"Darn Weeble!"

At which moment there was a strike of lightning and a following of thunder and a drench of rain.

"My gosh!" said Doug. "Look."

The rain poured over the courthouse square and the old men jumped up, momentarily forgetting the chess pieces, which tumbled in the deluge.

"Quick, guys, now. Each of you grab as many as you can!" cried Doug.

They all moved forward in a pack, to fall upon the chess pieces.

There was another strike of lightning, another burst of thunder.

"Now!" cried Doug.

There was a third strike of lightning and the boys scrambled, they seized.

The chessboards were empty.

The boys stood laughing at the old men hiding under the trees.

Then, like crazed bats, they rushed off to fi nd shelter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"Bleak!" Quartermain barked into his tele phone.

"Cal?"

"By G.o.d, they got the chess pieces that were sent from Italy the year Lincoln was shot. Shrewd d.a.m.n idiots! Come here tonight. We must plan our counterattack. I'll call Gray."

"Gray's busy dying."

"Christ, he's always dying! We'll have to do it ourselves."

"Steady now, Cal. They're just chess pieces."

"It's what they signify, Bleak! This is a full rebellion."

"We'll buy new chess pieces."

"h.e.l.l, I might as well be speaking to the dead. Just be here. I'll call Gray and make him put off dying for one more day."

Bleak laughed quietly.

"Why don't we just chuck all those Bolshevik boys into a pot, boil them down to essence of kid?"

"So long, Bleak!"

He rang off and called Gray. The line was busy. He slammed the receiver down, picked it up, and tried again. Listening to the signal, he heard the tapping of tree branches on the window, faintly, far away.

My G.o.d, Quartermain thought, I can hear what he's up to. That's dying all right.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

There was this old haunted house on the far edge of the ravine.

How did they know it was haunted?

Because they said so. Everyone knew it.

It had been there for close on to one hundred years and everybody said that while it wasn't haunted during the day, at nighttime strange things happened there.

It seemed a perfectly logical place for the boys to run, Doug leading them and Tom bringing up the rear, carrying their wild treasure, the chess pieces.

It was a grand place to hide because no one-except for a pack of wild boys-would dare come to a haunted house, even if it was full daytime.

The storm still raged and if anyone had looked close at the haunted house, chanced walking through the creaky old doors, down the musty old hallways, up even creakier old stairs, they would have found an attic full of old chairs, smelling of ancient bamboo furniture polish and full of boys with fresh faces who had climbed up in the downfall sounds of the storm, accompanied by intermittent cracks of lightning and thunderclaps of applause, the storm taking delight in its ability to make them climb faster and laugh louder as they leapt and settled, one by one, Indian style, in a circle on the fl oor.

Douglas pulled a candle stub, lit it, and stuff ed it in an old gla.s.s candlestick holder. At last, from a burlap gunnysack, he pulled forth and set down, one by one, all the captured chess pieces, naming them for Charlie and Will and Tom and Bo and all the rest. He tossed them forth to settle, like dogs called to war.

"Here's you, Charlie." Lightning cracked.

"Yeah!"

"Here's you, Willie." Thunder boomed.

"Yeah!"

"And you, Tom."

"That's too small and plain," Tom protested. "Can't I be king?"

"Shut up or you're the queen."

"I'm shut," said Tom.

Douglas finished the list and the boys cl.u.s.tered round, their faces shining with sweat, eager for the next lightning bolt to let loose its electric shower. Distant thunder cleared its throat.

"Listen!" cried Doug. "We've almost got it made. The town's almost ours. We got all the chess pieces, so the old men can't shove us around. Can anyone do better?"

n.o.body could and admitted it, happily.

"Just one thing," said Tom. "How'd you work that lightning, Doug?"

"Shut up and listen," said Douglas, aggrieved that central intelligence had almost been wormed away from him.

"The thing is, one way or another, I got the lightning to knock the bellyb.u.t.tons off the old sailors and Civil War vets on the lawn. They're all home now, dying like fl ies. Flies."

"Only one thing wrong," said Charlie. "The chess pieces are ours right now, sure. But-I'd give anything for a good hot dog."

"Don't say that!"

At which moment lightning struck a tree right outside the attic window. The boys dropped fl at.

"Doug! Heck! Make it stop!"

Eyes shut, Douglas shouted, "I can't! I take it back. I lied!"

Dimly satisfied, the storm went away, grumbling.

As if announcing the arrival of someone or something important, a final distant strike of lightning and a rumble of thunder caused the boys to look toward the stairwell, leading down to the second floor of the house.

Far below, someone cleared his throat.

Douglas p.r.i.c.ked his ears, moved to the stairwell, and intuitively called down.

"Grandpa?"

"Seems to be," a voice said from the bottom of the stairs. "You boys are not very good at covering your tracks. You left footprints in the gra.s.s all the way across town. I followed along, asking questions along the way, getting directions, and here I am."

Doug swallowed hard and said again: "Grandpa?"

"There seems to be a small commotion back in town," said Grandpa, far below, out of sight.

"Commotion?"

"Something like that," said Grandpa's voice.

"You coming up?"

"No," said Grandpa. "But I have a feeling you're coming down. I want you to come see me for a visit and we're gonna have a little talk. And then you've got to run an errand because something has been purloined."

"Purloined?"

"Mr. Poe used that word. If need be, you can go back and check the story and refresh your memory."

"Purloined," said Douglas. "Oh, yeah."

"Whatever was purloined-and right now I'm not quite sure what it was," said Grandpa, far away, "-but whatever it was, I think, son, that it should be returned to where it belongs. There are rumors that the town sheriff has been called, so I think you should hop to it."

Douglas backed off and stared at his companions, who had heard the voice from below and were now frozen, not knowing what to do.

"You got nothing more to say?" called Grandpa from down below. "Well, maybe not here. I'm gonna get going; you know where to find me. I'll expect you there soon."

"Yeah, yes, sir."

Doug and the boys were silent as they listened to Grandpa's footsteps echo throughout the haunted house, along the hall, down the stairs, out onto the porch. And then, nothing.

Douglas turned and Tom held up the burlap sack.

"You need this, Doug?" he whispered.

"Gimme."

Doug grabbed the gunnysack and sc.r.a.ped all the chess pieces up and dropped them, one by one, into the sack. There went Pete and Tom and Bo and all the rest.

Doug shook the gunnysack; it made a dry rattling sound like old men's bones.

And with a last backward glance at his army, Doug started down.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Grandpa's library was a fine dark place bricked with books, so anything could happen there and always did. All you had to do was pull a book from the shelf and open it and suddenly the darkness was not so dark anymore.

Here it was that Grandpa sat in place with now this book and now that in his lap and his gold specs on his nose, welcoming visitors who came to stay for a moment and lingered for an hour.

Even Grandmother paused here, after some burdensome time, as an aging animal seeks the watering place to be refreshed. And Grandfather was always here to offer cups of good clear Walden Pond, or shout down the deep well of Shakespeare and listen, with satisfaction, for echoes.