FETTERS

So that’s the way we did. As we went away we were all careful not to look up, and we talked about all different things as if we didn’t know there was any one up in that wheel at all. And if anybody ever tells you that boy scouts can’t really catch grown-up people except in books, you can tell them I said they can do it in amusement parks too.

“I hope he’s the highwayman, anyway,” I said to Pee-wee. “You’re not the only one that goes up in the air.”

“It shows what scouts can do,” Pee-wee said. “We bound him with ropes, didn’t we?”

“Absolutely,” I said, “only the rope was quite a way off from him.”

“What difference does that make?” he wanted to know. “He’s held by ropes, isn’t he? Can you deny that?”

“I guess you’re right,” Westy laughed.

“What are we going to do now?” Hunt wanted to know.

“We’re going to keep our eyes on that tree,” I said, “and go in a bee-line. It will take more than an auto bandit to get me off the straight path. Don’t look back whatever you do.”

I guess it was about five o’clock then; anyway it must have been after four because we were getting hungry. It’s strenuous work catching bandits. The tree up on the ridge was all kind of red. The sky was bright over there and it looked fine. That’s the time I like best, when the sun begins to get red. I was wondering if we could see my house when we got up on the ridge.

Pretty soon we climbed over the old amusement park fence and then we just had to cut straight across fields till we came to Little Valley. Before we got there all the windows in the houses looked as if there were lights shining inside of them. That was a sign the sun was beginning to go down. When the windows look bright like that in August you’ll know it’s after five o’clock. In Bridgeboro at six o’clock some of the houses in Little Valley look as if they were on fire. We got fooled that way once. We went all the way there by the road and there wasn’t any building burning down at all. Gee whiz, we were mad!

Little Valley isn’t so big. The fellows over there come to Bridgeboro High School. There’s a one-patrol troop there. Harry Donnelle lives there too. He told us whenever we came to Little Valley to be quiet so as not to wake the people up. He says that place ought to be called Rip Van Winkleberg. But anyway, I don’t see how you can wake a town up if it’s dead. The only thing that’s quick about Little Valley is some quicksand near the creek. But they’ve got a good ball field there for the Bridgeboro team to beat them on. Anyway, I’m not so stuck on baseball. Me for stalking and tracking and all that.

Now when we got to Little Valley we marched in formation just the same as we did in Bridgeboro, two rows of three fellows each. I marched ahead with my official staff and we let Warde Hollister go ahead of us all with the cardboard standard because he didn’t have any scout suit. I bet Little Valley felt like Belgium when it saw us coming.

We had to go across one lawn, but a lady told us it was all right. Pee-wee started to give her a lecture about the scouts but I grabbed him by the collar and made him come along. He rattled like an old junk wagon. The lady said he looked like Don Quixote. I don’t know much about that fellow, but if I ever meet him I’m going to apologize to him for what she said.

Next we came to Main Street, named after the water main. By that time we had a crowd of kids at our heels again and everybody was staring at us. I hope they liked us. A man let us go through his store and climb over the back fence and then we came out on the village green.

There’s a band-stand on that village green and a whole crowd of kids climbed up into it so as to see us. Pee-wee looked mighty proud. A lot of grown people were standing around too, staring at us and laughing. I guess they thought our big sign looked pretty funny.

One man said, “Is the civilian population going to be spared?”

I said, “The civilized population is going to be spared, but if there are any ice cream cones in this berg they’re going to die a horrible death. Plant our banner in the village green,” I said to Warde, “and all gather around your gallant leader.”

The man said, “How do you feel about peanut brittle?”

“No peanut brittle can get past us,” I told him. “We eat it alive.”

Oh, boy, there was some excitement. The next thing we knew a box of peanut brittle was going round. There was a crowd of people all around watching and reading what it said on our standard and laughing. Most always that’s the way it is with people when they see scouts. Somebody kicked a grocery box over to where we were and the man called, “Speech, speech.” I got up on the box and I said:

“Don’t anybody be afraid, we’re not going to hurt you.”

A girl that was standing there said, “The idea! Did you ever hear of such a thing? Hurt us? Do you think we’re afraid of a patrol of boy scouts?”

I said, “You knowest not what thou sayest, girl. We’ve devastated the whole country from Blakeley’s Hill to this spot. The only thing we’ve left alive is the grass. And even that we trod under our feet.”

“We’re invincible!” Pee-wee shouted. “Do you know what that is?”

“Do you think I haven’t got a dictionary, Mr. Smarty?” she said.

I said, “Silence. Take a demerit. Where is the police department of this town?”

Somebody shouted, “He’s home eating his supper. Do you want to go and see him?”

I said, “No, we want him to come and see us. Can’t you see from our sign we’re on a bee-line hike?”

Somebody shouted, “He’s at supper. Do you have to see him?”

I said, “No, the army and navy will do just as well; we’re not particular. Wait till I consult with my official staff.”

I couldn’t understand what my official staff said because his mouth was full of peanut brittle. “Here’s the box, eat that too,” I said.

Then I said good and loud, “We have an important communication to address to the police department. We’ve caught a bandit——”

“We’ve got him bound with fetters,” the kid shouted.

“Give me that phonograph horn,” I told him; “the crowd is growing bigger.”

Good night, that was the end of me. I was superseded like a general in the third grade—I mean in history. There was Pee-wee standing on the grocery box, his aluminum cooking set all over the ground, shouting through the old phonograph horn at the top of his voice. A little way off I could see a cop coming across the green. I guess he was going to chase us off first, till he heard what Pee-wee was saying.

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