Bobby Blake on the School Nine: or, The Champions of the Monatook Lake League

“There’s no use in worrying about our baggage, fellows,” he said at last. “Probably the conductor will take good care of that. And we may be able to send a telegram from some place telling the conductor to put our things off at Rockledge and leave them in care of the station agent there. What we’ve got to worry about is ourselves. We can’t stay here, and we’ve got to find some way to get another train as soon as we can. Have any of you fellows got a time table?”

“I had one,” replied Mouser, “but it’s in my bag on the train.”

None of the others had one and Bobby came to a quick decision.

“There’s no other way,” he announced. “We’ll have to go back and ask Mrs. Wilson. She’ll know all about the trains and what’s the best station for us to go to.”

They trudged back rather forlornly and explained their plight to Mrs. Wilson, who was full of sympathy.

“I’d like to have you stay here all night,” she volunteered, “and Mr. Wilson will take you over to the station in a rig to-morrow morning.”

They thanked her heartily, but explained that this was out of the question. They would be missed from the train, telegrams would be flying back and forth and their parents would be anxious and excited. They must get to some place where they could either telegraph or, better yet, get a train that would land them in Rockledge that afternoon or evening.

“I’ll tell you what to do,” she suggested, as a thought struck her. “You can’t get a train on this line you’ve been traveling on until very late to-night. But there’s another road that crosses this at a junction about two miles from here and connects with the main line that goes on to Rockledge. There’s an afternoon train on that line that you’ll have plenty of time to make, and it will land you in Rockledge before night. There’s a telegraph office there too, and you can send any messages you like before you board the train.”

“That’s just the very thing,” cried Bobby with enthusiasm.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” chuckled Mouser.

She gave them very careful directions for finding the station, and as there was none too much time and the walking was bound to be slow they set out at once, after thanking their friend for having come a second time to their relief.

Their path led for the most part through a wood and they passed no other houses on their way. Even in summer it was evident that the locality was wild and deserted. Now with the snow over everything it was especially desolate.

“You might almost think you were up in the Big Woods,” commented Mouser.

“That’s what,” agreed Fred. “It would be a dandy place for train robbers and that kind of fellows.”

“I’d hate to be wandering around here at night,” remarked Pee Wee, who was panting with the exertion of keeping up with the others.

“It would give one a sort of creepy feeling, like being in a cemetery,” assented Bobby.

Suddenly Fred uttered an exclamation.

“There’s a little house right over in that hollow,” he cried, pointing to the right.

“More like a hut or a shack than a regular house, seems to me,” grunted Mouser.

“I don’t believe there’s any one living there,” commented Pee Wee.

“Yes, there must be,” declared Bobby. “I can see the light of a fire shining through the window.”

The hut in question was a dilapidated structure of only one story that stood in a little hollow just off the road. It was in the last stages of decay and looked as though a strong wind would blow it to pieces. There were no fences nor barn nor any wagon or farm implement in sight.

Yet that some one lived in the crazy shack was evident, as Bobby had said, by the red light that came flickeringly through the only window that the cabin possessed.

“Let’s stop there for a minute and get warm,” suggested Fred. “Then, too, we can make sure that we’re still on the right road to the station.”

“What’s the use?” cautioned Bobby. “We got left once to-day by stopping too long.”

“It will only take a minute,” urged Fred.

As the others also wanted to stop, and Bobby did not wish to insist too much, they all went down into the hollow together.

The snow of course deadened their footsteps, so that whoever was in the cabin had no notice of their approach.

Fred, who was in advance, rapped on the door.

There was silence for a moment and then the door swung open and a rough looking man appeared on the sill.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

“We wanted to ask directions about the road,” said Fred, a little dismayed by the fellow’s surly manner.

The man looked them over for a moment, noticed that they were well dressed and hesitated no longer.

“Come in,” he said briefly, and stood aside for them to pass.

CHAPTER VI

HEAVY ODDS

Although feeling rather uneasy because of the man’s rough manner, the boys hardly saw what they could do but accept the invitation, and they went inside. The next moment they wished they had not.

There were two other men within the hut besides the one who had opened the door. They were seated at a bare pine table, and on the table there was a bottle of liquor. There seemed to be no other furniture in the miserable room, except a rusty wood stove, which was at white heat, two or three stools and a pile of hay in the corner, which evidently served as a bed.

The heat inside was stifling, and the room was rank with the fumes of liquor. The unshaven faces of the men were flushed, their eyes red and bleared, and a greasy pack of cards told of their occupation when they had been interrupted.

“Tramps,” whispered Bobby to Fred, who was nearest. “Let’s get out of this.”

“You bet,” returned Fred, as he made a motion toward the door.

But the man who had let them in now stood with his back against the closed door, looking at them with an ugly grin on his face, a face which was made still more repellant by a livid scar up near the temple.

“What do these young buckos want here?” asked one of the men at the table, rising and coming toward them. As he did so, Bobby noticed that he limped a trifle.

“We stopped in for a minute to ask if we were on the right road to the station,” said Bobby in a tone which he tried to render as careless as possible.

“You did, eh?” said the man. “Well, just wait a minute and I’ll tell you.”

He and his companion approached their comrade at the door, and for a few moments there was a whispered conversation. Then the man with the scar, who seemed to be the leader of the gang, turned to Bobby.

“You’re on the right road all right,” he said.

“Thank you,” returned Bobby. “Then I guess we’ll be getting on.”

The man laughed at this.

“Guess again, young feller,” said one of them.

“What’s your hurry?” asked the lame man.

“We don’t often have such nice young kids drop in to keep us company,” sneered the man with the scar. “Take off your hats and stay awhile.”

The boys’ hearts sank. They no longer had any doubts of the evil intentions of the men who held them virtually prisoners. They had fallen into a den of thieves.

“We’re going now,” declared Bobby, in a last desperate attempt to bluff the matter through, “and if you try to stop us it will be the worse for you.”

The men laughed uproariously.

“A fine young turkey cock he is!” croaked one of them. “We’ll have to cut his comb for him.”

“You’ll get your own cut first,” shouted Fred, who was blazing with anger. “Don’t forget that there are policemen and jails for just such fellows as you are.”

“Shut up, Redhead,” commanded the scar-faced man, adding insult to injury.

Then his jocular manner passed and was replaced by a wicked snarl.

“Hand over what money you’ve got in your pockets,” he commanded, “and turn your pockets inside out. Do it quick too, or we’ll skin you alive.”

There was no mistaking the menace in his tone. He was in deadly earnest and his eyes shone like those of a beast of prey.

There was nothing to do but to obey. His victims were trapped and helpless. They were only eleven year old boys, and were no match physically even for one such burly ruffian. Against three, resistance would have been ridiculous.

Boiling with inward rage, they slowly and sullenly handed over the contents of their pockets. None of them had any great amount of money – only a few dollars for spending allowance. But taken altogether it made quite a respectable sum, over which the robbers gloated with evident satisfaction. Probably their chief calculation was the amount of liquor it would buy for their spree.

But even with this the thieves were not content. Bobby’s silver watch, a scarf pin of Mouser’s, Fred’s seal ring and Pee Wee’s gold sleeve buttons went to swell the pile. They even carried their meanness so far as to rob the lads of their railroad tickets. Then when they found that there was nothing else worth the plucking, the leader opened the door.

“Now beat it,” he growled, “and thank your lucky stars that we didn’t swipe your clothes.”

Half blinded with wrath, the crestfallen boys climbed out of the hollow and into the road which they had left in such high spirits a few minutes before. They had been stripped clean. If their outer clothing had fitted any of the rascals they would have probably lost that too. They were utterly forlorn and downhearted.

If they had lost their possessions after a hot resistance against those who were anyway near their age and size, there would at least have been the exhilaration of the fight. But even that poor compensation was denied them. The odds had been too overwhelming even to think of a struggle.

At first they could not even speak to each other. When they attempted to find words they were so mad that they could only splutter.

“The skunks!” Fred managed to get out at last.

“The low down brutes,” growled Mouser.

“Every cent gone,” groaned Pee Wee. “And those sleeve buttons were a Christmas gift from my mother.”

“And that silver watch was one my father gave me on my last birthday,” muttered Bobby thickly.

“If they’d only left us our railroad tickets!” mourned Fred.

“That was the dirtiest trick of all,” put in Mouser. “You can understand why they took the money and jewelry. But they probably don’t have any idea in the world of using the tickets.”

“Likely enough by this time they’ve torn them up and thrown them into the fire,” Pee Wee conjectured.

“Don’t speak the word, ‘fire,’” said Bobby. “If we hadn’t seen the light of it through the window, we wouldn’t have gone in there at all.”

“It was all my fault,” moaned Fred. “What a fool stunt it was of me to want to stop there anyway.”

Bobby could easily have said, “I told you so,” but that was not Bobby’s way.

“It wasn’t anybody’s fault,” he said. “It was just our hard luck. We might have done it a thousand times and found only decent people there each time.”

“Lucky I gave that dime to Betty this morning anyway,” grunted Fred. “That’s one thing the thieves didn’t get.”

The remark struck the boys as so comical that they broke into laughter. It was the one thing needed to relieve the tension. It cleared the air and all felt better.

“Talk about looking on the bright side of things,” chuckled Pee Wee.

“You’re a wonder as a little cheerer-up,” commented Mouser.

“That’s looking at the doughnut instead of seeing only the hole in the doughnut,” laughed Bobby.

After all they were alive and unharmed. The thieves might have beaten them up or tied them in the cabin while they made their escape.

“Things might have been a great deal worse,” said Bobby cheerfully, putting their thoughts into words. “The money didn’t amount to so much after all, and our folks will send us more. And we may be able to have the tramps arrested and get back our other things. We’ll telegraph just as soon as we get to – ”

But here he stopped short in dismay.

“We haven’t even money enough to pay for the message!” he exclaimed.

“Perhaps the station man will trust us,” suggested Fred.

“I think there’s a way of sending messages so that the folks who get them pay on the other end,” said Pee Wee hopefully.

None of the boys were very clear on this point, but it offered a ray of cheer.

“We won’t need to send more than one message anyway,” said practical Bobby as they trudged along. “Some of our folks might be away and there might be some delay in getting to them. But I know that my father is at home and I’ll just ask him to send on enough money for the bunch of us. Then you fellows can square it up with me afterwards.”

They had reached the outskirts of a village now and the walking had become easier. They quickened their pace and soon came in sight of the station.

“There it is!” cried Fred, and the boys broke into a run.

CHAPTER VII

PAYING AN OLD DEBT

As Bobby’s watch had been the only one in the party, the boys had not been able to keep track of the time during the latter part of their journey, and they were a little fearful that they might be late for their train.

They were relieved therefore to learn they were in plenty of time. The train was not regularly due for half an hour, and owing to the snowstorm it would probably be an hour or more behind time.

The station agent at Roseville, as the town was named, had charge of the telegraph office as well. He was a kindly man and listened with the greatest sympathy to the boys’ story. His indignation at the robbers was hot, and he promised to put the constable on their trail at once.

“It’s a beastly outrage,” he stormed. “That old deserted shack has been too handy for fellows of that kind. They make it a regular hang-out. We’ll clean out the gang and burn the place to the ground. I’ve got to stay here now until after the train leaves, but as soon as it’s gone, I’ll get busy.”

He assured them that he would send on the telegram to be paid for at the other end, and the boys, possessing themselves of some blanks, withdrew to a quiet corner to prepare the message.

It proved to be a matter requiring some thought, and several blanks were cast aside before it suited them.

“You see,” said Bobby, as he sat frowning over his stub of a pencil, “I don’t want to scare the folks to death by telling them we’ve been robbed. They’d think that perhaps we’d been hurt besides and were keeping it quiet so as not to worry ’em. We can write ’em a letter afterward and tell ’em all about it.”

The final outcome of their combined efforts stated the matter with sufficient clearness:

Lost money and tickets. All safe and sound. Please telegraph twenty dollars to me, care station agent, Roseville. Will explain in letter.

Bobby.

This suited them all, though Fred suggested that they might save by cutting out the “please.” He was voted down however, and the telegram was handed through the office window and put on the wire at once.

This being attended to, there was nothing to do but to wait. Then a new worry assailed them.

“How long do you think it will be before we can get an answer?” asked Mouser.

“Not very long,” replied Bobby confidently.

“The message must be in Clinton this very minute,” chimed in Pee Wee.

“Yes, but that’s the least part of it,” remarked Fred. “It will have to be carried up to your house from the station and I’ve heard my father say that Claxton isn’t as quick about those things as he ought to be. Sometimes he gets Bailey to deliver for him, and you know what an old slow-poke he is.”

“And even when it gets to the house your father may be downtown and your mother may be out sleigh riding or visiting or something,” observed Mouser gloomily.

“And then too, it will take some time for your father to get down to the telegraph office and send the money,” was Pee Wee’s contribution.

“Oh, stop your croaking, you fellows,” cried Bobby. “I’m sure everything will be all right.” But, just the same, their doleful suggestions made him a little uneasy, and he fidgeted about as he watched the hands of the station clock.

“There’s another thing,” observed Mouser, returning to the charge. “Suppose now – just suppose – that the money doesn’t get to us before the train starts, what are we going to do?”

“Then we’ll be stuck,” admitted Bobby. “And we’ll have to do a whole lot more telegraphing to Rockledge telling them that we can’t get there till to-morrow. But even if the money is late, it’s sure to come. We can pay for our meals and lodging over night and won’t have to go to the poorhouse.”

“Lucky we got such a dandy feed at Mrs. Wilson’s anyway,” remarked Pee Wee. “That will keep us going until the money comes.”

“It was mighty good of her to give us such a meal and not charge a cent for it,” said Mouser.

“Free meals for five hungry boys,” murmured Fred.

“Five!” exclaimed Pee Wee in surprise. “Why, there were only four of us.”

“Yes,” replied Fred, “but you counted for two.”

Pee Wee made a rush toward him, but Fred dodged adroitly.

Just then, Mouser, who was looking out of the station window, gave a sudden exclamation.

“Look here, fellows,” he cried. “See who’s coming!”

They crowded together, looking over his shoulder.

“Why, it’s Tommy Stone!” ejaculated Bobby.

“He must be going back to Belden School,” added Fred.

“And that’s his father with him, I guess,” put in Pee Wee.

Tommy Stone was a boy who had played quite a part in the lives of Bobby and Fred a few months before. He had run away from home to go out West to “fight Indians.” He had taken his father’s pocketbook with him, intending to use only enough to pay his fare and send the rest back.

Unluckily for the young Indian fighter – or rather luckily, as it turned out – he lost the pocketbook out of the car window. Bobby and Fred were standing by the side of the track as the train went thundering past, and the wallet fell almost at their feet. They picked it up and were wildly excited when they found that it contained no less than four hundred dollars.

The boys had dreams of unlimited ice-cream and soda water as the result of their find. Still they and their parents made earnest effort to find the owner, but as the days passed by and no claimant appeared it looked as though the money would become the boys’ property.

Late in the fall, Bobby and Fred rescued a small boy from the clutches of some larger boys who were amusing themselves by tormenting him. The boy turned out to be Tommy Stone. He had been brought back after his runaway and sent to Belden School, which was not far from Rockledge. Tommy had heard that the boys had found a pocketbook and suspected that it was the one that he had lost. He made a clean breast of it, and the money was restored to its rightful owner. Mr. Stone wanted to reward the boys handsomely, but their parents would not permit them to accept a money reward, and Mr. Stone compromised by sending them the material for a royal feast at Rockledge.

As for Tommy, he had an interview with his father, the nature of which can be guessed at by Tommy’s statement afterward that he could not sit down for a week unless he had pillows under him.

“He doesn’t look like an Indian killer,” laughed Mouser.

“Not so that you could notice it,” chuckled Pee Wee.

“I don’t see any scalps at his belt,” grinned Fred.

Tommy caught sight of the boys as he entered the station, and ran forward to meet them with exclamations of pleasure and surprise. Mr. Stone looked curiously at the group but said nothing, and went over to the agent’s window to buy his son’s ticket.

“What in the world are you fellows doing here?” cried Tommy.

“We’re just as much surprised to see you as you are to see us,” replied Bobby, with a smile.

“On your way to Belden?” inquired Fred.

“Yep,” answered Tommy, making a wry face, “and I’m not any too glad, either. I’ve never liked that school. The big fellows are all the time taking it out on the little ones.”

“You ought to get your father to let you come to Rockledge,” suggested Bobby.

“Then you’d be going to a real school,” remarked Fred, who felt to the full the traditional rivalry between Rockledge and its chief rival.

“Not but what we’ve got some bullies of our own,” put in Pee Wee.

“Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks, for instance,” observed Mouser.

“I’d like first rate to change,” admitted Tommy, “and perhaps next year I can. But my father has all his arrangements made now, and I’ll have to stick it out at Belden for the rest of this term.”

“Is that your father over there?” asked Bobby.

“Yes.”

“Looks as though he had a good right arm,” said Fred slyly.

“I’ll bet he’s practiced with it out in the woodshed,” put in Pee Wee.

“What’s the price of strap oil, Tommy?” inquired Mouser.

Tommy winced a little at the chaffing. It was evidently a painful subject.

Bobby came to his rescue.

“Oh, cut it out, fellows,” he remonstrated. “We all make mistakes sometimes.”

Tommy flashed him a grateful look.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But you can bet that I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”

“That’s the way to talk,” rejoined Bobby heartily.

Mr. Stone had completed his purchase and now strolled over to the group. He had never seen the boys before, as the return of the pocketbook had been made by Mr. Blake.

“Some young friends of yours, Tommy?” he asked, with a genial smile.

“Yes, sir,” Tommy answered. “They go to Rockledge School, right on the other side of the lake from Belden.”

He introduced the boys by name, and Mr. Stone pricked up his ears as he heard the names, “Blake” and “Martin.”

“What!” he exclaimed. “Can this be the Bobby Blake and Fred Martin who found my pocketbook and sent it back to me?”

“That’s who they are,” replied Tommy, flushing.

Mr. Stone took the boys’ hands in both of his and wrung them warmly.

“Well this is a bit of luck,” he said heartily. “I can’t tell you boys how glad I am to see you. I’ve often wanted to lay eyes on the boys who could find four hundred dollars and never rest till they got the money back to the owner.”

“Oh, that was nothing,” answered Bobby, who always felt embarrassed when any one praised him.

“It was the only thing to do,” added Fred, his face getting almost as red as his hair.

“All the same, there are lots of boys who would never have said a word about it,” persisted Mr. Stone. “I’ve always felt sorry that your folks wouldn’t let me show my gratitude by making you boys a present of something that would have been worth while.”

“You did give us the stuff for a dandy spread.”

“Some spread that was too, fellows,” put in Pee Wee. “I was in on that and it was just scrumptious.”

“Trust Pee Wee to remember spreads if he never remembers anything else,” laughed Mouser.

Mr. Stone’s eyes twinkled as he took in Pee Wee’s generous proportions.

“Well, I’m glad if you enjoyed it,” he smiled. “But tell me now how you boys find yourselves here. I thought you traveled by the road that runs through Clinton.”

“So we do,” replied Bobby, and started to relate the occurrences of the morning.

“I see,” said Mr. Stone, interrupting before Bobby had got very far into his story. “And then you found out you could get a train on this road and tramped over here. Well, you won’t have long to wait now, for the train will be along in a few minutes.”

“But that isn’t all,” put in Fred.

“No?” queried Mr. Stone. “What else is there?”

“We were robbed on the way,” answered Fred.

Mr. Stone gasped and Tommy showed symptoms of great excitement. Robbed! It was almost as good as Indians.

CHAPTER VIII

THE CLOUD BREAKS AWAY

Mr. Stone sank down into a seat.

“Robbed!” he repeated. “Now tell me just what you mean.”

In simple words the boys told how they had been held up and despoiled by the tramps.

Mr. Stone could hardly restrain his rage.

“It’s the most atrocious and cowardly thing I’ve heard of for a long time,” he ejaculated. “To think of those scoundrels robbing you of everything you had, even your railroad tickets! They ought to be drawn and quartered.”

The boys were rather hazy as to what drawing and quartering involved, but they heartily agreed with him.

“I’ll have to get busy at once!” Mr. Stone exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “There isn’t a minute to lose. Those rascals will know that the officers will be after them as soon as you tell your story and they’ll be planning to clear out. They may have started already, for all we know. I’ll get the constable and some other men after them and I’ll go along to do all I can to put the thieves in jail.