The Galloping Ghost

  CHAPTER IX RED GOES INTO ACTION

  All his life Red Rodgers had been trained for action. In the steel millsthere come times when men are divided into two classes, the quick and thedead. Red was not dead. The instant that piercing cry, coming from theopposite shore, reached his ears, he was alert, ready to act. His hand,already on the side of the rowboat, relaxed.

  "Oars creak," he murmured.

  Across the dark pool rested a canoe. He was there in a flash, canoe inthe water, paddle in place.

  "But a weapon!"

  He was, of course, unarmed. As his eyes roved about in that narrow space,they fell upon a pike pole. With a stout eight-foot handle and a steelpoint it was a weapon of a sort, spear or club, whichever he mightchoose. Reaching for this, he placed it without a sound in the canoe.

  Then he slid out into the silent night. The wind, he found, was growingstronger. It chilled him through. "Be warm enough soon." He set his teethgrimly.

  Waves sweeping in from somewhere down the channel threatened to overturnhis fragile craft. He handled it with skill. Great black banks of cloudcame rolling across the sky. The darkness was intense; yet he knew hisdirection. He pressed forward--to what? He could not say.

  "If it's a fight, it will be a good one." His hands grasped the paddlewith a grip of steel. "God is on the side of the fellow who fights forthe right. There's nothing right about men who carry away innocent girlsand then demand a reward for their return!"

  He was sending the canoe forward with strong, sweeping strokes. Now hejudged himself to be halfway across, now two-thirds. His pulse quickened.Had he heard a sound? Some one moving?

  A question came suddenly into his mind. He ceased paddling. How should hecome upon them? In the canoe? He'd be knocked into the water, first pop.Better to land below, then creep upon them.

  "Six inches of moss everywhere. I'll make no sound."

  He changed his course. The canoe shot away.

  He beached his canoe among alder bushes, then, pike pole in hand, creptforward. Holding his breath he parted bushes here, crossed a log there,climbed over a moss-covered boulder, then paused to listen. No sound savethe rush of water against rocky shores. Boo! How cold it was! How theclouds raced! Going to snow.

  "Should be about there," he told himself, and his pulse pounded.

  Ten more steps on the yielding moss, and again he paused. "Just one ortwo more trees." A black old spruce stood before him. "Just one or two,and then--"

  But what was that? A voice? Some one humming low? Yes, there it was!

  "Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee, where the coyotes howl ee-e--"

  The song trailed off into nothing.

  He stood there too astounded to move. The voice was that of a girl.

  "It must be that girl, Berley Todd. But she--she screamed."

  Having regained his power of motion, he rounded the spruce tree'sspreading branches.

  And then the moon rolled out from behind a cloud.

  What he saw held him spellbound. There stood the girl, her gracefulfigure swathed in dew-drenched clothing, her face scanning the blackwaters as she still sang:

  "Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee--"

  A gasp of astonishment from his lips startled her. She turned with thesuddenness of a frightened deer. Then, as she saw his figure outlinedagainst the spruce tree, she cried:

  "It is you! I'm glad. I'm drenched with the dews of Heaven. I'm frozen toa statue. Please, let's hurry!"

  Red said never a word. In response to her request he hurried. Fiveminutes had not passed when their canoe bumped on the other shore. Theyskirted the boat house, rounded a long low cabin and at last reached adoor.

  The door, which was fastened, yielded to Red's sturdy shoulder. Then theywere inside.

  "Oh-o!" the girl breathed. "How warm it seems! As if there were a fire."

  "There will be soon."

  Red flashed his torch about the room. A large fireplace, built of channelrocks, was just before him. As if they had been expected, the fire waslaid, and a box of safety matches lay on the rustic mantel.

  A match flared, a slow yellow flame mounted higher and higher and filledthe room with light.

  "Oh!" the girl cried suddenly. "You are the Red Rover? I--I'm glad!"

  "That's what they call me." Red did not smile. "I--I'm sorry."

  "Sorry! Why are you sorry?"

  "Sorry that you know. I'd rather be plain Red Rodgers who works in asteel mill and has ambitions of his own to become a foreman or a steeltester, or something like that."

  She looked at him in a puzzled way. Then her mood changed.

  "Do you know, I believe you're wet. See! You are making puddles on thefloor. And I--I'm sort of dampish myself."

  "We'll have a look about," said Red.

  Fifteen minutes later they returned to the fire. The girl had garbedherself in patched knickers a size too large, and a flaming red jacket.Red wore a mechanic's coveralls.

  And now he said: "Perhaps you will tell me why you screamed."

  * * * * * * * *

  But what of Drew Lane and Tom Howe? And who was the one who stood bangingon their door at dawn?

  You will be surprised when I tell you it was none other than our oldfriend, Johnny Thompson. Johnny was not in the habit of banging on doorsat dawn. At this moment, however, his business was urgent.

  "Just saw the Chief," he panted. "He sent me over hot-foot with a messagefor you. He says you are to get those kidnapers without delay and returnthe Red Rover to his squad."

  "That right?" Drew Lane arched his brows. "Didn't tell you where we'd belikely to find these kidnapers, did he?"

  "He did, and he didn't," Johnny replied shortly. Being young and only anamateur detective, he held the Chief of Police in great respect. For thatmatter, so did Drew Lane.

  "The Chief says," Johnny went on after swallowing hard, "that 'the publicis already aroused. Why couldn't they have snatched a senator or agovernor instead of the greatest football star of the age?' That's whathe said.

  "There wasn't much time for saying anything." Johnny's excitement grew."Telephone jangling all the time. Newspaper men, university professors,rich graduates, and all the little fellows who've bought tickets forSoldiers' Field to see the Red Rover rove--all calling at once anddemanding that something be done!

  "The Chief says you are to raid these places." He passed a slip of paperto Drew. "Suspected of kidnaping--the gangs that hang out in theseplaces."

  "Not without good reason," Drew grumbled. "You'd think--"

  The telephone rang. Drew snatched the receiver. "Sergeant Lane speaking."

  He listened a moment, then:

  "No, Chief. Just got the message. We'll get those raids off at once....Yes, some evidence--a bed sheet....

  "No--no marks. Bullet, and some shavings....

  "Seize all guns, oh, sure! How about jack-knives?...

  "Not customary? Not against the rules, is it?... A pocketknife is aweapon?... Thought so. All right, I'll collect 'em."

  Johnny thought he heard the Chief grumble something about "fool collegekids collecting pocket knives." Then Drew hung up.

  "Well," Drew drawled, "time for a cup of coffee and a plate of hots; thenwe've got to get out and give the public a great thrill by bringing thosekidnapers right in."

  "It won't be as easy as that, will it?" Johnny asked.

  "Not by a whole lot! The Red Rover must be in his place on the gridironof Soldiers' Field when the big game starts or the Police Department isforever disgraced."

  "It's worse than that," Johnny put in solemnly. "The Chief says it meanshis job and yours if we fail."

  "We? Are you with us?" Drew looked at the boy detective hopefully.

  "To the bitter end!" Johny grinned. "Never had less of other things todo, and never wanted to do anything quite so much as to help find the RedRover.

  "Think what it means!" he enthused. "Think what sort of fellow t
he RedRover is. None of your rich man's pampered sons! A steel mill worker,that's what he was. But he's a student as well as a star. Been leadinghis class in chemistry and math. Been working his way, too. They sayMarmon, the big meat packer, offered to pay his way. He's a graduate ofOld Midway. But Red turned him down; said it wasn't his idea of goodsportsmanship, nor the idea of the Grand Old Man's. Said he was going onhis own.

  "And he has. Three years. Steel mill worker in summer, hotel clerk inwinter. Who wouldn't hunt for a chap like that?

  "Never had the swell-head either. Always pushing the other fellows aheadof himself when he could. They say he has practically refused to take aplay through on more than one occasion when he considered the game won.Insisted on the other chaps having a chance at a touchdown. Went in forinterference instead and did double duty. Who wouldn't want to go out andhelp get some dirty crook who's snatched a chap like that? What did theywant him for? Revenge, or to get a wad of filthy greenbacks?"

  "Bravo!" Quiet Tom Howe sprang to his feet and clapped his hands. "Bravo!That's a grand oration! I could go to work now without my coffee.

  "And, by George, I will! Come on in here, Johnny. I want you to help metry a thing out." Tucking under his arm the bed sheet he had taken fromthe Red Rover's car berth, he disappeared inside his cubby-hole of alaboratory. Johnny followed.

  "I'll bring up a can of coffee and some doughnuts," Drew called.

  "O. K." was the muffled answer.