Read Online Humbug Mountain by Sid Fleischman - Free Book Online Page B

the Fool Killer grabbed me and Glorietta.
    But that was the moment a voice cut through the air, sharp as an ax. It came from the roof of the top deck.
    â€œYou! Drop the gun! I’ve got your overblown nose in my sights.”
    Our heads jerked upward. A skinny man stood tall against the sky, a rifle aimed downward, one of his eyes snapped shut and the other peering along the sights. His face was white as a mushroom.
    Shagnasty John stood awestruck. You’d think he was looking at a ghost, and maybe he thought he was.
    â€œIf I squeeze this trigger another hair, mister, you’ll have an extra hole for breathing.” The man’s voice was steady as his aim. “I recommended you drop that beanshooter, didn’t I?”
    Shagnasty John seemed to come unfroze. “Fixin’ to, yes sir.” He squinted up at the man. “You the varmint that’s been haunting this boat? Ain’t sociable to do a thing like that! Why, Fool Killer’s been gooseflesh from toe to head.”
    â€œDrop it!”
    â€œYes indeedy, sir!” Shagnasty John let the pepperbox clatter to the deck.
    â€œPick it up, Colonel,” said the man.
    Pa nodded grandly and gathered up his pistol. Ma gave a quick sigh of relief. “Get your hands off my children,” she snapped at the Fool Killer.
    He dropped us like poison ivy, and we scrambled over to Pa and Ma.
    The man on the roof kept his open blue eye to the sights. “Now then, you mildewed, lop-eared, flea-bitten buzzards—let’s see if you can run for your horses quicker’n I can shoot. And don’t stop running until you’re out of the territory. Get gone!
    The outlaws made a footrace along the deck and about tripped each other trying to be first onto the gangplank. They bounced across. I could hear Shagnasty John chuffing like a steam engine. The Fool Killer threw a glance back over his shoulder. He looked mad enough to bite nails.
    Before long they whipped their horses out of the cottonwoods and headed for the setting sun.
    Pa slipped the pepperbox pistol back into his pocket. “There’s coffee on the stove,” he said, tossing a look up at the stranger. “We’d be highly honored if you’d join us—”
    But the man was gone.

12
    MR. SLATHERS
    It didn’t take Pa long to figure a way to smoke the man out of hiding. He kept a pot of coffee boiling on the stove while we busied ourselves in the printshop. We had to distribute the newspaper type back into drawers, letter by letter, being careful to toss each into its own small compartment. The powerful smell of coffee drifted to every quarter of the boat.
    Ma set an extra place for supper, and Pa said, “Leave the door open.”
    We sat at our places and waited a good ten minutes or more. The doorway remained dark and empty. The stranger was almighty strange, I thought.
    â€œYou sure it wasn’t Grandpa?” Glorietta asked.
    â€œI would certainly recognize my own father,” Ma said. “Well, there’s no point in letting supper turn cold. It doesn’t look like he’s going to join us.”
    Pa nodded and we began passing around platters. “Confound it! I’ll be sorry to leave without thanking the man.”
    Ma shot a startled look at Pa. “Leave? It’s a roof over our heads, Rufus.”
    â€œAs Shagnasty put it, there’s nothing out here worth ten cents of God-help-us. It appears he was right. And our food won’t last another week, Jenny.”
    â€œWe can catch fish, Pa,” I said. “And maybe jackrabbits.”
    â€œCan’t we stay longer?” Glorietta exclaimed. “I’ve got a whole room to myself. And Grandpa—”
    â€œHe’s gone,” Pa said. He avoided Ma’s eyes. It was almost as if he was thinking that Grandpa might even be dead. But what he said was: “It’s a wide country and we haven’t a clue where to look for him. I’m