Читать книгу Held for Ransom - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 10

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Mole grumbled complainingly as Sam took several shots at the trooper’s tires. “Now we’re in for it! Didn’t I say lay off that trooper?”

“Aw, I only clipped his mitt,” Sam was quickly on the defensive. “Besides he mighta knocked us off if I hadn’t.”

“Boloney, Sam. That trigger finger of yours itches too much for everybody’s good.”

“Aw, lay off! He ain’t got more’n a scratch.”

“Yeah, and there’ll be just as much noise about it as if he got the works. Silver’ll yell murder over this, Sam. Just when things should be quiet.”

Sam said nothing to this, Skippy noticed. He maintained a long silence born of remorse and watched the car leaping ahead with sullen, thoughtful eyes. Mole’s present thoughts, it seemed, were centered on the speedometer for he cast quick, eager glances upon it from time to time when he wasn’t watching the dark dirt road.

Skippy felt that he had enough of feigning sleep—he was too numb from his half-reclining position to pretend any longer.

He stirred, sat up, and as he stretched, he mumbled, “Hill-a?”

Mole looked over and there was a faint, kindly smile in his small, dark eyes. “Soon come hill-a now,” he said. “Had a nice sleep, kiddo?”

“Sleep-a,” Skippy smiled, feeling that in Mole he would have a friend if he needed one. Sam, he did not trust at all.

“Gotta stay on back roads now, hunh?” Sam suddenly queried.

“Yeah, thanks to you, Sam. We mighta been there by now. The way I’m goin’, takes a half hour longer. And Silver’s waitin’. Well, if he wants me at Holden’s, it’s a quick paintin’ job on this car for you. It’ll take all night, easy. A nice, nile green oughta cover it easy.”

“Aw, don’t rub it in.” Then: “If we’re hittin’ th’ shack by th’ back way how about th’ dummy?”

“That’s soft, Sam. Silver an’ me’ll take him to town in another car an’ see where he lives. No use lettin’ him off here. If he got lost an’ the bulls picked him up, he might remember how he was in a maroon-colored car with two guys, one light and the other dark. They’ll grill anybody they find on these roads from now on. Good thing Silver’s shack’s up that trick road.”

“Yeah, we oughta be there soon now, hunh?”

“What a memory you got for drivin’, Sam. Four turns yet, then we retrace. Silver picked a place when he picked that.”

“Yeah. How’d he get it, Mole? I ain’t never heard that story.”

“Well, he didn’ pick it exactly. A society guy hard up for cash told Silver that if he wanted a nice, quiet hideaway, he’d sell it an’ the deal would be silent. Silver grabbed it. He couldn’t picked a better joint. This society guy told him he’d built it ’cause it was a place where he could rest an’ his smart-aleck friends couldn’t find him when he wanted quiet. But since he went broke in the crash he said his friends just naturally gave him the air.”

“Yeah, that’s friends, hunh?” Sam said musingly. “But it was a break for Silver. I couldn’t find it alone an’ this is the third time I been up here. Yuh sure got it on me, Mole.”

“It took me three times. Silver learned me but he was up here with that society guy five times before he got wise himself. It’s some hideout all right, but that mile of footpath right up to the joint ain’t no joke with this heavy car. Silver was wise when he took that Ford early tonight.”

Sam chuckled. “Silver’s always a wise guy. I bet he had A. P. H. in his bean when he took this joint. If A. P. gets nasty, why it’ll be a swell place tuh park th’ kid if we gotta snatch him.”

“I hope we can duck snatchin’ A. P. H.’s kid,” Mole said. “I ain’t keen on that racket, Sam, believe me. Lay off the kids, I say. There’s other ways of grabbin’ dough.” And, as if suddenly reminded of another youngster’s presence, he leaned over to look Skippy’s way.

But Skippy had averted his head quickly and was leaning far out of the open window as if he had not had any interest in the conversation whatsoever. His cheeks burned with excitement and his eyes gleamed with anticipation. The knowledge he had already acquired of the Curley gang’s well-laid plans would be invaluable to his employer.

But when would he reach Carlton Conne to tell him? That night? He feared to think what might happen if, when they reached the secluded shack, Silver Curley might recognize him after all. These apprehensive thoughts were soon put to rout when Sam started visibly and uttered a queer, choking sound.

“What?” asked Mole in a small, strained voice.

“I just see three small lights down there, Mole—motorcycle lights.”

“It can’t be that bull, Sam—he wouldn’t had time to hit the highway. And what cars come along these back roads so late? I say...”

“Mole, I know them lights. It was that lower road they was on. They musta juss been turnin’ that bend before th’ climb starts an’ all that brush hides th’ rest of the road. An’ listen, Mole, now I think of it, I saw a car way back in th’ shadows behind that gas station when we was there. How we know it wasn’t that trooper I clipped? How we know he wasn’t leary ’bout them greased plates an’ got a hunch tuh tail us? All right, if he did that, yuh can bet all th’ tea in China he tipped off that gas station guy tuh phone for help if he got on th’ spot. An’ I got a hunch that’s what happened, Mole. Yeah, there’s been plenty time if he had help comin’.”

“All right, Sam,” said Mole nervously. “I never laugh at your hunches, but I ain’t sayin’ I think your way either. But there’s no use chewin’ the fat. We’ll be safe anyways. First thing, we’ll step on it an’ lose these plates. Next, we’ll turn north and run without lights till we lose ’em.”

They were both out of the car by that time, apparently oblivious of Skippy’s presence. Yet when the boy opened the door quietly and attempted to step out, Sam came hurrying around with the rear plate in his hand and scowling.

“Back, kid—back!” he was growling. “We ain’t hill-a yet. Not hill-a.”

Skippy sat back with a blank smile and wondered what to do next. But he hadn’t time to think at all for Mole came rushing up with the front plate in his hands, pushed Sam into the car and started her up.

“There’s a bridge over a lake just north of here,” he said dousing his lights. “That’s the only place we gotta be careful of without our glimmers. The rest of the road’s pretty straight so we needn’t worry.”

Skippy found that he couldn’t help himself. He was not only worried—he was sick with that kind of sickening dread which clutches at the heart when nameless danger threatens. He wished that Nickie Fallon, who had been with him in Devil’s Bog, and after that trying experience had gone to live with his aunt, was with him. He missed Nickie in a tight spot such as this.