger than the good. God knows these things best, Shadow, and he takes care to see that we learn our lesson.

I don't want to rub it in, boy. You've been a good friend of mine. But I wish you would see. Somebody's coming. There was a step outside. The curtains parted. And one of our boys hesitated in the doorway. Ah, it's you, Herb, I said. Come on in. Shadow and I were just talking about... Herb Aikon stepped in and allowed the curtains to fall together behind him. About him? He asked with a little jerk of his head. I thought so. I wanted to come and tell you, and I'm glad Shadow was here, too. About rags, I mean... The boy with the scar. My brother broke in shadow with a little catch in his voice. I didn't know he was your brother, said Herb, although I might have known. You see, he did me a good turn once, and I never forgot.

I promised I'd do anything for him in turn. And what do you think he asked of me? We both shook our heads. He asked. continued Herb, that I keep my eyes on Shadow Loomis. And when, at a given signal which only he and I understood, he would be waiting in the forest, I was to come and answer any questions he might ask about you. I always did. He always asked how you were getting along. He always wanted to know whether or not you had said anything about him. And every time I told him you hadn't, he seemed so disappointed. And he always made me promise that I would see that not one of Puli's gang ever hurt you. Now, I've told you all that I think I have to tell. I wanted it off my chest. I didn't know he was your brother then, not until after he fell into the cave pit.

But I wanted you to know that... He was a true blue brother to you, Shadow. Shadow sprang up and caught Herb's hand. You don't know how much I appreciate that, Herb, he said. Perhaps I'll be able sometime to pay you back. But Herb waved him back and shook his head. No, he said, for tonight I resigned from the club. I only stayed to do what I promised him I'd do, and besides... I brought a lot of trouble on this clubhouse. If I hadn't come, Pooley's gang would never have had it in for you boys. So I guess I'd better be going. My papa is sending me to St. Alan's College. I asked him to. Maybe next summer when I come back. Poor old Herb. He didn't want to go away. I could see that. He couldn't talk further.

He gave us one swift look, and then... With a sharp salute of his right hand, he turned and went swiftly out.

For a minute there was a silence, as I opened my book and began to write. Shadow thrust his hands into his pockets and walked over to the window. There came from the river the deep sound of a steamboat whistle. Rivers thawed out, Hawkins, said Shadow, without turning from the window. There goes the Hudson Lee. Yeah, I said, without stopping my writing. Spring'll be on the way soon now. It's the last freeze that's thawing.

My pen went scratching across the page, line after line. Finally, I heard Shadow move from the window. The next minute, his hand was upon my shoulder. Hawkins, he said. We've come pretty close to losing our clubhouse again. And what was the cause? The cliff gave, I said. When Stoner's boy went down into the pit, we lost our clubhouse, and now I understand that Doc Waters saved us. When John fell, the old judge was bent on making us boys disband and scatter. But Doc Waters talked for us and told the judge we were really his junior police. So we're lucky. Shadow mused.

Lucky, yes, perhaps, he said. Some of us are lucky, but poor old Rolling Stone is gone, Hawkins. He was really a fine fellow. If it hadn't been for the cliff cave, let me suggest something, will you? Let's do this before the judge tells us to. Let's go down to that cave tomorrow and seal it up tight. So that it will be closed up forevermore. Which we did. End of the Knights of the Square Table by Secretary Hawkins

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