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The Grammar School Boys Snowbound or, Dick & Co. at Winter Sports, a novel by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 17. Hen Turns His Voice Loose |
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_ CHAPTER XVII. HEN TURNS HIS VOICE LOOSE "I see some one coming!" called Greg, who, after breakfast, had taken up the post by the unshuttered window. Crash! Hen Dutcher dropped the crockery plate he was drying, then plunged headlong into Dick's bunk, burrowing under the blankets. "It's our crowd!" cried Dick joyously, as he leaped to Greg Holmes's side. "And there are two men with 'em." "Oh, pshaw! Why didn't you say so before?" came in a half smothered voice as Dutcher thrust his head partly from under the blankets. Then he added, suddenly, in a quaking voice: "Say, you fellows better hide--quick! If old Fitsey is in the cook shack there's bound to be some shooting." With that Dutcher hid his head once more. But Dick, Greg and Harry paid no heed to him. They were busy getting on coats, caps and mittens. A few moments later they had the door open, and stood out on the hard crust of snow, waiting to receive the approaching party. Dave espied them, and waved one hand without calling. "You'd better get back in here! You'll get hurt!" warned Hen Dutcher, standing well back from the doorway. Like a flash Dick leaped for the doorway. "Hen, you keep quiet in there. Don't set up a yell at the very time when a little stealth is needed." "But it's dangerous to fool with people like Fitsey!" choked Hen. "Keep quiet! If you can't help, don't hinder. Don't be an utter pinhead, Hen." Now that they were in sight of the cabin, Dave and his companions, and the two men with them, put on extra speed. Dick stole off to meet the approaching ones. "Fits hasn't gotten away, has he?" hailed Dave, in a hoarse undertone. "We haven't seen him go," Dick replied. "For all we know he's still in the shack. Officers?" Dick indicated the two men. "One of them is a constable," nodded Dave; "the other is a neighbor sworn in as a deputy." "If your thief is around here, sonny," grinned the constable, "we'll soon have him where he won't trouble you. Easy, now, with the talk. We don't want to give the fellow any warning." The constable and his deputy slipped down in front of the log cabin, followed by the boys. "Look out! That rascal will shoot!" screamed Hen, in an agony of fear about something. At that instant the door of the shack flew open. The two men were just in time to see Mr. Fits step out, on snowshoes. In another instant Dick & Co., behind the officers, also got a glimpse of the fellow. "Hold on, there, neighbor," advised the constable coolly. "Just wait until we have a word with you." Officer and deputy ran over the snowcrust. Mr. Fits, looking, or pretending to be, a bit dazed, stood as if he expected to wait for the men to come up with him. But suddenly a grin appeared on the face of the rascal. "Fine morning and fine crust for a race," he announced, and moved away a few yards, with an easy gliding movement, on the snowshoes. "Halt, there!" called the constable firmly, reaching back to his hip pocket. The deputy reached for his revolver, but, in his excitement, instead of aiming or firing, he hurled the weapon at the head of Mr. Fits. The pistol went by the head of the rascal, then struck the crust and skimmed on ahead of him. "Much obliged!" called back Fits, now moving fast. "Don't try to pick up that weapon!" shouted the constable, running as swiftly as he could over the crust. "If you do, I'll shoot." "I reckon you'll shoot anyway," jeered Fits, making a swoop and picking up the revolver that had been thrown at him. Constable Dock fired promptly. But Fits wheeled, a weapon now in his own hand. Three jets of fire leaped swiftly from the muzzle of the pistol. Three sharp explosions followed, and bullets whistled back over the snow. [Illustration: "Halt, there!"] Constable Dock halted, dropping to one knee, for one of the leaden pellets had gone close to his left ear. One of the bullets hit a tree just behind Prescott with a spiteful chug. Dick felt queer, but he was too much in motion to stop himself just then. "Stop or I'll bring you down!" bellowed Constable Dock, taking careful aim. An instant later the officer fired, but at that very instant Mr. Fits skimmed off at a sharp angle with his late course, and so he escaped uninjured. A derisive shout came back from the fugitive. He was now out of range of the officer's revolver, and knew it. The constable, too, realized the fact. He started in pursuit as rapidly as he could make it, calling to his deputy to follow. "Going to join the chase?" called Dave to Dick. "What's the use?" panted Prescott, halting. "Mr. Fits has a good start and can make fine speed. We could catch only the constable." So the Grammar School boys slowed down. Constable Dock and his deputy were now almost out of sight among the trees, and no eye among the boys could see how much in the lead Mr. Fits was. "They'll never catch him," sighed Dave. "I'm afraid not," agreed Dick. "And so, one of these nights, Mr. Fits will come back, ready to pay us back for our plan to turn him over to the police." "We took care of him before, didn't we?" Prescott wanted to know. "Yes; but Fits was alone, then, and the blizzard kept him from getting away to get help of his own choice kind. Now he can travel as much as he likes. We'll hear from him again, all right," Dave Darrin wound up. "If we do, then we'll find a way to take care of him once more," hinted Prescott. "Or we might vote that we've had a jolly good lot of camping, and go home," suggested Harry. "What? Let that rascal chase us out of the woods?" flared Dick. "All who want to go home may start. I'll stay here as long as I want to, even if I have to camp alone." "You know pretty well, Dick, that you won't have to stay in camp alone," offered Dave. "Of course not," agreed Tom Reade. "We'll all stick. We'll hope that Fitsey won't come back. If he does, then we'll try to make him sorry that he returned." From the doorway of the log cabin Hen Dutcher was seen to be peering forth cautiously. "Say, you fellows," hailed Hen complainingly, "I thought you were never coming back. I thought you had all got scared and ran away." "Then why didn't you run away with us?" Dave called out. "That isn't my style," proclaimed Dutcher, throwing out his chest. "I'm no baby." "No; you're the one hero of the whole outfit," grinned Tom. "Did they catch old Fitsey?" queried Hen. "Thanks to you, Hen, they didn't," Dave answered. "Me? What did I have to do with the scoundrel getting away?" demanded Dutcher, with an offended air. "You had to turn your voice loose," Darrin informed him. "That gave Mr. Fits warning. Then you yelled out again, just as we reached the cabin. Fits had had time to get on his snowshoes, and then he started. Whew, but snowshoes seem to be as swift as skates would be on the ice." "Huh! You needn't blame me," sniffed Hen. "I didn't have anything to do with the rascal getting away. I'd have gone after him if I had had snowshoes." The absurdity of this was so apparent that Dick & Co. burst into a chorus of laughter. "Huh!" sneered Hen, though his face went very red. "You fellows think you're the only winds that ever blew." "You wrong us, Hen," declared Tom solemnly. "Not one of us would lay any claim to 'blowing' as much as you do." One thing the boys had noted, even while carrying on their conversation, and that was that no sounds of shots had come to their ears. The chances were that Mr. Fits had gained so on his pursuers that the latter had given up the chase. Presently appetite asserted itself, and dinner was prepared and eaten. It was after the meal that Constable Dock and his deputy came by the door. "Any thing in there to eat, youngsters?" inquired the constable, looking in through the doorway. "Plenty, I think. Come in, sir--you and your friend," Dick made answer. The boys bustled about, making coffee, broiling steak and reheating the potatoes that had been left over from their own meal. This, with bread and butter, satisfied the hunger of their guests. In the meantime the constable described how he and his friend had followed the game for some five miles or more. "It's my opinion that the scoundrel won't come back here at all," declared the officer. "We have been afraid that he would, by night, or later," admitted Dick Prescott. "No!" retorted the constable with emphasis. "That rascal would figure that I would be lying in wait here for him. So he'll give the spot a wide berth. He doesn't want to be arrested." "You'll be welcome to use the cook shack, if you want to wait there for him," volunteered Dick. "Not a bit of use, my boy. I'd only be wasting my time. You've seen your last of that fellow around here. But now, another matter. One of your mates told me, Prescott, that you had uncovered a lot of plunder here in the cabin." "Yes, sir; we did," Dick admitted. "Where is it?" questioned the constable. Dick started toward the new hiding place, then halted, turning. "May I ask, Mr. Dock, why you want to know?" "Because," replied the constable promptly, "as an officer of the law I want to take that plunder in charge. In turn I'll hand it over to the Gridley police." "Oh, all right, sir." Dick went to the hiding place, bringing forth all the plunder, including his own watch and his mother's fan. "You'll give us a receipt for these articles, won't you, Mr. Dock?" "Certainly, if you want one," nodded the constable. "Just place the stuff on the table, and I'll list it." This was done, and Constable Dock wrote out a receipt in due form, which he handed to young Prescott. "And now I'll be off and away," said the constable, rising and pulling on a heavy, short hunting coat. "I'll telephone to the Gridley police, of course. You won't see the rascal again. Rest easy on that score." "I hope we won't see him," muttered Dave, as the boys stood outside the cabin watching the departing officers. "If we do we'll get out of it better than Mr. Fits does, anyway," half boasted Dick. _ |
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