Fred Fenton Marathon Runner Part 10

BRISTLES' SURPRISE PARTY

"That's a queer coincidence, if you'd care to call it by that name,"

remarked Colon, who liked once in a while to make use of some long word.

"It simply shows that we had long heads when we made up our minds to lug this old tramp dog all the way here, just to prove our story," Fred observed.

"That was your scheme, Fred, all right," Bristles quickly a.s.serted.

"No more than the rest of you," he was instantly told, for Fred never liked to be given sole credit for anything unusual, when he had chums along. "All the same, I guess the old farmer will be tickled half to death to know the sheep-killing pack has been broken up for good."

"You think our knocking the leader out is going to do that, do you, Fred?" asked Colon.

"In nine cases out of ten that's the way things go. There's a keystone to every arch, and when you remove that, the whole thing tumbles down."

"My idea to a dot," a.s.serted Bristles, doggedly. "Chances are the rest of those curs have started on the run for their old homes before this; and unless another leader springs up, which isn't likely, we've seen the last of the sheep-killers. But hold on, fellows, perhaps we can have a little fun with the old farmer."

"How?" asked Colon, not at all unwilling.

"He doesn't seem to be about his wagon just now, you notice?" ventured Bristles.

"Knows the toll-gate keeper right well," explained Colon, "because he's been coming past here, year in and year out, a long time now. Like as not he's stepped in to sit and talk, or else sample something wet. But I hope now, Bristles, you don't mean to start the team off on the run, or something like that, just to see an old man rush after 'em?"

"What d'ye take me for?" demanded the other, indignantly. "I leave all such mean tricks to Buck Lemington, Clem Shooks, Ben Cushing and that crowd. Here's where we might play an innocent little joke on the farmer, and he'll laugh as hard as we do when he catches on. It's the dog---let's sneak up back of the wagon, and lift the thing in. Then you leave the rest to me."

Colon waited to hear what Fred said. He was accustomed to depending to some extent on the opinion of this chum, to whom the boys usually looked as their leader.

"I should think that was fair enough, Bristles," Fred quickly announced.

"We're intending to give the farmer a pleasant little surprise party, that's all. Have it your way, then. Here, let's move around a little, so they won't sight us from the open door of the toll-gate house."

It was a very simple matter to do this, and presently they had deposited the already stiffening body of the sheep-destroying dog in the bed of the wagon, where it certainly presented a very gruesome appearance, with its four feet sticking up in the air.

This done, the boys walked around, and onto the little porch that was spread out before the door of the cottage.

Voices reached their ears, and it was evident that their presence had been discovered, for two men immediately came out. Bristles noticed that the old farmer was even then brushing the back of his hand across his lips, thus indicating that he had been sampling a gla.s.s of hard cider, a specialty of the toll-gate keeper.

"h.e.l.lo! Mr. Jenks!" remarked Bristles, who, it seemed, knew the keeper.

"We're up here to look over the ground for the big Marathon race that's coming off before long."

The farmer had started toward his team, but hearing this, he stopped to listen.

"I reckoned as much as soon as I see you boys in your running togs," the tollgate keeper went on to say, affably enough, "because there was a gent up here only yesterday that said he represented the committee, and that they expected to have what they called a registering station here at the toll-gate, though I don't just know what that really means."

"Why, you see, in a long gruelling run of twenty-five miles," explained Bristles, "it's necessary to have certain places a few miles apart, and especially at turns in the course, where every contestant enters his name in his own handwriting, as well as the time he pa.s.sed there."

"You don't tell me!" exclaimed Mr. Jenks. "But what's all that tomfoolery for? Strikes me they go to a heap of trouble for next to nothing."

"Why, you see," continued Bristles, "these races have to be above suspicion. The committee doesn't want anybody to be able to say there was any crooked work about the run. The fellow who wins must have beaten every compet.i.tor fairly. And by this system of registering they have a complete record of the race. No one can cut across lots and cheat, without its showing in the record."

"Oh! now I understand you, my lad, and I guess it's a good thing. That gent was a fine one, and he said I had the best---but never mind what he said. How far have you come this time, boys?"

"This is over half the distance," explained Fred, "and we're on the home stretch right now. But we're not trying for a record to-day. Fact is, we're just feeling out the ground. The next time we come we'll stop only a minute, as if we were registering, and be off, for that's when we'll be trying it out to see what our time is."

"Oh! excuse me," said Bristles, as he saw the old farmer once more turn toward his rig, as though he felt he must be going on, "but didn't I hear you telling someone in the market the other day that you'd lost a number of sheep lately?"

The old man frowned, and shook his head sadly.

"Three of my best, and I reckons that if things keep on the way they're goin', I won't have any flock left purty soon, boy," he replied.

"And you said the damage had all been done by a pack of wild dogs, didn't you?" continued Bristles.

"Anybody with one eye could see that, by the way the sheep was mangled, and the pad of the prints around. They're gettin' to be a terror up here. Jenks kin tell you how he's heard the lot carrying on like Cain over in the woods there nights."

"Did you ever see the pack, mister?" asked Bristles.

"Well, I can't say as I really and truly has, son, but I do believe I knows what the wust of the lot looks like," the farmer told him.

"How was that, sir?" asked the boy, eagerly. He saw the old man shrug his broad shoulders, while a whimsical look appeared on his sunburned face.

"Jest because I set on a limb, and looked down at the critter three whole hours, till he got so pizen hungry he slunk off, and let me get home. He come nigh ketchin' me afore I cud git up in a tree; and from the looks of them ugly fangs, chances are he'd a-tore me right bad."

"Then I should think you'd know that dog again if ever you saw him?"

suggested Bristles, with a wink toward his chums.

"I hopes I'll never have the bad luck to see him alive again!" declared the old farmer, as he started to climb up to the seat of his wagon.

"Now watch the circus!" hissed Bristles.

The farmer had just about drawn himself up when they heard him give utterance to a startled exclamation, for he found himself facing the uninvited pa.s.senger in the back of his open wagon bed. Had Bristles been more inclined to be cruel, he might have fixed the dog so that he would appear lifelike, and in the att.i.tude of springing.

The farmer remained there as though turned into stone. Then he managed to recover his wits, and burst out into a shout.

"It's the same pizen critter!" he exclaimed joyously, "and keeled over at last! But I'd like to know---say, you don't meant to tell me now, boys, 'twas you that done for that turrible beast?"

"Well," said Bristles, trying hard not to look too important, "they tackled us in the woods, and it was either us or him, so we managed to pound the leader until he kicked the bucket, and the rest of the pack lit out. I guess that combine's broken up for good, mister. You won't lose any more of your sheep, believe me."

The old man got down, and insisted upon shaking hands all around, he felt so delighted over the new turn affairs had taken.

"And the next time I go to Riverport, I'll tell what a fine thing you boys did up here," he remarked, as the three runners prepared to start down the road, heading for the home town.

On the way it was finally decided that they would go to the office of the Chief of Police and tell him about finding the empty tin box, but not say a thing in connection with that pin. Afterwards, Fred said, they might see Mr. Periwinkle, So as to learn whether the tin box was really his property.

They felt uncertain as to just what their duty might be in a case like this, for while it seemed only right that the guilty one should suffer, at the same time both Fred and Bristles remembered what sorrowful faces that brother and sister had, and they could not find it in their hearts to do anything likely to add to the burdens the children already had to bear.

So the case rested as the days pa.s.sed. Though unknown to the boys, a time was coming, and near at hand, when the mystery of the tin box was bound to be explained.