John Fitzgerald (15 page)

"My stomach
is all hard and won't eat," he told me. I knew what he meant. The poor
little fellow was all tied up in knots inside although he was acting brave in
front of me.

   
I took the dirty dishes and picnic basket
back to the house. Mamma had blankets and a couple of pillows ready for me. I
made two trips up the rope ladder to get them to the loft. I asked Roberts if
there was anything else he wanted.

   
"Tell your ma I want some ham and
beans and biscuits and coffee for breakfast," he said. "And shut the
barn doors when you leave. I
gotta
get some
sleep."

   
I put a pillow under Frankie's head and
covered him with a blanket. I knew how uncomfortable it must be for him with
his hands tied behind his back and his legs tied together. But he hadn't
complained one time.

"Goodbye,
John," he said.

   
"Not goodbye, just good night," I
said. "I'll see you in the morning."

"See you in
the morning," he said.

   
Even Cal Roberts had to admire Frankie's
courage. "He's a right spunky little devil," the outlaw said.

   
It was a very sad supper that evening.
Nobody spoke except to have something passed to them. It was the same later as
we sat in the parlor. Mamma kept dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Papa
kept clearing his throat but not saying a word. Aunt Bertha let out a soft moan
every once in a while. I had never felt so sad and lonely in my life. I was so
used to having Frankie
around,
it was as if a part of
me had died.

   
It was even worse after I'd taken my bath
and went to bed. I thought of me sleeping in a nice soft bed while poor Frankie
was sleeping on hard boards. I got up and slept on the floor. It was as close
as I could come to sharing Frankie's discomfort.

The next morning
I took Cal Roberts and Frankie their breakfast.

   
"Good morning, John," Frankie
said. "Are Papa and Mamma and Aunt Bertha all right?" His eyes were
red from crying but he even smiled at me.

   
"They are fine," I said,
"but worried because you won't eat anything."

"I don't
want them to worry," he said. "So I'll make myself eat."

   
Roberts let me untie Frankie's hands so he
could eat. But he tied them back up after the boy had finished.

   
"Reckon you've got your chores to do
now," Roberts said. "But before you start, get a notebook and pencil
and come back up here."

   
I took the picnic basket and dirty dishes
back to the kitchen. I told Mamma that Frankie had finally managed to eat a
meal. I got a school notebook and pencil and went back up to the loft.

   
"I've got it all figured out
now," Roberts said. "But I don't want any slipups. Write down what I
say. First I want the Marshal to give me a twenty-four-hour
headstart
.
I keep the kid with me for twenty-four hours. Any sign anybody is
followin
' me and I kill the kid. Got that?"

I wrote down the
demand and then nodded my head.

   
"Next, I want two saddlebags with
enough beef jerky, hardtack, beans, and coffee to last for a week,"
Roberts said.

I wrote it down.

"Next, I
want four big canteens filled with water," he said.
"And
no tricks.
I'm
goin
' to taste that water and
so are you."

I wrote that
down.

"You bring
the saddlebags and canteens of water up here today," the outlaw said.
"Tomorrow morning when your pa is
gettin
' the
money from the bank, you saddle up the mustang and have him ready to go. Then
you meet your pa and bring the money to me. Got that?" I wrote it all
down.

   
"As soon as I get the thousand
dollars," Roberts said, "I'm
ridin
'
outa
here with the kid. And I'm
ridin
'
right down Main Street with my cocked pistol against the back of the kid's
head. Maybe I didn't get to kill the Judge and the District Attorney and your
pa but I want everybody in town to see Cal Roberts put one over on the Marshal
and the people in this town."

"You are a
fool," I said without thinking. He slapped me so hard on the side of the
head it almost knocked me off the loft.
 
"Nobody,
includin
’ a kid, calls Cal
Roberts a fool," he said.

   
"What I meant to say," I
apologized, "was that it would be a lot safer for you at night. Nobody
cares what happens to Frankie except Papa, Mamma, Aunt Bertha, Uncle Mark, Aunt
Cathie, and me. Uncle Mark can't prevent somebody from taking a shot at you
riding down Main Street in broad daylight. He can't stop men from organizing a
posse and taking out after you if everybody in town sees you leave. If you wait
until tomorrow night to leave nobody will know you were in our barn until
twenty-four hours later."

   
"The Marshal put you up to
sayin
' that," the outlaw said, to my surprise.
"He knows if I left at night, I couldn't see if there was a posse on my
tail or not. He knows if I left at night, I'd leave myself wide open to be
bushwhacked in the darkness. You tell the Marshal I'm
leavin
'
my way tomorrow
mornin
' just like I planned. If
somebody takes a shot at me, the kid will die. If I see a posse on my tail, the
kid will die."

"When will
you let Frankie go?" I asked.

   
"Not until I'm sure the Marshal has
kept his word and given me a twenty-four-hour
headstart
,"
he answered.

"How will we
know where to find Frankie?" I asked.

   
Roberts hesitated for almost a minute and
then grinned. "I'll leave him in some town I'm
passin
'
through," he said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

My Little Brain
Against
Cal Robert

   
I RETURNED TO THE HOUSE. I gave Papa the
notebook with Cal Roberts' demands. Papa read them aloud.

   
"We might as well get started meeting
these demands," Papa said. "With Mark confining everybody under
sixteen to their homes, nobody will expect us to attend church this
morning."

   
Papa then said Mr. Harmon was a man he
could trust. He left to get Mr. Harmon to open the Z.C.M.I. store. When Papa
returned he was carrying the beef jerky, hardtack, and four big water canteens
wrapped in a flour sack.

    
I got
Sweyn's
saddlebags from the barn. Mamma filled them with beef jerky, hardtack, beans,
and coffee. She also gave me an old coffeepot and frying pan, which Cal Roberts
had forgotten. I carried them up to the loft. The outlaw looked everything over
and was satisfied. Then I carried the canteens filled with water up to the
loft. He made me take a swallow out of each canteen and then took a swallow
from each himself. I guess he wanted to make sure we hadn't put salt or poison
in the water.

   
"I'll just keep everything up here
until
mornin
'," he said. "What is your ma
fixin
' for Sunday dinner?"

   
"Baked ham and sweet potatoes," I
answered. "But she said to tell you that she'll fix anything you
want."

"That'll do
just fine for dinner," he said. "But tell her

I want a big
steak with fried potatoes and onions for supper."

I took Frankie
and the outlaw their dinner at noon. I waited in the loft while they ate.
Roberts sent me back to the kitchen for another piece of apple pie.

   
It was one of the few Sundays that Papa
hadn't invited somebody for dinner. It was the only Sunday I could remember
that we didn't have homemade ice cream for dessert.

   
I think that Sunday afternoon was the
longest afternoon of my life. I was actually glad when the time came for me to
do my chores, just to have something to do. Cal Roberts called down to me from
the loft to give Dusty an extra feeding of oats. He also said he wanted a nose
bag of oats to take with him.

   
We always had a cold supper on Sundays with
leftovers from dinner. But Mamma decided to cook steaks for everybody because
Cal Roberts wanted a steak. I took the outlaw and Frankie their supper.

When Roberts
finished eating, he patted his stomach. "A swallow or two of whiskey would
go good right now," he said.
"
Ain't
goin
' to be able to get myself a drink for a spell.
Your pa got any whiskey?"

"Yes,
sir," I answered.

   
"Get me a bottle," he said.
"And tell your pa I'm
goin
' to make sure the
seal on it
ain't
broke. Don't want him
thinkin
' of
puttin
' knockout
drops in it."

   
Papa only drank an occasional glass of
brandy, but he always had whiskey in the house for company. I told him Cal
Roberts wanted a bottle of whiskey and to make sure the government seal over
the cork wasn't broken. Papa went to the pantry and got a quart bottle of
whiskey. He handed it to me.

   
"Maybe he will get drunk and your
uncle and I can surprise him," Papa said hopefully.

 
  
Cal
Roberts proved
himself
too smart for that. When I gave
him the quart of whiskey he looked at me and grinned.

   
"Now why would your pa give me a whole
quart of whiskey?" he asked. "He could have given me a pint or even
half a pint. Now watch closely, boy, so you can go back and tell your pa not to
try to put anything over on Cal Roberts."

   
He opened the bottle. He took two big
drinks from it. Then he held it over the side of the loft and poured the rest
of the whiskey to the ground below.

   
Frankie was still tied up and watching.
"The bad mans
ain't
going to let me go," he
said, so solemnly that it shocked me.

 
"Of course he is," I said.
"Papa and Mamma and Uncle Mark are going to do everything Mr. Roberts
wants them to o. And Mr. Roberts has promised to leave you in the first town he
passes through."

"He is going
to leave me
deaded
," Frankie said. The outlaw
looked as astonished as I felt.

   
"What makes you say a thing like
that?" I asked, thinking the outlaw had told Frankie he was going to kill
him.

   
"I don't know how I know,"
Frankie said. "I just know he is going to leave me
deaded
."

   
Roberts leaned over and slapped Frankie
very hard on the face. "You shut your trap, kid," he ordered.

   
I stared at the outlaw. "Why would he
say a thing like that?" I asked.

"How should
I know?" Roberts asked with a shrug. "I made a bargain with your pa
and the Marshal. If they keep their end of the bargain, I'll keep mine. I'll
drop the kid in the first town I come to after the twenty-four hours are
up." I said good night to Frankie and went back to the house. Papa was
disappointed when I told him what had happened to the whiskey. We ate supper in
silence. After the dishes were done we all sat in the parlor. Mamma and Aunt
Bertha had busy hands. They were always darning, sewing, crocheting, knitting,
or doing something with their hands when they sat in the parlor after supper.
But not this night.
They both held their hands clasped
tightly in their laps. Papa nervously smoked a cigar. I sat on the floor.
Nobody talked until Uncle Mark came to the house.

   
"The men finished searching the ghost
town," he said as he removed his Stetson hat and sat down.

   
"There will be no need for further
pretense," Papa said. He got my notebook and handed it to Uncle Mark.
"Here
are
a list of demands Roberts made J.D.
write down. Tomorrow morning when he rides out of town with Frankie, everybody
will know he has been in our barn. You've got to warn everybody in this town
that every demand Roberts made is going to be met."

Uncle Mark read
what I'd written in the notebook. "Now I know what was bothering me,"
he said as he finished. "Cal Roberts has no intention of leaving the boy
alive."

   
"That is what Frankie told me!" I
cried. "He said Roberts was going to leave him dead. He said it
twice."

   
"I believe the boy has an
eighteen-karat premonition," Uncle Mark said.

"What makes
you arrive at that conclusion?" Papa asked.