CHAPTER

16

Freddy’s tail had come uncurled; it always did when he was scared. When Jackson shouted the second time for him to open up, he tried to think of something to say in reply, something defiant, and insulting without being vulgar. But he was afraid that his voice might squeak, as it sometimes did when he was excited and also he couldn’t think of anything. So he kept still and peered out through the little window at the side of the door.

Jackson and Felix were close to the door and Mr. Condiment stood behind them—a poor place to be, as it turned out. They were still white with flour. Freddy saw Jackson hold the lantern higher, and Felix raised a short axe and drove it in to split the door panel. At the same moment three little clouds of flour dust puffed out from the back of Mr. Condiment’s coat and with a loud screech he turned and ran. Felix and Jackson swung round. “I don’t like this,” said Felix. “First he claims centipedes are chasin’ him, and now this! Guy’s gone nuts.”

“Maybe so,” said Jackson. “But we want that gadget.” And he raised the axe again.

And three little puffs of dust came out of his coat, and he said: “Ouch!” and whirled around and followed Mr. Condiment.

“Well for gosh sakes!” said Felix. He held up the lantern and looked after his friend. Then evidently he caught sight of the two arrows sticking in Jackson’s back. He dropped the lantern and began beating on the door. “Hey, pig!” he shouted. “Let me in! Save me! My gosh, if I’d known there was Indians up in this country I’d never have left Philadelphia. Hey, don’t leave us out here to be murdered! Let me in!”

Freddy didn’t answer. But some of the Horribles hiding out in the grass had heard, and they lifted up their voices in a pretty good imitation of a war whoop. Felix dropped the lantern and ran. They could hear him crashing through the brush on the south side of the field. Slowly the sound died away. “He’ll be back in Philadelphia by morning at that rate,” Freddy said. And perhaps he was. At any rate, he was never seen again in that part of the country.

But Jackson was made of sterner stuff. Half an hour later he came back. He had on a heavy leather jacket which the little arrows could not pierce and he had tied newspapers around his legs and arms. Condiment was with him, but stayed well in the background while he again attacked the door. But this time Freddy was ready for him. For the window over the front door had been opened and a sack of flour balanced on the sill. And at the first blow of the axe Freddy dumped the contents of the sack on his head. Blinded and choking, he stumbled down from the steps and Mr. Condiment led him away.

One more attempt however the enemy made that night to force an entrance into the house. They attacked the back door. They came with a rush, down through the woods which grew close to the house on that side, carrying between them a length of two by four with which they hoped to smash in the lock at the first impact. And perhaps they would have succeeded. But just before they reached the house there was a flash and a tremendous bang among the trees behind them, and shot rattled on the clapboards. Somebody had fired a shotgun at them. They dropped the two by four and ran.

It was the Horribles who had had the honor of repelling this last charge. Eight of them had taken one of the guns from the hollow tree and had dragged it across the field and up back of the house, where they had got it up on to an old stump so that the muzzle was pointing at the door. It was 23 who had pulled the trigger. Some time later his comrades brought him into the house on an improvised litter. The gun of course had kicked him so hard that he had turned two complete somersaults, and he had a badly sprained shoulder and was suffering from shock. It was for this brave deed that he later got the Benjamin Bean Distinguished Service Medal.

It was 23 who had pulled the trigger.

After this there were no further attacks on the house and presently No. 4 came in to report that the men had climbed into the plane and gone to sleep. “Condiment wanted Jackson to fly him back to Philadelphia to get reinforcements,” he said, “but Jackson said he’d been up all night and was too tired—he had to sleep first. And anyway, he said, he didn’t need any reinforcements. He said no pig could put anything over on him. He said, wait till morning, he’d get into the house all right.”

“He can, too,” said Freddy. “They’ve got pistols. I guess we’ll have to abandon the house. If we hide in the woods—”

“Rabbit No. 4 reporting,” said a voice from the doorway. “There’s a car coming up the old road. Jackson’s gone out to stop it. He took a pistol.”

“Come on,” said Freddy. He unlocked the front door cautiously and went out. It was beginning to get light. In the fringe of trees at the edge of the field he stopped. A car started somewhere, and then a station wagon came slowly across to the plane. Jackson walked beside it. It drew up beside the plane, but Freddy couldn’t hear what was being said. After a few minutes Jackson got into the wagon and it drove off.

Pretty soon No. 4 came back. “They were lost,” he said. “Got on the wrong road. Mr. Condiment asked them to take Jackson down to West Nineveh so he could phone to Mr. Mandible, in Philadelphia. He is to tell Mandible to charter a plane and come at once. He said to bring guns.”

“Well, he’s alone in the plane,” Freddy said, “but we can’t do anything when he’s armed. I guess we’re stuck. Who were those people, 4?”

“Little man with a black beard was driving. And there was a great big woman in the back. She had on a hat—gosh, I never saw such a big hat. She did all the talking. Very deep voice, she had. Funny thing, it sounded familiar, too. Reminded me of somebody I know, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell who.”

Freddy went back in and got the Benjamin Bean Improved Self-filling Piggy Bank and they took it up in the woods and hid it. Then he moved down to a position near the burned-out barn, where he could watch the plane. It was daylight now. Mr. Condiment’s head was sticking up out of the rear cockpit, peering around in all directions like a hen in a crate. There was nothing to be done, so Freddy lay down on the ground and went to sleep.

Perhaps an hour later Sniffy woke him. “Car’s coming.” He got up and went to the edge of the road and watched from behind a tree. The car crawled along over the ruts. “They haven’t got Jackson,” said Sniffy.

Freddy could see the people in the car now. The woman in the back seat was enormous; he couldn’t figure how she had ever managed to get in. She was wrapped and swathed in shawls and she had on a hat which reminded him of the White Queen in Alice, only it was bigger. It stuck way out at the sides and a veil was draped over it and over her big white face—the kind of voluminous veil that women used to wear in the early days of automobiles, when there weren’t any windshields.

Freddy stepped out into the road, and the car stopped. “Well, young man?” said the woman in a deep booming voice.

“Excuse me,” said Freddy. “May I speak to you a moment?”

“That’s what you’re doing, ain’t it?” she said. “Not that I want to hear anything you’ve got to say. Stand aside, young whippersnapper, if you don’t want to be run over. Drive on, Percival.”

The driver jerked his head around and stared at her; then he muttered something and shifted gears.

But Freddy stood his ground. “Wait a minute. That man in there, Mr. Condiment—he’s a crook. He’s a—”

“And what are you, may I ask?” she boomed. “Well, I’ll answer that myself. I know you! You’re the fat, lazy good-for-nothing pig that lives on poor old Mr. Bean, eating him out of house and home. You’re that pig that runs a bank for animals, and gets their money away from them and they never get it back. You’re the editor of the Bean Home News that prints terrible lies about your friends and—”

Freddy began to laugh. “Hold it, hold it!” he said. “That’s the truth—every word you’ve spoken is the truth. Now do you want me to tell you who you are?”

“Oh, dear land!” she said. “I knew you’d recognize me, Freddy.” And she put back her veil and disclosed the broad face of Mrs. Wiggins. “How do you like this get-up? Think I’ve got too much lipstick on?”

“I like your hat,” Freddy said. “But who’s your chauffeur? I don’t seem to know him.”

The driver unhooked his beard from his ears and rubbed his chin. “Hot,” he said. “Wonder how General Grant stood it.”

“Uncle Ben!” Freddy exclaimed. “Well, I really didn’t know you!”

“Look, Freddy,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “We got rid of Jackson down the road a piece. He may go to Nineveh and phone, or he may not. Last we saw of him he was cavortin’ off over the hills, yellin’, so I’d guess not.”

“How’d you get rid of him?” Freddy asked.

Mrs. Wiggins grinned. “Put back my veil and kissed him,” she said. “Oh, I mustn’t think of it, I’ll get to laughing. What do you want me to do?”

“Tell me first what happened. Why you’re here,” he said.

So she told him that when Mr. Condiment’s plane had landed at the farm they had of course thought it was Freddy. The men had come down through the barnyard and gone up into the loft and taken the Benjamin Bean Improved Self-filling Piggy Bank and marched off with it without any opposition at all. A few of the animals had come out, but the men had revolvers—there was nothing to be done. Nobody wanted to call Mr. Bean because they were afraid he’d be shot. But Jinx had come back to the farm with Mr. Condiment—he had hidden in the plane—and he told them about Freddy’s capture. “So Uncle Ben and I thought we’d better come up,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “So what do you think we’d better do now?”

“That’s what I’m going to ask you,” Freddy said. “I’ve messed things up enough. I should stick to detective work and let dilemmas alone.”

“Oh, folderol and fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Wiggins. “You’ve done plenty. Now let’s have your ideas.”

Freddy said he hadn’t any.

“Good grief!” she said. “If you’ve run out of ideas … Well, we’ll have to do the best we can with Uncle Ben’s. Tell him, Uncle Ben.”

Uncle Ben pointed a finger at Mrs. Wiggins. “Demon Woman,” he said.

“That’s me,” said the cow. “You pretty near fixed Condiment with the Great Serpent and the Leopard Woman. Now if the Demon Woman of Grisly Gulch comes alive—well, what are we waiting for? Get in and crouch down, Freddy, so Condiment won’t see you.” She pulled down her veil. “Drive on, Percival.” And Uncle Ben hooked on his beard and started the car.