Читать книгу Freddy and the Dragon - Walter Rollin Brooks - Страница 5

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So Freddy and Jinx were taken to the troop headquarters, and there they were questioned closely about their movements during the past week. The questioner was a Lieutenant Sparrow, and he didn’t look much like his name, for he was a big, tough, red-faced man with a roaring voice. He yelled and stormed at them, and he said that if they didn’t confess, he would have Freddy beaten up and he would hang Jinx up by the tail and pull his whiskers out one by one.

But the animals knew all about Lieutenant Sparrow. In spite of his rough, tough ways, he was the kindest hearted of men and, as people said, wouldn’t hurt a fly. Indeed, this was literally true. He wouldn’t allow a fly-swatter in the place, and if a fly did get in, he would open the screen door and call all the other troopers, and they would carefully shoo it out. He was really a very nice man.

So Freddy said: “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but we haven’t been anywhere near Centerboro while all this has been going on. We can’t prove it. On the other hand, nobody can prove we were.”

The lieutenant quieted down. “That’s where you’re wrong, pig,” he said. “There’s folks right here in town that’ll swear they saw you—and doing a lot of mischief, too. You claim it’s some other pig.” He shook his head. “I’m going to have to do something about it before long. Luckily for you, there haven’t been any warrants sworn out for your arrest yet. But there’s plenty of talk. If it wasn’t that you have some good friends like the sheriff, and Mrs. Winfield Church, and Mrs. Peppercorn, there’d be a mob on its way out to lynch you by this time.”

“Gee whiz!” said Jinx. “Is that straight, Lieut?”

The trooper nodded. “There’s been talk of it. Of course, we’d prevent it if we could. But we might not even know about it until it was all over. Frankly, I’d feel a lot better about it if someone would swear out a warrant for you and we had you in jail. You’d be safe there.”

“You don’t really believe we did all those things, then?” Freddy asked.

“Who else could have done ’em? Where else around here is there a bunch of animals smart enough? But in this country a man is supposed to be innocent until he’s proved guilty. So if you ain’t going to confess, I’ll have to let you go. But keep away from Centerboro. And don’t leave the farm. I want you where I can lay my hand on you, if I want to pull you in.”

Freddy and Jinx were pretty discouraged as they rode away. They reported to Mrs. Peppercorn, and got a description of her bicycle to give to the A.B.I., the Animal Bureau of Investigation. Freddy said he thought it ought to be easy to find as it was the only lady’s bicycle in Centerboro. Mrs. Peppercorn and her aunt came out on the porch to say good-by to them, and as they rode off Mrs. Peppercorn waved her hankerchief, and Mrs. Talcum wished them good-luck with a heavy barrage of sneezes.

The head of the A.B.I. was a robin, Mr. J. J. Pomeroy. Freddy, since his return, hadn’t had a chance to see him, but now as soon as he got back to the farm he went to the big tree at the side of the house and rapped on the trunk.

The Pomeroys lived on one of the lower branches, and as Freddy looked up, Mrs. Pomeroy stuck her head over the edge of the nest. “Hello, Freddy,” she said. “It’s nice to see you back. Did you have a good trip?”

“Fine,” said Freddy. “But we’ve run into plenty of trouble here at home.”

“Oh, you mean that bull,” said Mrs. Pomeroy.

“Bull?” said Freddy. “What bull?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? Nobody knows where he came from. And he must hide out in the woods somewhere. He doesn’t belong to anybody around here. He’s just about terrorized the countryside—knocking down fences and chicken coops, and chasing other animals. He even ripped down a lot of barbed-wire fence at Witherspoons’ last night. That’s where J. J. is now—up there investigating.”

“Does he know about the trouble in Centerboro?” Freddy asked.

“We’ve heard about it. But he’s been too busy with that bull to do much, and we figured you’d probably catch the pig that seems to be behind it all, when you got back.”

“Set a pig to catch a pig, eh?” said Freddy. “Well, be seeing you. Come on, Jinx.”

They rode up toward the woods, crossed the brook, and then swung off to the right into a hayfield that bordered the land belonging to Mr. Witherspoon. They saw at once that a section of the barbed-wire fence between the Witherspoon and the Bean farms had been ripped out. And an enormous black bull with a ring in his nose was calmly eating the uncut hay on the Bean side of the fence. He was trampling down a lot more grass than he was eating.

The two friends pulled up. “Golly,” said Jinx, “Mr. Bean’ll pop his suspender buttons when he sees this. But we better go down and tell him.”

Freddy said: “No; I think we’d better handle it ourselves. You know Mr. Bean. He’ll go right up to that bull and try to put a rope through the ring in his nose. And the bull will go for him.”

“But Mr. Bean has a shotgun.”

“I wouldn’t want to try to stop that bull with a shotgun,” Freddy said. “Come on, let’s talk to him. We can dodge if he rushes us.”

They rode up along the fence. The bull lifted his head. “Well, well,” he boomed, “ain’t you cute little fellers! Part of old Bean’s trained menagerie, I expect. Well, come along; plenty for all.”

“That’s Mr. Bean’s hay you’re eating,” said Freddy.

“You wouldn’t want to stop me, would you?” said the bull. Then he gave a great roaring laugh. “Come up closer. I won’t hurt you. I want to see those duds you got on. Regular cowboy suits, ain’t they? And I suppose you came out to round me up and drive me away, hey? I suppose I ought to go before I get hurt.” He pretended to shiver with fear, and then broke out into his roaring laugh again. He reminded Freddy a lot of Lieutenant Sparrow.

A robin flew down and perched on the pommel of Freddy’s saddle. “Look out for this fellow, Freddy,” he said; “he can be mean. He drove Mr. Witherspoon’s horse, Jerry, out of his stable this morning and ate up his measure of oats, and then he broke open the oat bin and ate a lot more, before coming out and tearing down the fence.”

“Hello, J. J.,” said Freddy. “Where was Mr. Witherspoon all this time?”

“The bull chased him into the house. He took a couple of shots at him with his deer rifle, but missed both times. Then I guess the bull thought he’d better beat it, so he came over here, out of range.”

“Maybe I could rope him,” said Freddy, touching the rope that was looped over his pommel.

“No, no, that’s too dangerous,” said Mr. Pomeroy. He emphasized his remarks by taking off his spectacles with one claw and shaking them at Freddy. “You get a rope on him, and he’ll drag Cy all over the meadow. Ruin a lot more good hay, too. You’d better go back and tell Mr. Bean.”

“If I got the noose around his foot and tripped him, it might work,” Freddy said.

“What would you do with him then?” Jinx asked; and Freddy said glumly: “I don’t know.”

Mr. Pomeroy put his spectacles on. “I’ll fly down with you,” he said, and sprang into the air, to light on a fencepost some distance off.

The bull had been edging closer, trying to overhear the conversation. Now he said: “What are you two little squirts up to, hey? You ain’t goin’ to sick that robin on to me, are you? My land, I’m all over gooseflesh!” And he laughed his big roaring laugh, so that he shook all over.

“‘Squirts,’ eh?” said Freddy to himself. “That gives me an idea. Jinx,” he said aloud, “watch out.” He had a cap pistol in the holster on one side and a water pistol on the other. The latter held nearly a pint, and he kept it filled with strong perfume. He had found that most people—and animals too—would almost rather be shot than drenched with cheap perfume. He pulled it out, pointed it at the bull, and squeezed.

Three seconds later he and Jinx were riding for their lives, with the bull thundering a few yards behind them. They had entered the hayfield through a gap in the fence. The gap could be closed by a heavy bar which slid into slots on the fence posts. They had closed this when they came into the field, but as it was only about three feet from the ground, Cy and Bill, who had had some practice in jumping, sailed over it easily. But the bull, who was no jumper, checked; and before he could get his horns under it and work it out, they were over the brook and almost in the barnyard. So the bull went back to the hay.

Freddy didn’t tell Mr. Bean right away about the bull. He was afraid that Mr. Bean would go up there, and he’d get awful mad when he saw the hay all trampled, and then maybe he’d do something foolish, like trying to drive the bull away, or putting a rope through the ring in his nose. That bull wasn’t anybody to monkey with.

There was a lot of commotion in the barnyard. Hank, the old white horse, had been arrested—or at least he had been taken away by state troopers, who wanted him in Centerboro for questioning. The Beans and the farm animals were pretty upset, but Freddy wasn’t specially worried. Hank’s shoes were about the same size as the ones that had kicked in Mrs. Bingle’s door, but even if they fitted, there would probably be plenty of proof that he hadn’t left the stable that night. Hank didn’t go in much for society and seldom went out in the evening.

As head of the A.B.I., Mr. Pomeroy employed a large number of operatives. They were mostly birds and smaller animals, and a good many were bumblebees. A bumblebee can blunder around close to people, and listen to conversations, without being specially noticed. Nobody thinks that bumblebees know anything. But that’s where they’re wrong. Bumblebees are smart; they make very good detectives.

But in spite of maintaining such a big staff, the A.B.I. hadn’t found out much about the bull. Nobody could find out who he belonged to, or where he’d come from. He roamed around the countryside, breaking into barns and knocking down fences to get what he wanted to eat—mostly at night. If dogs chased him, he turned around and charged them, but he never did them any harm, even when he could have. He had cornered one of the Macys—farmers who lived across the shallow valley below the Bean farm—behind the barn. The man had nothing but a stick, and the bull could have tossed and trampled him if he’d wanted to, but he just gave a great bellowing laugh and turned around and trotted off.

“He thinks it’s a joke to scare people,” Mr. Pomeroy said. “Mostly he’s pretty good-natured. But he was mad today. Good thing he didn’t catch you.”

“Are there any animals around that he’s friendly with?” Freddy asked. “I just wonder if we can tie him in with all this trouble they’re having in Centerboro.”

“I’ve heard something about that,” said the robin. “But the town’s out of our territory. We’re strictly a rural force; our job is to keep crime off the Bean farm.”

“Well, it’s to protect the innocent on the Bean farm too, isn’t it?” said Jinx. “And nearly everybody in Centerboro thinks we’re the ones behind all those robberies. There’s even been talk of lynching Freddy. And that’s why they’ve taken Hank away.” And he told about what had happened in Centerboro.

“Dear me,” said Mr. Pomeroy, “I had no idea things were as bad as that. We’ll get on to it right away. A horse and a pig, eh? Well, some of the boys have reported seeing this bull talking to a pig up on the back road. A couple of times in the early evening.”

“They didn’t think it was me, did they—the pig?” Freddy asked.

“Oh, no,” said the robin. “The description was quite different. This pig wasn’t nearly as—ha, h’m—well, I mean to say, he was—”

“You mean he wasn’t as fat as Freddy, don’t you?” Jinx asked.

“I wasn’t putting it that way,” said Mr. Pomeroy with dignity. “I was about to say that he wasn’t as well nourished. He was rangy, tough-looking. We figured he was just a tramp.”

“If they saw him more than once, he isn’t likely to be a tramp, just passing through. Did they hear what was said?”

“Weren’t close enough. But they heard the bull’s name. The pig said: ‘Hi, Percy,’ when they met.”

“Percy!” Freddy exclaimed delightedly. “Oh, boy!”

“Good, eh?” said Mr. Pomeroy. “He isn’t what I’d call a sensitive type, but I bet he’s sensitive about that. I thought Mrs. P. and I might go up and kid him a little—about that, and the perfumery. Maybe we could get him to leave.”

“It’s worth trying,” Freddy said. “But don’t forget the Centerboro business. I don’t want to be lynched.”

“Cheer up, Freddy,” said the cat. “We’ll all come, if you are. And the farm’s going to seem kind of tame to us after all our adventures on the road. A good lynching might liven things up.”

Mr. Pomeroy looked a little shocked. “I think things will be lively enough without having your friends lynched, Jinx,” he said. And to Freddy: “I’ll get on to it right away. And I’ll warn everybody to watch for Mrs. Peppercorn’s bicycle. A lady’s bicycle, blue with a white stripe, right?”

“Right,” said Freddy. “Come along, Jinx; let’s go talk to Uncle Ben.”