CHAPTER XIII

THE RAID

For a few moments the young reporter did not speak. Then Farmer Meldron exclaimed:

“Wa’all, what had best be done about it?”

“I don’t exactly know. I’ve got to think about it,” replied Larry. “We’ve got to go slow, and be careful, or they may take the alarm, and spirit the boy away.”

“That’s what I thought,” said the farmer. “That’s why I took care not to be seen by ’em while I was watchin’. But land sakes, them fellers seem as bold as brass!”

“You say the boy ran down the road, and the tramps raced after him?” asked Larry, eagerly looking toward the lonely house. There was now no sign of life about it.

“That’s what they did,” explained Mr. Meldron.

“I should think they would have been seen by some one driving along the road,” went on Larry. “Either they are very bold, or else they are taking foolish chances, trying to hold a boy captive in such an open place as that.”

“Well, it’s open enough, I’ll allow,” admitted the reporter’s companion, “but then that road ain’t much traveled. It’s an old one, but I don’t s’pose any one drives on it once a month. Some folks use it for a short cut, but usually it’s so cut up, and spoiled by the rain, that it’s better to go the long way around. You can save time.

“So that’s why no one but me seen the boy bein’ chased, and that was only by accident. It’s dreadful lonely down in that hollow, and hardly any one ever goes near the house. It couldn’t be a better place for them kidnappin’ tramps. But what had we best do? I wonder who that poor little boy is, anyhow?”

“I think I know!” said Larry.

“You don’t say! Know him! Well, for land sakes! How comes that?”

“I think he is the stolen boy for whom I’ve been looking a long time,” went on the young reporter. “Most unexpectedly I have stumbled on his place of captivity. It’s lucky I met you,” and he proceeded to tell of the kidnapping of Lorenzo Androletti. The farmer listened, full of wonder.

“Say, that’s a case!” he exclaimed when Larry had finished. “And they took him right out of the theater when his maw was singin’! Say, them kidnappers is bold fellers, all right! I hope they go to jail for life.”

“So do I, but I hope we get them first, and gain possession of the boy,” spoke Larry. “Now, we’ve got to make some plan to raid the house, and surround it so they can’t get away.”

“Now you’re talkin’!” exclaimed Mr. Meldron. “Maybe we’d better have brought some police back with us.”

“No; I think we shall do very well with what help we can get around here,” replied Larry. “Is there a telephone anywhere near?”

“Yes, my brother-in-law has one. He’s a constable, you know, and often he’s called on t’ arrest chicken thieves, and the like. Why?”

“Well, I want to call up some officer, a deputy sheriff, or a constable, or some one like that, and have him come with us. Your brother-in-law would do all right, just so we have some one with legal authority to make arrests. Then you and I, and a few other men from around here, can raid that place as well as if we had the New York police with us.”

“Think so?” asked the farmer doubtfully.

“I’m sure of it,” replied Larry confidently. “Those tramps won’t fight back.”

“If they do, by heck! I’ve got an old musket that I can take along!” exclaimed the farmer. “I keep it to shoot chicken hawks with, but it’ll do for child-stealers jest as well. Say, young feller, I’m with you from the drop of the hat! Glad I met you. Come on, now, we’ll go see if my brother-in-law is t’ home. Nestor, his name is--Bob Nestor--and he’s strong and hearty. Let’s get a move on.”

Larry glanced once more toward the lonely house which he hoped would hold the solution of the mystery of the stolen boy. The farmer was moving off through his bean patch. There still was no sign of life about the deserted place.

Then, as Larry looked, and when he was on the verge of turning to follow Mr. Meldron, he saw a man emerge from the house. Even at that distance Larry could see that the fellow was roughly dressed. Soon he was joined by two more, who came from the place, and the three proceeded to kindle a fire on the ground.

“Look here!” called Larry to Mr. Meldron. “What do you think they’re up to now. Going to burn the house?”

“No; I don’t reckon so. Likely they’re goin’ to cook a meal. They can’t probably do much cookin’ in th’ old house, for the chimbley must be pretty well busted, and caved in.

“Yes, that’s what they’re up to,” the farmer went on, having come back to stand at Larry’s side. “See, thy’re hangin’ a gypsy kittle over th’ fire. They’re goin’ to make soup. That shows they’re goin’ t’ stay a spell, anyhow. Now’s our chance t’ get a crowd, an’ raid ’em.”

“That’s right!” agreed Larry. The two, who were concealed from observation by a stack of bean poles, watched the tramps a few minutes longer, until they saw the preparations for the meal well under way. Several of the crowd of men had now come from the house and were seated about the fire.

“Is it far to your brother-in-law’s house?” asked Larry, as he followed the farmer through the bean patch.

“About a mile. There’s several neighbors near him that we can get. They’re all truck farmers like me, and I guess we can take care of them tramps.”

Larry’s heart was beating high with hope. All at once he saw his search ended successfully, and the stolen boy recovered. He saw, in fancy, the glad mother, and while the young reporter would willingly have worked for her interests alone, as well as that of her son, he was glad over the prospect of a big exclusive story. That was one reason why he did not care to have the New York police mixed up in the case. With them making the raid it was likely that the story would “leak” to other newspapers.

By a lucky chance Bob Nestor was found at home. He was properly excited over the prospect of raiding the tramps, and recovering a kidnapped boy.

“I’ve been wanting some exercise for some time,” he said, as Larry and Mr. Meldron told their stories, “and this looks like I was going to get it. I’ll just pin on my badge, and take a couple of pairs of handcuffs along. Likely I’ll need more, but we can just handcuff the most desperate ones, and the rest we can hold until we get ’em to the nearest jail. Guess we’d better take ’em to Whitfield,” he said to his relative, naming a small town nearby. Mr. Meldron agreed.

By using the telephone, a number of neighboring truck-growers were communicated with, and they readily agreed to come over and help raid the tramps.

“Say, this’ll be exciting all right!” exclaimed one burly man over the wire. “I wouldn’t miss it for a good deal!”

In about an hour the posse had assembled at the constable’s house. Some of them carried old-fashioned muzzle-loading guns, and one man had a pitchfork. Others had caught up heavy clubs.

“This looks like business,” remarked Larry, who had been introduced to the men. They greeted him kindly, and some were not a little awed by the fact that, as one of them whispered, “He’s writ lots of pieces for th’ papers,” while another recalled Larry’s part in the great bank mystery.

As for the young reporter, he wanted to telephone word in to his paper about the big story in prospect, but he reflected that using the wire might somehow allow the story to get out before he was ready, and his “scoop” might be spoiled.

“I’ll just wait,” he decided. “Besides, there might be some slip-up. This may not be the Androletti boy, but some other poor chap who has been kidnapped, though I haven’t heard of any other lad being taken away lately.”

“Wa’al, now that we’re ready, we may as well start,” suggested Mr. Meldron, when his brother-in-law, the constable, had looked over his force. “No use waitin’ too long, or them scoundrels may give us the slip yet.”

It was agreed that the sooner the raid was made the better it would be, and the posse started off. They planned to approach the old house from several points, so as to surround it as nearly as possible.

“There’s ten of us,” remarked Mr. Meldron, who kept close to Larry, “an’ I guess them tramps will have a hard job breakin’ through our lines. If any of ’em try to get past you, boys, swat ’em!”

“We will!” came the grim chorus.

It was decided to move up swiftly, once each man was in his appointed place, and, as the country around the place was well wooded, except on the side where Larry and Mr. Meldron had watched the deserted house, it was thought there would be little chance of discovery until it was too late for the tramps to escape.

Larry and Mr. Meldron were to approach through the bean patch, but by crouching down, and taking advantage of the cover of underbrush, and bushes, they could come up very close without being seen.

“Forward, march!” exclaimed Bob Nestor, and the raid was under way. There was not a little nervous apprehension, on the part of everyone, and Larry found himself wondering what would happen, and whether he could rescue the captive lad.