The Heroes of the School: or, The Darewell Chums Through Thick and Thin

The piece of flooring suddenly slid back, revealing a flight of steps leading downward into the hold of the boat.

“Hurrah!” cried Ned. “Now we’ll show Captain Needham a trick or two!”

“We must wait until night!” said Bart. “It will be easier then. Besides, we’ll need a lantern in that dark hole, and they’ll bring one with our suppers. Now I can eat with a good appetite.”

“How can we escape in these clothes?” asked Fenn, looking at his overalls and jumper.

“I’m not so afraid as you are of meeting the girls,” spoke Bart. “Let’s eat now. I wish it was night!”

The chums thought they had never known such a long day. At noon their dinner was served, the same precaution being observed as with the breakfast. With supper the man brought a lantern which he hung up on a hook in the ceiling. Then he went out, closing the door and locking it. All the while the barge had been steaming ahead.

“Wonder why they used that trap door to take the things away by last night?” asked Ned.

“Probably to impress us with the mystery of the thing,” answered Bart. “Lucky they didn’t close it tight or we’d never noticed where it was.”

They ate their supper and waited in anxiety until it would be late enough to make the attempt to escape. They wanted to delay until all but the watchmen would be asleep. At last Bart said he thought it must be close to midnight. The lantern was taken down, and, using the spoons, they slid back the trap door.

“I’ll go first with the lantern,” said Bart. “The rest of you follow. Don’t make a bit of noise. We must make our way to the deck, somehow, and, as soon as you do, rush for the side and overboard. We can easily swim ashore. No matter what kind it is, it’s better than being held here prisoners.”

“What about our clothes?” asked Fenn.

“If you want to ask for ’em, go ahead,” said Bart. “I wouldn’t stop for a full dress suit now. These togs are good enough for me.”

Cautiously Bart began to descend the steps. The lantern showed a black hold, filled with boxes and barrels. The others followed, stepping gingerly, for they were in their bare feet.

Bart looked about for some means of reaching the deck. Ahead he saw a glimmer of light. Placing the lantern where it would show him the way back he went closer. He found the light was at the head of a companionway which he ascended and noticed it led to the after part of the barge. He could feel the cool wind blowing on his face.

“We’ll chance it,” he said, and he went back to tell his chums.

They made their way up the stairs, pausing to listen. There was no sound save the throbbing of the engine and the churn of the screw.

“I see the stars,” whispered Ned. “This must lead to the deck.”

It did, and two minutes more and they stood at the side of the barge, ready to leap overboard. They could see the shore not far away.

“Come on!” said Bart in a low tone.

At that instant a voice called:

“Hi there! Come back! Captain, the boys are escaping!”

The sound of feet running across the deck toward them could be heard. Then, in the light of a lantern, a man was seen approaching where the chums stood.

“Overboard!” yelled Bart.

There were four splashes in the water, and the four boys were striking out for shore.

“Stop the barge!” This was Captain Needham’s voice calling. “Lower a boat! We mustn’t let ’em get away! After ’em men!”

There was a ringing of bells. The water churned under the stern of the Comet as the engine was reversed. Then came the sound of a boat being lowered. A few seconds later it struck the water.

“We’re almost to shore,” called Bart cautiously. “Keep on boys!”

Then came the noise of oars in the rowlocks. The barge had come to a stop.

“Give way!” called Captain Needham. “Get ’em before they land or we’ll have trouble. But I guess they can’t go very far barefooted.”

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE PURSUIT

Ned, being the best swimmer, was first ashore. The others soon joined him. They could dimly make out the approaching boat in which were several men.

“Which way?” asked Fenn.

“No way at all,” replied Bart. “To the trees! If we take a step they’ll hear us, and besides, we don’t know any more than the man in the moon which way to go. Hide in a tree until they give up the chase.”

The shore was lined with trees. It wasn’t much fun climbing up barefooted, and with thin clothes on, but the boys managed it, and soon were in a big willow, the thick leaves of which afforded a good screen.

They had no sooner perched themselves on limbs, well hidden by the foliage, than the sound of the boat’s keel grating on the gravelly shore was heard. Then came the captain’s voice.

“Scatter now and hunt for ’em. They can’t have gone far! We were after ’em too quick! But be careful men, I don’t want those boys hurt. Be easy, remember!”

“That’s queer,” thought Ned. “In fact this whole business is queer.”

The noise the men made as they crashed through the underbrush came plainly to the ears of the boys. They could see the gleam of lanterns the searchers carried, as they ran to and fro. But the tree proved a happy thought. None of the men imagined the boys were in it, and some of the pursuers even stood beneath the willow and voiced their remarks of disappointment.

For ten or fifteen minutes the search was kept up in the vicinity of where the boat had landed. The men made a circle about the place looking for the boys but did not find them. The chums, cramped from clinging to the branches, dared not move for fear of rustling the leaves, and disclosing their presence. Finally the searchers gathered about the boat, close to the tree.

“Guess they gave us the slip,” remarked the captain. “Smart lads those. Well, men, might as well go back. Get the boat ready.” The men moved off, Captain Needham remaining beneath the tree a moment longer. The boys heard him murmur: “The King of Paprica will not like this. I must get word to him at once.”

Then he moved away. A little later the sound of the boat being hoisted to the barge could be heard.

“Can’t we get down now?” whispered Fenn. “I’m all stiff and cold.”

“Better wait awhile,” advised Bart. “They may have left some one on watch.”

It was weary waiting but the boys did not complain. It was so still they could hear the men in the small boat boarding the barge. Then there came the sound of the big craft getting underway. Bart peered out through the leaves. He could just make out the steamer.

“They’ve turned around! They’re heading down stream!” he said in an excited whisper. “I guess we’re safe now. Come on, boys!”

He scrambled down, followed by the others.

From the shore they could see the lights of the barge disappearing around a bend in the river.

“Must be something very queer in this, when our escape makes them turn around and go back,” spoke Bart.

“Looks as if we were surely mixed up in that mystery,” came from Frank. “Wish we knew how.”

“We’ll soon know,” replied Bart. “This thing will have to end in a little while. Now, the question is, what are we going to do?”

“Let’s look for a place to stay the rest of the night,” counseled Frank.

“All right, only I don’t feel much like tramping through the woods and fields in the dark and barefooted,” objected Fenn. “Why not stay here until it’s light enough to see where we are going?”

After talking it over they decided this was the best plan. It was too risky tramping about in an unknown locality, especially without some protection for their feet. Bart walked back away from the river. Then he called to his chums:

“Here’s a hay field, fellows. It’s been cut but hasn’t been cocked up yet. Come on, we’ll make a pile of it and crawl in to get warm.”

It was a good suggestion. The half-cured grass made a warm nest for the thinly clad boys, and they huddled down together in a big mound of the fragrant hay, pulling it over themselves until they were hidden from sight, leaving only a little hole to breathe through. It was so warm and comfortable that they speedily fell asleep.

The sun was shining when they awakened. Bart sprang up, scattering the hay all about, and his companions followed.

“Oh, for a bit of breakfast!” Fenn remarked.

“‘So say we all of us,’” chanted Bart.

“There’s a chance of it!” exclaimed Ned.

“What?”

“Breakfast!” and he pointed to a little village about half a mile away.

“Hurrah! We’re in luck!” cried Ned. “Now for a meal and a chance to send word home!”

“We can’t go looking this way!” exclaimed Fenn. “Look at our clothes!”

“You mean don’t look at ’em,” corrected Bart. “We’ll hang a sign out; ‘We have better ones at home.’ That will satisfy any one. As for me I’d go there and ask for a bite if I only had my swimming togs on, and these are a heap-sight more respectable than those. Here goes!”

He strode forward, pulling wisps of hay from his hair. The others followed. From the field they emerged into a country road that led to the village. They were almost at the outskirts of the hamlet, where several houses were grouped together when a boy came from one out into the highway, carrying a pail of milk.

“That looks good!” exclaimed Bart. “Hi, kid,” he called, “sell us a drink of milk, will you?”

The boy halted. He gazed at the four strange figures approaching; figures clad in ragged overalls and jumpers; bare-footed figures, with bits of hay clinging to them. Then the boy dropped his pail of milk spilling it all over and with a yell of: “Pop! Pop! Here they be!” he dashed back into the house.

The next moment three men came from the house. They carried clubs in their hands, and one had a gun.

“Here they are!” called one, as the three advanced on the run toward the boys.

“Polite way to receive guests,” commented Bart.

As he spoke there came hurrying from houses adjoining that where the boy lived who gave the alarm, a number of men and youths. All of them had clubs or some sort of weapon.

“They seem to be after us!” cried Fenn.

“So they are!” admitted Bart. “I’ll bet Captain Needham lied about us and put them on our track. He probably sent some message last night.”

“We’d better run,” counseled Frank, and at that the boys took to their heels.

The pursuit was on in earnest. The crowd behind kept increasing as men and youths from houses further back on the road joined it.

“Catch ’em! Stop ’em! Head ’em off!” were the cries that reached the boys. But they kept on at their best speed. They had the advantage of a good start, and were not hampered with heavy clothing and shoes. The road was deep in dust and was not hard on their unprotected feet.

“They’ll never catch us!” exclaimed Bart. “But what in the world do they want with us?”

“Don’t talk! Run!” came from Fenn.

It began to look as though the boys would get away. The road stretched invitingly before them, and, though the number of their pursuers was increasing they had not cut down the lads’ lead much. But fortune does not always favor the brave. As the chums went around a curve they saw in front of them a load of hay, overturned on the highway. It blocked the whole width of the road, save for a strip of sward on either side.

“Go around it!” cried Ned.

But when they came up they found the passage on both sides was so thick with big Canadian thistles, as to daunt even the bravest barefooted person, particularly if he had not been used to going without his shoes. They gingerly tried the passage on either side but had to turn back. The pursuers gave a shout and came on faster than before.

“Over the hay!” sung out Ned.

He made a running jump to scramble up the small hill of dried grass. The others followed. From the other side there suddenly appeared the farmer who owned it. He had been trying to fix his wagon. He saw the boys attempting to climb over the load, and noted the crowd in pursuit.

“No, you don’t!” he yelled, making a grab for Fenn and Bart, who were in the rear. He seized them by their loose clothing. As the two boys felt themselves being pulled back they instinctively grabbed at Ned and Frank. All four fell in a heap on the highway at the bottom of the hay pile. An instant later the crowd was upon them and the boys were grabbed by half a dozen hands.

“We’ve got ’em!” exclaimed one gray-bearded man, with a big tin star on his coat. “We’ll git th’ reward. Great luck!”

“What right have you got to chase us?” demanded Bart.

“Best right in the world,” replied the constable.

“What have we done?” asked Frank.

“Broke jail, that’s what ye done.”

“Broke jail! We never were in jail!”

“What? Ain’t ye th’ two men who escaped from Blissville jail last night?” demanded the constable.

“No!” fairly shouted Bart. “Can’t you count? There are four of us and mere boys, not men. The only place we broke from was the hold of the barge where they were keeping us prisoners, after we fell from the balloon!”

“Balloon!” exclaimed another man, coming forward from the crowd. “Are you th’ boys from Darewell th’ alarm has been sent out for? Went up in a balloon that broke away?”

“That’s who we are,” replied Fenn.

“By Heck! men, we’ve got th’ wrong ones!” cried the man who had last spoken. “These are the balloon boys! It was two men, not four boys, who broke jail! We’ve made a mistake!”

“What made ye run, if ye wasn’t guilty?” demanded the constable, rather incensed over his disappointment.

“Guess you’d run, Amos,” put in the other man, “if ye saw this crowd after ye.”

CHAPTER XXIX

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

It took considerable explanation to set things straight but it was finally accomplished. The boys told as much of their story as they thought proper, from the time they went up in the balloon until they saw the crowd after them.

In turn they were informed that during the night two prisoners had escaped from the jail at Blissville, the next town to Pentkirk, which was the village they were then in.

“Lucky you mentioned balloon,” spoke Mr. Weldon, the farmer who had come to the chum’s aid.

“Did you hear of it?” asked Ned.

“Well, I guess! Circulars describin’ ye have been sent to every postoffice around here.”

“Then Captain Needham hasn’t telephoned word to our folks!” cried Bart. “We must do it at once. Is there a wire in town?” he asked.

“Yep, an’ ye can use it all ye want to,” said Mr. Weldon. “There’s a hundred dollars reward for news of each of ye, an’ maybe ye wouldn’t mind lettin’ some of th’ boys earn it by telephonin’ t’ th’ Darewell police?”

“Of course not,” replied Bart, “so long as our folks are told, at once, that’s all we care.”

“We’d like some breakfast and – and – some decent clothes too,” put in Fenn.

“We’ll see to that,” replied Mr. Weldon. “Come along with me.”

He took the boys to his house, first sending a messenger to telephone to Darewell that the boys were safe and would shortly be home. The chums were soon eating a hearty meal, and then were fitted out in garments, which, if they did not fit them well, being collected from several houses that contained lads about of their age, were a welcome relief from the overalls and jumpers.

“I never knew how much depended on shoes before,” said Fenn, as he gazed at those loaned him.

“I can feel those thistles yet,” observed Frank.

“Now I s’pose you boys’ll want t’ git home,” observed Mr. Weldon when breakfast was finished. “I’ll be glad t’ advance ye th’ money for your tickets.”

“We’ll be much obliged if you will,” spoke Bart. “If you want references you can telephone to any one in Darewell.”

“Them circulars is reference enough,” was the answer, as he waved one containing a description of the boys. Their relatives had sent them broadcast after the balloon had broken loose and no word had been received from the chums by the following morning.

It was not long before the four were on a train, speeding home. They were so full of talk over their recent experiences that it was hard to say where one began and the other left off.

“One thing we’ve got to do the minute we get back,” said Bart.

“What?” asked Fenn.

“We’ve got to make a trip to that place where we saw the men acting so queerly, where Sandy was on guard, and where that log cabin was, and see what it all means. We’ll have those men arrested.”

“And Captain Needham, too.”

“Yes, he’s in the plot.”

The boys arrived home about noon. That they were welcomed by their parents, relatives and friends is putting it mildly. There was a big crowd at the depot, as the train got in, and there was a regular procession up the main street, with the boys in the center. Such shouting, laughing and cheering was seldom heard in Darewell before, and the next issue of the town paper was hardly large enough to give even a partial account of what happened.

As soon as the boys were released by their friends, which took considerable time, there was a consultation at Mr. Wilding’s house.

It was attended by the four boys, Frank’s uncle, Mr. Keene and Mr. Masterson. The lads told their story from the start, beginning with their first encounter with the King of Paprica.

“There are just two ways about it,” said Mr. Wilding. “Those men are either crazy or they are criminals, up to some game. In either case they ought to be driven from the community.”

The others agreed with him. Then they discussed a plan. It was decided that the boys, accompanied by Mr. Wilding, the chief of police and an officer, should go to the clearing at the foot of Bender’s hill, and see if any of the men were still there. If they were they were to be arrested, and held until they made a satisfactory explanation.

The little posse started about three o’clock that afternoon, the matter being kept quiet. The two police officers were armed. The boys wanted to take their rifles, but were not allowed to, as their parents did not want them to run any chances.

The chief of police and his officer led the way through the woods and across the fields to the location described by the boys. They went cautiously, keeping a lookout for any signs of the strangely-acting men.

As they advanced through a little glade, close to where the clearing was located, the chief, who was in advance, called out:

“There’s some one sitting on the ground just ahead.”

Bart pressed forward. He saw a lad leaning against a big stake driven into the earth.

“Why it’s Jimmie Nelson!” Bart exclaimed.

“The laziest boy in town,” murmured the chief.

“I’ll go up and speak to him,” Bart went on. “You can hang back here until I see what he’s doing.”

“Doing? He never does anything,” said Fenn.

“Hello, Jimmie,” called Bart, as he started to cross the clearing. “What you doing here?”

“Got a job.”

“You call that a job; sitting there?”

“Sure, it’s a nice easy job. Sandy got it for me. He’s working for the same firm.”

Bart gave a sudden start. The plot, it seemed, was thickening.

“What are your duties?” Bart went on.

“Oh I just sit here to watch that this stake don’t move, and if I see any one coming I’m to pull this string.”

“Have you pulled it?”

“Not yet, ain’t seen any one.”

“What do you call me?”

“That’s so. I almost forgot. Say, pull it, will you; you’re nearer to it than I am.”

The string was about two inches from Jim’s hand, and within one inch of Bart’s foot.

“What happens if I pull it?”

“Don’t know. That ain’t part of my job,” and Jim blinked his eyes lazily.

“Then I guess I’ll not pull it,” replied Bart, putting his foot on the cord to prevent Jim from doing it.

“All right, maybe I’ll lose my job now, but I don’t care. There’s too much work. Have to stay awake too much.”

Bart turned and beckoned to his companions who had remained in the woods. They came on in a hurry.

“You’re not supposed to come here,” Jim objected in a lazy tone. “I ought to pull that string. Pull it, Bart, you’re closer than I am.”

“Forward!” exclaimed the chief. “We’ll see where this cord leads!”

He started to trace the white string that stretched along the ground and into the woods beyond the clearing. The boys followed, and the party broke into a run. Bart carried the end of the cord with him to prevent Jim from pulling it, but he need not have taken the trouble as Jim had gone to sleep.

Just as the posse was at the further edge of the clearing there emerged from the woods four men. One was the white-bearded individual, whose strange language and actions had first aroused the boys’ suspicions, one the tramp, whom the chums had encountered three times; the third was the man who had taken Sandy’s gun that day, while at the sight of the fourth Frank exclaimed: “The King of Paprica!”

The men stopped abruptly on seeing the boys and their companions. There was a moment’s silence and then a noise sounded off to the left. They all turned to behold Captain Needham approaching on the run.

“The boys got away!” he cried, addressing the King of Paprica.

CHAPTER XXX

STRIKING OIL – CONCLUSION

“You’re right! They did!” exclaimed the chief of police. “They got away from you, and they’re here now to prefer charges against you and the other scoundrels. I place you all under arrest,” and he drew his revolver, the officer doing likewise.

“There’s no necessity for that,” said the man who had called himself the King of Paprica. “We’re not going to make any trouble.”

“You’d better not,” said the chief significantly.

“I can explain it all now,” the man went on.

“About kidnaping these boys?” demanded Mr. Wilding.

“I didn’t kidnap ’em,” spoke Captain Needham, “they came aboard and were glad enough to. I had to hold ’em a while, and sorry enough I was to do it.”

“You’ll be sorrier before we’re through with you,” remarked the chief.

“Gentlemen, perhaps I had better explain,” said the man whom the boys had seen wearing the gilt crown.

“We’ll give you a chance,” said Mr. Wilding.

“In the first place we owe you boys an apology,” the man went on. “We’ll make it a substantial one too, as you will see, but first let me introduce myself. My name is Patrick Ricka, and I am interested in oil wells.”

“Oil wells!” exclaimed Mr. Wilding. “There aren’t any around here.”

“There wasn’t but there will be very soon,” Mr. Ricka added. “My companions are William Hendershot,” and he indicated the man with the white beard, “Joseph Gampfer,” who was the tramp, “and Andrew Maddox. They are associated with me in this enterprise. Captain Needham, I believe, you boys know,” and he smiled.

“Are you crazy or is it a joke about the King of Paprica?” asked Mr. Wilding, not inclined to let up on the men.

“It was an odd title, made up partly from my own name, as you will observe, and adopted to meet the exigencies of the occasion. For some time I have suspected there was oil in this region,” Patrick Ricka continued. “I knew if I made any tests openly some one would find out what I was after, and I would have no opportunity of securing the land without paying a fabulous price for it. So I decided to come here with my assistants and work in secret.

“We thought the best plan would be to pretend one or more of us was slightly insane and that the other was his keeper. This was done. I had the hut (a portable one) built and placed the name above the door to further the idea that we were insane. Then we went through some rather foolish antics, just to keep persons from prying around here. You boys were the more persistent, and saw more of us than any one else. That day Mr. Hendershot was poking his pole down in the river he was testing to see if there was a strata of oil land under the water. You boys thought he was crazy. Again, when you started to cross here and Sandy ordered you away, we were making some microscopic tests of the upper surface, and did not want to be disturbed. We hired Sandy, not because we liked him, but because we heard he was on the ‘outs’ with you boys, and we knew he would not make friends with you and so unintentionally perhaps, give our secret away.

“As it happened the plan was successful in a measure. Then Mr. Gampfer in the guise of a tramp met you and inquired where the cabin was, for he had, up to that time, not been to it. He saw you were rather dangerous boys to have loose, as far as our plans were concerned. Even moving the cabin did not fool you. We saw you with the telescope that day,” and Mr. Ricka laughed.