CHAPTER x.x.xIV

THE TRAIL'S END

This trampled channel petered out in a comparatively bare area across which was more brush. Almost hidden in this was a tumbled-down shack, hardly bigger than a closet, in which boys who had been wont to dive from the old bridge had donned their bathing suits. It had been thrown together as a storage place for fishing tackle and crab nets and these latter, rotten and gray with age still hung in the dank, musty place.

Pee-wee paused a moment, irresolute, nervous. He had a strange feeling, a feeling of apprehension which amounted to a certainty. And as he paused two charred bits of timber from the old bridge, still held together by a rusty brace, creaked, and the creaking seemed loud in the stillness of desolation.

A rusty can, the discarded receptacle of bait, lay at his feet, and in his hesitation and transient fear, he kicked it, and followed it, kicking it again. Then, banishing such cracked-up excuses for delay he put aside his fears and went around the tiny shelter to where the rotted door hung loose upon one broken hinge.

Within lay a human figure. The hair was wet and matted and p.r.i.c.kly leaves were stuck in it. The face was streaked with blood, the clothes were torn. One of the legs lay in a very unnatural att.i.tude. The eyes were wide open and staring with a gla.s.sy look at some rough fishing rods which lay across the rafters above. One of the arms was outstretched and the hand lay open as if its owner were saying, "Here I am, you see."

There was something very appalling about that dumb att.i.tude of speech and welcome when the voice and the eyes could not speak. For he had "got dead," this poor troubled creature "got dead" after committing one hideous crime to hide another.

The people in the nearest house along the now deserted highway came at Pee-wee's breathless summons and gazed down silently but would not touch the figure with outstretched arm and opened hand that seemed to say, "Step in, you're welcome, here I am."

So they called the coroner and the body of Deadwood Gamely was borne away and it was soon known that he had died from injuries received in falling down the embankment which he was scrambling up after setting fire to one of the supports of the old bridge.

He had not done this horrible thing willfully, at least not for money to spend. That very day a warrant was issued for his arrest in Baxter City for embezzlement of funds which he had stolen from the bank in which he had been employed. But the angel of death had traveled faster than the law.

That the contractors, or one of them, who wished to benefit the county with a modern bridge had offered Gamely pay to do this dreadful deed of arson seemed certain. But it seemed equally certain that the wretched boy had balked at this frightful enterprise, putting it off from day to day, until discovery and arrest for his other crime stared him in the face. He had waited till the very night before the day on which his petty thefts would be revealed. Then in frantic desperation he had taken this only means of acquiring a sum of money quickly. No one could say this for a certainty.

But in a story where we have witnessed so many good turns may we not dismiss poor Deadwood Gamely and his tragic end from our thoughts with the hope, nay, even the confidence, that his second crime was not a deed of willing choice? There was more money misappropriated by Tom, d.i.c.k and Harry, before the new steel bridge was up than ever poor Deadwood Gamely, with his silly clothes and hat, would have dared to steal. And so the tax rate went up and Commissioner Somebody--or--other got a new automobile and County Engineer Grabson built a big house and so on, and so on, and so on.

But before the new million-dollar bridge was finished the Pepsy Roadside Rest was flourishing as the only real "monolopy" in Everdoze.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

EXIT

So it befell that the big black wagon belonging to the brick orphan home came and turned around and went back again. It got in the way of all the automobiles that were headed for The Home of Fresh Doughnuts (a new sign) and was a nuisance generally. The men who drove it didn't buy so much as a gumdrop.

But what cared the partners? For such a business were they doing as would make the Standard Oil Company turn green with envy. Their financial rating was so high that you couldn't see it without a telescope. Every time there was a strike over at the new bridge the partners reaped a profit from the delay. Thus labor unconsciously put business in the way of monopolies.

And so the great enterprise prospered. The advertising department had now two steady employees--Licorice Stick and Wiggle. Licorice Stick covered the road up as far as Berryville with a huge placard hung from his neck. Wiggle proudly flew an inflated balloon from his tail bearing the appropriate reminder HOT DOGS AT THE PEPSY REST.

One evening, oh, it must have been about six o'clock, the weary partners were closing up their little shack for the night. Pepsy was counting the money and Pee-wee was eating the cookies that were left over. For he was conscientious and must open shop with a fresh supply each day. Sometimes he would have a dozen or more to eat, but he did it bravely--from a sense of duty. A scout is dutiful.

Presently there hove in sight a large figure, walking.

"Oh, it's Mr. Jensen," said Pepsy; "hurry up and finish the cookies or he'll want them; he always does that."

Mr. Jensen came up mopping his forehead.

"Any lemonade left?" he asked.

"There's about one gla.s.s," Pee-wee said.

In accordance with his invariable daily custom, Mr. Jensen bought up the remainder of stock, drank several gla.s.ses of cider, and chatted with the partners.

"Ain't heard of any rivals, have you?" he asked. "We've got the whole detour eating out of our hands," said Pee-wee, which was literally true.

"Makin' money fast, huh? You takin' good care of this little gal of mine?"

Pepsy smiled at him and he put his arm around her and kissed her and said, "If he don't take good care of you, you just come and let me know."

Then he winked at Pee-wee.

When he was gone something reminded Pee-wee to look into the big lemonade cooler and make sure that it was empty. It was not quite empty, there being about ten lemon pits, a slice of rind, and a small piece of ice left in the bottom of it. But this was worth going after and Pee-wee went after it. With all his strength he raised the goodly cooler to a position above his head and tilted it to his mouth. His arms trembled under its weight, and his hands slipped upon its cold, beady sides. The several drops of highly diluted lemonade trickled down into his mouth but the flavory pits and rind remained at bay at the bottom of the cooler.

They would not roll but they might fall. Pee-wee held the cooler up to a perfectly perpendicular position above his upturned face. Then, oh, horrors! The wet cooler slipped through his hands and the curly head of Pee-wee Harris disappeared within it. If the postman who found him wrestling valiantly with a banana and clinging with the other hand, could only have seen him in this new and terrible predicament!

And thus the curly head and terribly frowning countenance of Scout Harris disappears out of our story into a new realm of joy. ...

THE END

Other books by Percy Keese Fitzhugh (7 Sep 1876 - 5 Jul 1950). Note that characters from each series crossover to or are mentioned in the others.

1 - Pee-wee Harris - 1922

2 - Pee-wee Harris On The Trail - 1922

3 - Pee-wee Harris In Camp - 1922

4 - Pee-wee Harris In Luck - 1922

5 - Pee-wee Harris Adrift - 1922

6 - Pee-wee Harris F.O.B. Bridgeboro - 1923

7 - Pee-wee Harris: Fixer - 1924

8 - Pee-wee Harris As Good As His Word - 1925

9 - Pee-wee Harris: Mayor for a Day - 1926

10 - Pee-wee Harris and The Sunken Treasure - 1927

11 - Pee-wee Harris On The Briny Deep - 1928

12 - Pee-wee Harris In Darkest Africa - 1929

13 - Pee-wee Harris Turns Detective - 1930