Ransom (28 page)

He was almost afraid to reach those buildings, for fear that they should turn out when he reached them to be empty, like the last house he had seen, but he argued that no cows would stand around empty buildings in a lonely wilderness. So he walked on, more slowly now, for his legs ached unbearably, and the distance seemed to stretch out interminably. But at last he reached the place and saw smoke coming out of the chimney. Surely smoke could not come out of a chimney of an unoccupied house by itself.

When he drew near to the house, he saw a man milking a cow; a gaunt stern man in overalls, over by the barn. But as Rannie tried to hasten his weary footsteps toward him, a great fierce dog rushed bristling out of the barn and made for him, and for the first time in his life Rannie felt afraid of a dog. For the dog made it all too apparent that Rannie was ill dressed and ill smelling, in spite of his bath in the stream that morning, and that he was where he had no right to be.

“I'm all right,” said Rannie, halting with the dog baying in his very face. “I'm not coming any farther. I just want ta ask a question.”

He tried to give his impish grin to the farmer, but he felt so weak and tired that it failed in its usual winning charm. The farmer turned around and eyed Rannie suspiciously.

“You better not stand there,” said the man. “That dog's trained ta drive folks away from here. We don't want no tramps around these premises.”

“Oh, sure!” said Rannie obligingly. “I don't blame ya. I do look sorta like a tramp, don't I? But I'm not one, really. I'm just a kid that's somehow got turned around and lost. Would ya mind telling me where I am and how far it is ta the next town?”

“Seven miles ta Salters, an' ya better make tracks, fer when I git done wi' this yere milkin' I sets the dog free, an' if you hang round these here premises, he'll make hash outta ya.”

“Oh yeah?” said Rannie with a touch of his old braggadocio. “Looks as if he might. Wouldn't mind sa much ef you'd save some o' the hash fer me. They don't seem ta have many hotdog stands around these mountains. You haven't got any work around you would want done in exchange for supper, have ya?”

“No, I ain't,” said the man, rising with a menacing look and a full pail of foaming milk. “We don't keep no roadhouse. I calculate ta do my own work, an' I ain't got any more chores tanight 'cept ta feed the pigs. Ef you ain't outta my lane by that time, I'm comin' out with my shotgun an' turn my dogs loose. I got another in the house.”

“Say, now,” said Rannie cheerfully, turning his weary but game young grin on the man, “don't get sore. I got a gun myself when it comes ta that, but I wasn't planning to use it just now. Don't worry yerself. I couldn't be persuaded ta stay ef ya paid me for it. I gotta beat it. Sorry I couldn't stick around and help ya out in some way, but I guess it wouldn't be healthy fer either of us. Thank ya jes' the same. I'll be going on. G'night!” And Rannie lifted an imaginary hat and tried to walk away with dignity on his sore feet, with the furious dog snapping and snarling at his heels.

Slowly down the road he passed once more, and out into deepening shadows of the dark. Seven miles! It seemed to Rannie like seven hundred. It seemed to him that he could not walk another step. He was sure that as soon as he was out of sight of that crabbed old farmer, he would drop in his tracks, no matter where it was.

So he moved slowly down the rough, half-broken road till the road turned around the foot of another mountain, and then he crept aside into the dusk and stumbling up a steep bank, wandered, half drunk with sleep and weak with hunger, toward a great stark barn standing in sight as far as one could see in the deepening darkness. Stealthily, he slipped inside the open door and peering about, swung himself up a rude ladder that was only cleats of wood nailed to the wall, and crept into the corner, where a few handfuls of hay still remained in the dusty loft. He dropped down upon it and almost at once was asleep. There were no stars to watch his sleep and remind him of a heavenly Father, but as he closed his eyes, he began to repeat in his mind those wonderful words, “For God so loved the world—”

Quite early on the morning, just at daybreak, Rannie came sharply awake. Something soft and furry was sniffing about his face. A lean gray cat stood beside him, regarding him with suspicion. Perhaps she did not like his garments either. Quite close beside him in the hay, he found there was a nest of kittens. They were tiny tots just getting their eyes open, and when they saw their mother, they began to swarm over him to get to her.

Rannie got up hastily and descended the ladder. Cats and kittens spoke of men not far distant. There was likely a house nearby that he had not seen. He had better be moving on. He was dizzy with hunger and must be looking for a job before he could hope for breakfast. Somehow he could not bring himself to beg. And there were yet nearly seven miles between him and the nearest town.

So he hurried down the road.

I
n the first house of the little straggling village, a woman was in the kitchen cooking ham and eggs. The smell of coffee floating out the kitchen door made him faint and dizzy. He swayed and almost fell but caught at the door. Perhaps the woman pitied his white young face, for she told him if he would pile up a lot of wood neatly that had been dumped in her backyard she would give him breakfast for it, and Rannie went to work with all the will he had in him. He was slow and awkward at it, for he had never done such work before, but it was not anything that needed a skilled hand, and he presently had about half the wood in order when she called him in and gave him a delicious breakfast on a kitchen table covered with a neat white oilcloth, and then she gave him a pair of half-worn shoes.

“They are better than those you have on, if you can wear them,” she said, looking at his own.

Rannie thanked her and went grimly out to finish piling up the wood, reflecting on the strange turns of fate. Rannie Kershaw, cheerleader of his school, stacking wood for his breakfast and a pair of half-worn shoes! And then he grinned and wondered what his old friends would think.

Rannie felt better with the new shoes on his feet and a whole breakfast inside. He walked down the quaint little village street to the railroad station where the woman had directed him when he asked for a telegraph office.

The station was just opening as he got there, and he asked for a telegraph blank. He borrowed a pencil and began to write.

“Send that C.O.D.,” said Rannie, handing the telegram to the agent.

The young man took the yellow paper and read it through then turned to look at Rannie from head to foot, taking in every detail of his disreputable appearance.

“Say,” he said, eyeing Rannie eagerly, “you ain't a relative of that Kershaw guy, are you? You ain't that Randall Kershaw kid that got kidnapped a coupla weeks ago, are ya?”

“Sure thing,” said Rannie nonchalantly. “Just got away. Couldn't make it any sooner. Get that message off quick as ya can, buddy, will ya? The folks might be worrying.”

“They sure are worrying, all right!” said the agent, settling down on his high stool before the telegraphic instrument. “The papers are full of it, got yer picture in every day, broadcasted twice a day. Folks all over the continent and some in Europe lookin' fer ya.”

“Good night!” said Rannie.

“Come ta look at ya,” went on the excited agent, “I believe I'd a known ya from yer pictures. There is a lotta resemblance, only the description of yer clothes don't exactly fit.”

“Ain't it the truth?” he answered. “But say, buddy, get that message started, won't ya? I wanna get that off my chest and go out an' hunt a job so I can get me some clothes an' go home.”

“Sure thing,” said the agent, turning back to his instrument and clicking out the address to Randall Kershaw's father.

“I guess you're goin' ta put our little old town on the map taday, ain't ya?” he said, looking up delightedly. “I might even get inta the papers myself, sendin' this first message. But say, there's a guy in an airplane here been scourin' the mountain fer ya two days back. I don't know if he's still round this mornin' ur not, but he's stayin' at my aunt's. My aunt, she keeps boarders. Him an' the other guy, the pilot, put up there, an' they keep their plane out beyond town in a field. My little cousin went up with 'em yestiday. Say, ya better go down to my aunt's an' see if they're still here. They wanted ta find ya bad.”

“Name of what?” said Rannie with narrowing gaze. Were these friends or enemies who were after him?

“Name of Harper,” said the eager agent.

“Oh, gee!” said Rannie, suddenly, a little eager boy himself. “Not Phil Harper. What kind of a looking guy is he? I wonder if my dad sent him?”

“Sure he did!” said the agent. “You wait till I send this message an' get the mailbags on this down train, an' I'll take ya over to my aunt's myself.”

Rannie slumped into a station seat, his shoulders drooping wearily, and listened to his message being ticked out on the instrument, wondering if his journey was very nearly at the end or whether he would have to hike back home anyway.

Just then the station door opened and two young men in flying clothes walked in without looking toward him and went over to the little ticket window.

“I want to send a message immediately,” said the tall one.

And then Rannie felt himself get weak all over, and the tears crowd into his eyes. For a minute he couldn't control himself, couldn't make his legs lift him to a standing posture, couldn't make his voice speak. For he knew who these must be, and it was just too much for him, coming all at once this way.

Then he heard the agent, clicking out the last word of his own telegram, call triumphantly, “Say, is that yer man settin' out there? He says he is, an' he's jest sent a message ta his folks. Ef he ain't the one, he's got his nerve. I was just gonta bring him over ta have ya give him the once-over.”

Philip turned sharply and looked at Rannie, and Rannie managed to stumble to his feet and flash on his wicked young grin, the same grin that was in all his football pictures that had been broadcasted through the land in all the newspapers. It was unmistakable. Philip had not seen Rannie since he was a baby, but that grin, together with a certain appeal in the brown eyes that reminded him of Christobel, made Philip Harper certain, and he strode across the room and literally took the poor dirty forlorn boy in his arms.

“Aw, say,” protested Rannie, “lay off me till I get a scrub. I'm filthy dirty. Ya'll get messed up!”

But the tears were running down Rannie's poor thin face, and he was grinning with all his might. A great weakness was upon him. He felt he was never going to be able to live down these tears, but somehow he didn't care.

“Say, old man, how did you get here?” asked Harper after they had all talked at once and all slapped Rannie on his slumping shoulders till he felt if they did it again he would collapse.

“Walked,” said Rannie crisply, and grinned again through tears.

“What became of your captors?” asked Philip.

“I didn't wait ta see,” said the boy. “They heard a posse was coming and lit out, so I thought I'd just file off my bracelets an' take a stroll on my own hook.”

“Could you find your way back?” asked the other flier.

“Not if I know myself,” said Rannie with a feeble wink. “Boy! I've seen all of that cabin I want ta ever see.”

The faces of the two young men kindled as they exchanged pitiful glances.

“Perhaps it won't be so bad from the sky,” said Philip.

“Oh, boy! Are we going in a plane?” exclaimed Rannie. Then he sighed wearily. “It's okay with me, then, only lead me to a bath and a full meal first. Don't happen ta have any extra clothes with ya, do ya?”

“I sure do,” said Philip eagerly. “Your sister packed some of your things in my suitcase for you. Come on back to our room and get a bath and some food, and then we'll talk. But first I've got to send the glad news.”

Rannie went out to the waiting car with the other flier while Philip stayed behind to send his messages. Soon they were driving the few blocks through the pleasant town to the boardinghouse.

Nothing was too good for Rannie when the agent's aunt heard who he was, the lost boy. She prepared a bath and her best towels and set out a luncheon fit for a king, which Rannie ate ravenously after he was arrayed in his own garments.

“I need ta go to a barber,” he said after he had eaten all he could hold.

“That's all right, brother,” said Philip, “but that will keep. We've got to hear the whole story and get on our way. We don't want those birds to get away from us, you know.”

Rannie looked sober. “I don't know as you need bother,” he said half anxiously. “The boss, of course, was a tough egg and woulda finished me if he'd had his chance, but the fella called Bud was okay. I wouldn't like ta see him get time ur anything. He really saved my life.”

And Rannie told in a few characteristic words of the last few days of his imprisonment. The story of the little book figured vitally in the tale, only Rannie didn't mention what the book was. He just called it a little red book, said it was great and he hoped he could get one like it someday.

Philip's face kindled at the story, and he smiled gravely.

“Well, Rand,” he said, “we'll see what we can do for Bud when the time comes, but this thing is connected with one of the most notorious thugs in the country, and we're bound to get them if we can. Sorry, but I guess you've got to come with us for a little while and tell us all you know.”