The Red Chipmunk Mystery (16 page)

Old Blade looked a little bored with the whole thing until Djuna led him over beside a big rock on the bank. When Djuna climbed up on the rock and then on to Old Blade’s back, Blade was more surprised than he had been in a long time. He turned his head and lifted his eyebrows at Djuna as though to ask, “What kind of funny business is this?”

But when Djuna pulled on the left rein and gave Old Blade a gentle kick in the ribs with both feet Old Blade seemed to know exactly what was expected of him. He wheeled around and started to
trot
down the short level stretch beside the slag pile as though he had been broken to the saddle a long time before and could still remember what he was supposed to do when someone climbed on his back.

Djuna had ridden Mr. Pindler’s old horse bareback, maybe a dozen times, but Mr. Pindler’s horse had never trotted the way Old Blade was doing. Having no saddle or stirrups, Djuna began to bounce around like a chip of wood on a stormy sea. During the first hundred feet Djuna nearly fell off twice, and then he learned to wrap his legs as tightly as he could around Old Blade’s belly and to hang on to his mane. When they Came to the steep hill Old Blade slowed down to a cautious walk and Djuna held the reins taut so that if Blade stumbled he wouldn’t fall forward on his knees and throw him over his head.

It seemed to Djuna as Old Blade picked his way carefully down the steep winding hill that he could never remember any space of time that passed so slowly. It seemed like all eternity between the time they left the slag pile and when they reached the foot of the hill. Djuna tried counting, to take his mind off the possibility of pursuit and to make the time seem to go faster. He counted to one hundred five times, very slowly, before they reached the bottom.

And when they were on level road again Old Blade had another surprise for him. When Djuna nudged him with his heels Blade broke into a trot and a moment later he stretched his legs and went into a long, easy canter that made Djuna feel as though he was riding in a rocking-chair and made it much easier for him to stay on Old Blade’s back. A cool breeze fanned his hot face and it almost seemed as though he was floating along as Old Blade thundered over the little wooden bridge, just before they came to the bottom of the next hill. When Old Blade slowed down to a walk at the bottom of the hill he turned his head and looked at Djuna as though to say, “What do you think of that for running, chum?” Djuna gave him two lumps of sugar as an answer.

Djuna leaned forward and patted Old Blade on the neck and when he took his hand away it was wet with lather. Blade snorted a half-dozen times as he climbed the short hill and he sounded exactly like some spirited charger of old carrying an armoured knight into battle.

Every few minutes Djuna would glance back over his shoulder, expecting to see the black car of the two men who had seized Mr. Scissors. Somehow Djuna felt that Mr. Scissors had not told the men where they could find Old Blade’s bridle because he, Mr. Scissors, wanted to know
why
they were so anxious to get it. At the same time he felt that if the men really began to torture him Mr. Scissors would tell them where to find the bridle, because above all else Mr. Scissors had good common sense and he wouldn’t know
why
they wanted the bridle. Djuna figured that if he could just get the bridle
first
and then find Mr. Harley, the constable in Cliffton Valley, they could capture the two men; because Socker Furlong and the troopers would be coming in from the other direction and they would have the men cornered.

A few minutes later Djuna and Old Blade went past the place where they had camped the night before and after a series of short, steep hills they were on the level again; and Old Blade went by the road that led down to Ferry Crossing beside the river with the wind whistling by Djuna’s ears. He was hanging on for dear life now because Old Blade seemed to have sensed the seriousness of the matter, too, and was putting everything he had into his running. And although Old Blade didn’t have the speed that he had had a few years before, it seemed to Djuna that they were flying.

Men and boys working in the fields along the road stopped their work and stood gazing with startled wonder in their eyes as they went thundering into the level stretch towards Cliffton Valley. Housewives hearing the beat of Old Blade’s hoofs came running from their kitchens to peer through their front doors and windows at the cloud of dust Old Blade left in his wake. Dogs came tearing out of driveways to bark and snap at his flying hoofs, but Old Blade paid no attention to them whatsoever. Old Blade had taken the bit in his teeth and he was determined to take Djuna where he wanted to go, if it killed him.

Once Old Blade stumbled and nearly fell, throwing Djuna forward on his neck. For a terrifying instant Djuna thought he was going straight over his head but he clung to Old Blade’s mane with a desperate clutch until Old Blade picked up his stride again and settled into his long, easy canter.

It was then that some of the lines of a poem Djuna had learned in school sang through his mind and he said aloud:

Djuna leaned forward on Old Blade’s shoulder and patted his neck as he shouted words of encouragement and praise into his ear. Old Blade heaved a great sigh but he lengthened his stride as he heard Djuna’s words, and now Djuna could see the scattered houses on the outskirts of Cliffton Valley across the fields on his right. He knew that he must begin to slow Old Blade down, to enable him to make the turn into the short road to the right that led down into the village proper, and he began to say, “
Whoa, Blade! Whoa, Blade! Whoa, Blade!
” over and over as he pulled gently on the reins.

But Old Blade had no intention of slowing down. He had the bit in his teeth and he intended to keep it there until they had reached their destination. When Djuna yanked on the right rein just before they came to the road leading down to Cliffton Valley Old Blade just took it in his stride. He circled wide and made the turn with Djuna leaning as hard as he could against the turn. It was then that Djuna knew he had to do something or Old Blade would go right straight down the main street and into the Herring River. He shouted, “
WHOA, BLADE!
” at the top of his voice just once, and then he leaned back and pulled on the reins with all his strength. After a few moments Old Blade reduced his stride, and then, just before he changed from a canter to a trot he reared up on his hind legs, with his front feet pawing the air while Djuna clung desperately to his mane. As Djuna released the pressure on the bit he dropped down on all fours and settled down to a brisk walk, just as Djuna hoped he would do.

Djuna knew that every one in Cliffton Valley would know that he was riding Mr. Scissors’ horse and he knew, too, that unless he passed through the main street quietly every one would think that something had happened to Mr. Scissors again and they would follow him and he wouldn’t be able to do what he hoped to do at Mike Tromboni’s shoe shop.

Fortunately the cobbler’s shop was on the corner of the first street Djuna came to and no one paid the slightest attention to him as he brought Old Blade to a weary, puffing halt in front of it and slid off his back. He tied one of Old Blade’s reins to a pillar that supported a roof across the sidewalk and wished that he had a blanket to throw over Old Blade’s lathered back. For an instant, before he went inside, he hesitated and wondered if he ought not to go and tell Mr. Harley about things first. But he decided it was more important to get the bridle first, so he opened the door of the shop and stepped inside.

There was no one in the shop, but as he opened the door he heard a bell tinkle in the back where Mike Trombini and his family lived.

The door to the back opened and a short, harassed-looking woman with worried eyes appeared. Behind her was a bevy of half a dozen children of assorted sizes with very dirty faces and big, brown eyes.

“You-a wanta seeah Mike, a-a-h?” she said, and bobbed her head up and down rapidly.

“Yes, please, if he’s here,” Djuna said, and his eyes roved around the walls of the shop to find Old Blade’s bridle.

“He no-a here. He go to store. He be back!” the woman said in three explosive sentences. Then she turned on the children all around her and said, “
Adamo! Blanca! Clarissa! Dominico! Eustachio! Filippina! Giotto!
Scramo!” She waved her hands at them, and they all scurried back with her into the kitchen as Djuna stared at them and watched Mrs. Trombini close the door behind them.

Djuna looked all around again, and on a hook behind the counter he saw a bridle. It was the only one he could see in the shop, so he decided it must be the one he was after. To reach it, he darted behind the counter and stood on the shoemaker’s bench where Mike Tromboni worked. Djuna’s heart was hammering as he took the bridle from the hook and looked at it closely.

It was a very fancy bridle with a dee-head bit, brass rosettes and patent leather blinds with the letter “H” in brass, fastened to both of them. When Djuna saw the two large letters he knew the bridle had come from Hilltop. He looked it over very carefully and saw that there was a bulge in the centre of each blinder and that at some time the stitching that held the two pieces of patent leather together on each blinder had been cut and had been carefully sewn together again with hand stitches.

His hand was trembling as he reached for one of Mike Tromboni’s sharp knives and very carefully ripped out the hand stitching on each blinder. He stood there staring at the things that had been hidden in the blinders for a moment and then he whipped himself into action. He looked around seeking a place to hide the things, knowing that at any minute the two men who had kidnapped Mr. Scissors might come tearing up to the door in their car, or Mike Tromboni might walk in.

Seeing no likely hiding-place, he picked up an old newspaper that was lying on the counter and wrapped the objects into two small parcels and started to put them in his pockets. But just as he did his eyes happened to light on a pair of girl’s moccasins that were sitting on the shelf behind the shoemaker’s bench. He recognised them as the pair Joan had brought to Mike Tromboni to be repaired. He stuffed one of the parcels in the toe of each moccasin and then packed more newspaper in on top of them to wedge them there. Then he placed the moccasins back on the shelf.

Picking up the bridle again, he noticed where one strap on the face-piece of the over-check had worn so thin that it was about to break, and he supposed Mr. Scissors had brought the bridle to Mike Tromboni to reinforce the strap. Looking around again, Djuna saw a small can of shoemaker’s glue with a small brush lying across the top. With swift movements he pressed back the two pieces of leather that made up each blinder and smeared glue along the edges of each piece of leather. The glue was thick and strong and Djuna saw that it dried very quickly, when he got some on his fingers. He pressed the edges of the blinders together and after putting one on top of the other he laid the bridle on the shoemaker’s bench and put his knee on the blinders while the glue dried. For ten agonising minutes while he kept his eye on the front window of the shop he kept his knee there. When he picked the bridle up and inspected it, the glue had set and the blinders looked as though the stitches had never been cut. He was snickering to himself as he hastily climbed up on the cobbler’s bench and put the bridle back where he had found it.

But his grin disappeared as he opened the front door of the shop with the idea of running to Ed Harley’s house as fast as his legs would carry him. The black sedan came to a screaming halt in a cloud of dust just as Djuna put one foot on the doorstep. The sedan’s two front doors opened the instant the car stopped and the tall, thin man and Louie stepped out and cut Djuna off before he could start to run. For a split fraction of a second Djuna considered running back through the shop and into Mike Tromboni’s living quarters and out the back door to escape. But when he saw the thin man’s hand in his pocket and the bulge there he knew he couldn’t do that because Mrs. Tromboni or one of her children might be shot.

“Stick him in the back of the car,” the tall man said to Louie as he brushed Djuna out of the way and went into the shop.

“Get in the back and keep your mouth shut!” Louie snarled at Djuna. When Djuna hesitated Louie grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back and rushed him across the porch to the car. He opened the rear door and shoved Djuna in so hard that he fell on the floor. As Djuna climbed to his feet and sat down on the back seat the tall man came out of the cobbler’s shop. His unshaven, pasty face was twisted into something that was between a sneer and a smile as he held the bridle up for Louie to see it.

“Right where granpa said we’d find it,” he shouted, and he ran around and got into the driver’s seat of the black sedan as Louie, his face beaming, got in beside Djuna.

“Let’s see the little sweetheart,” Louie said, and he reached over the back of the front seat where the tall man had thrown the bridle.

“Keep y’r mitts off it!” the tall man snarled at Louie, as he swung the car around. Louie drew his hand back quickly and settled back in the seat beside Djuna.

“Look, Moon,” Louie said, as they swung on to the valley road and headed back towards the Slate Quarry Hill, “whatta we wanna take this young jerk with us for? He’ll just be in the way.”

“He may be very useful as a hostage,” Moon snapped back from the front seat, “if we have to start shootin’ our way out of the valley. They won’t plug us while there is danger of hittin’ him.”

When Joan and Buddy and Champ reached the top of Slate Quarry Hill they were all pretty hot; so they sat down on a big rock in the shade. They could see the sunlight sparkling on the London River to the west and a dim outline of the mountains behind it. After a little bit they all got their breath and Joan scratched Champ behind the ears until he put his head on his paws and went to sleep.