John Fitzgerald (14 page)

   
I looked at Frankie. I knew he'd been
crying because his eyes were all red. But he hadn't cried one tear since I came
into the loft.

   
"Don't worry, Frankie," I said.
"Papa and Mamma aren't going to let anything happen to you." Then I
turned to the outlaw. "Can't you take the gag out of his mouth for a
while?" I asked.

   
"Maybe later," he said. "I
put it in not only to shut him up but to stop him from
bitin
'
me."

   
My legs were trembling as I climbed down
the ladder. I held back the tears until I was out of the barn. I couldn't help
feeling it was
all my
fault. If I'd been watching
Frankie instead of talking to Howard Kay, he would never have climbed up to the
loft by himself. Brownie was waiting for me. I patted him on the head. If only
Papa had listened to me when I told him my dog was giving an alarm bark.
If.
If.
If.
All
the ifs
in the world couldn't change things now. I
ran to the house and into the kitchen. Mamma and Aunt Bertha were baking pies.
Mamma wiped her hands on her apron.

"What is the
matter, John D.?" she cried.

   
"Get Papa and Uncle Mark and Dr.
LeRoy
quick!" I said. "But don't tell anybody
else. Cal Roberts is hiding in the loft in our barn. He is holding Frankie as a
hostage and will kill him if we don't do as he says."

   
Mamma reacted quickly, as she always did in
a crisis. She ran to the telephone. Aunt Bertha staggered to a chair and sat
down. She didn't say anything. She just sat there, crying softly.

   
It seemed like hours but could only have
been about fifteen or twenty minutes before Papa arrived with Uncle Mark and
Dr.
LeRoy
. We were waiting for them in the parlor.

   
"What is it,
Tena
?"
Papa asked. "You said it was urgent and to bring Mark and the
doctor."

   
"I didn't want to tell you over the
phone because the operator usually listens in," Mamma said. "Cal
Roberts is in our barn and he's holding Frankie as a hostage. John D., tell
them all you know."

   
I told them what I thought was everything.
But when Uncle Mark began questioning me, I remembered several things I hadn't
told them. Their faces were all grim when I finished.

   
Papa sat down in his rocking chair.
"We must do exactly what Cal Roberts says."

"For the
time being, at least," Uncle Mark said.

   
Dr.
LeRoy
was
still standing, his doctor's bag in his hand. "Better take me to the barn
now, John," he said.

   
I looked at Mamma. "You had better fix
him something to eat right away," I said.

"I'll have
it ready by the time you return," Mamma said.

   
I took Dr.
LeRoy
to the barn. The outlaw was leaning over the edge of the loft with his revolver
pointing down at us as we entered. I told him I'd brought the doctor. Roberts
threw down the rope ladder. Dr.
LeRoy
and I climbed
up to the loft. The outlaw had taken off his jacket and shirt and had his
underwear rolled down to his waist. I could see blood oozing from a wound on
his arm just below the shoulder. He held his revolver against Frankie's ear.

   
"Fix it up, Doc," Roberts said.
"And fix it good and tight so it can stand some hard
ridin
'."

   
Dr.
LeRoy
knelt
down and examined the wound. "The bullet missed the bone," he said.
"It is just a flesh wound. Nothing serious, I'm afraid."

"You say it
like you wish it was serious," Roberts said.

   
"I was hoping it might be so serious
you couldn't get very far on a horse without bleeding to death," Dr.
LeRoy
said.

"Stop jawing
and get on with it," Roberts ordered.

   
Dr.
LeRoy
cleansed the wound and put some kind of salve and powder on it before he
bandaged it up tight. Then he cleansed and bandaged the dog bite on the
outlaw's leg.

   
"That will hold you until you get to
wherever you are going," Dr.
LeRoy
said.

   
Roberts grinned. "That means the
Marshal is
seein
' things my way," he said.

"If he
wasn't," Dr.
LeRoy
said, "I wouldn't be
here."

   
"How come the Marshal
ain't
out with a posse
lookin
'
for my four boys?" Roberts asked.

   
"They are all dead," Dr.
LeRoy
said. "The last one died from his wounds about
two hours ago."

   
Roberts shrugged. "I can always get
myself another gang," he said. "But I don't get it. How come they
didn't make a break for it when Austin and I didn't show up?"

"Because my
Uncle Mark outsmarted them," I said.

   
"Always heard he was a right smart
marshal," Roberts said. "But there just
ain't
no way he could stop them
goin
' east over that flat
country at night."

   
"My uncle and Mr. Benson impersonated
you and Jack Austin on your horses to get close enough to catch the outlaws in
a cross fire," I said.

   
"Seems like a low-down trick for a
marshal to pull," Roberts complained, to my astonishment.

   
I was about to say that holding a little
kid as a hostage was about as low-down a trick as a man could play. But Dr.
LeRoy
closed his bag and said he was ready to leave.

"Well, at
least I got the Judge," Roberts said.

   
Dr.
LeRoy
shook
his head. "The bullet you fired at Judge Potter hit him in the leg,"
he said. "He is going to be all right."

"Damn,"
Roberts said.

   
I pointed at Frankie. "Can I take the
gag out of his mouth, Mr. Roberts?" I asked.

   
"Only if he promises not to bite
me," the outlaw said. "But I'm
leavin
' him
tied up. He is the
bitin'est
,
fightin'est
,
and
kickin'est
kid I ever saw."

   
I removed the gag from Frankie's mouth. He
spit a couple of times.

   
"I asked God to let the bad mans get
me and He did," Frankie said.

   
"Don't you worry," I said.
"Papa and Mamma and Uncle Mark are going to do what Mr. Roberts wants and
you'll be all right."

"Get me that
grub now," Roberts ordered.

   
I followed Dr.
LeRoy
down the rope ladder and into the house. He went into the parlor to talk to
Papa and Uncle Mark. Mamma had our wicker picnic basket ready for me.

   
"Tell Mr. Roberts there are ham and
cold roast beef sandwiches and some pie and apples," Mamma said. "And
tell him I will cook fried chicken or anything else he may want for supper. And
I put a jug of milk and some cookies in for Frankie."

I carried the
wicker basket to the barn. It had handles that came up over the top. I hooked
the handles inside my elbow. It was awkward but I managed to climb up to the
loft with it.

   
Roberts grabbed the jug of water out of the
basket first and drank a lot of it. Then he began eating a sandwich.

   
"
There's
a
jug of milk and some cookies for Frankie," I said. "Can I give them
to him?"

   
"I
ain't
untyin
' the little wildcat," Roberts said. "Feed
him yourself."

"I
ain't
hungry, John," Frankie said.

   
"But you always have milk and cookies
this time every day," I said.

"I
know," he said, "but I don't want any today."

   
It didn't hit me until then that although
he didn't show it on the outside Frankie was so frightened inside that he
couldn't eat anything.

   
"I know you are scared," I said,
"but please at least drink the milk."

"All
right," he said.

I got him to
drink about half the milk and that was all.

   
Roberts ate all the sandwiches and the
piece of pie and apples and even the cookies I'd brought for Frankie.

 
  
"My mother wants to know what you want
for supper," I said. "She said she'd cook fried chicken or anything
you wanted."

   
"Tell your ma fried chicken will do
fine," he said. "And I'll want some hot coffee in a jug. And as long
as I'm
stayin
' here tonight, I'll need a couple of
blankets."

"When will
you let Frankie go?" I asked

   
"I'm
thinkin
'
about that," he said. "
Ain't
no
hurry. Let you and your pa and the Marshal know my plans
tomorrow."
   

   
"I've got to do my chores now," I
said. "That means I have to take the mustang out to the corral to water
him."

   
"I know you'll bring him back,"
Roberts said. "Just as I know everything is
goin
'
my way.
Gettin
' me a hostage was the best idea I ever
had."

   
After I'd finished all my chores I found Papa
still talking to Uncle Mark in the parlor. Dr.
LeRoy
had left.

   
"Sit down, J.D.," Papa said.
"There are some questions your uncle wants to ask you."

I sat down.
"What questions?" I asked.

   
"Is there any way to get up to that
loft except by the rope ladder?" Uncle Mark asked.

"No," I
answered.

   
"Then is there any way to get up even
with the rafters on the other side of the barn without using a ladder?"
Uncle Mark asked.

   
"No," I answered. "Even if
you stood on the stalls or the bales of hay you'd still be about twenty feet
from the rafters. Why?"

   
"I am trying to figure out a way of
getting up high enough in the barn tonight so I can shoot into the loft when it
gets daylight," he said.

   
"Even if you could get up high enough,
which you can't," I said, "the barn doors squeak like the devil and
he would hear you when you opened them."

   
Papa shook his head. "There is
absolutely no way to kill or capture Gal Roberts without endangering Frankie's
life," he said. "That boy's life is as precious to me and
Tena
as the life of one of our own sons. I am going to
insist that you do exactly what Gal Roberts demands."

"There is
something wrong about all this," Uncle Mark said. "I don't mean it is
wrong to let Cal Roberts go scot-free to save Frankie's life. I mean there is
something in the back of my mind that keeps telling me it just isn't that
simple."

    
"This I know," Papa said.
"You must let the search for Cal Roberts continue, including the ghost
town of
Silverlode
.
 
That will convince people the outlaw hasn’t been found. If word gets out
that Cal Roberts is in our barn, everybody in town will come here. And you
can't control a mob like that. Some hotheads might get the idea of rushing the
barn or setting it on fire to smoke Roberts out. Either way it would mean death
for Frankie. We know Dr.
LeRoy
will keep it
confidential. I will have to tell Mr. Whitlock at the bank Monday why I want to
mortgage my home for a thousand dollars.
 
But we can trust him. That leaves just you, Mark. I want your word of
honor you will not mention this to anybody."

  
"That goes without saying," Uncle
Mark said, as if irritated. "I'll let the search continue."

   
"What if some kids
come over to play?"
I asked. "We often play in our barn on
Sunday afternoons, especially if it is raining."

   
"That is a good point, John," my
uncle said. "I'll confine everybody
under
sixteen
years of age to their own homes until this thing is over."

   
I took Cal Roberts and Frankie the fried
chicken supper before we ate our own meal in the house. Frankie liked fried
chicken just about better than anything. But I had a hard time making him eat
just one wing and half a slice of bread.