Freddy and the Dragon Read online

  Cy reared up on his hind legs, swung around and ran. Freddy crouched low in the saddle. He could hear the enraged snorts behind him; they seemed so close that he expected any moment to feel the pony lifted up under him by those sharp horns. But he didn’t look around. He felt that if he saw that great black head with the wicked little eyes so close behind, he would faint and fall right out of the saddle.

  Freddy crouched low in the saddle.

  And then Freddy and Cy shot between the trees behind which Uncle Ben and Mr. Bean were hiding. There was a sort of scrunch and rattle of ropes, and a bellow from the bull, and he pulled Cy up and turned. The second that Freddy passed between the trees, the two men had let go the ropes that held up the lower corners of the heavy net. It fell like a curtain, and the bull plunged into it. Before he could free himself, the men had loosened the ropes holding the net’s upper corners, the whole thing came down, and the men wound their captive up in it.

  “We’ll take him down and put him in the box stall next to Hank’s stall in the stable,” said Mr. Bean.

  Uncle Ben said: “How?”

  “H’m,” Mr. Bean said; “’t ain’t so easy. You got power enough in the station wagon to hook on and drag him down. But that don’t seem hardly bein’ kind to animals, like I’ve always tried to be, even when they acted up.”

  “He’s got a ring in his nose, Mr. Bean,” Freddy said.

  “Why, so he has,” said Mr. Bean. He untied one of the corner ropes and, reaching through the net, knotted it to the ring in the bull’s nose. It wasn’t easy to untangle the animal from the net and at the same time keep hold of the rope, but they managed it. And then, after they’d got the net back in the car, Uncle Ben drove off, and Mr. Bean led the bull down to the stable. They tied him in the box stall, shook him down some hay, locked the door, and left him.

  CHAPTER 5

  The following morning there was news from Centerboro. The A.B.I. detectives whom Mr. Pomeroy had sent into town returned full of information. The birds had flown all over town, listening to conversations, and the bumblebees had bumbled in and out of windows, and sat on people’s hats; and although a lot of what they heard wasn’t important, some of it was.

  Much had to do with the feeling against Freddy. Mr. Pomeroy, having listened to the reports, figured that two thirds of the people in Centerboro thought that Freddy, with some of the rest of the Bean animals, was responsible for the robberies and damage, and therefore should be arrested and jailed. Many of these, realizing that there wasn’t enough evidence against him to prove him guilty, thought the easiest way to get rid of him was to get a crowd together and go out and lynch him.

  But some of the most important people in town, who knew Freddy and liked him, were sure that he was innocent. In an interview in the Sentinel, Mr. Weezer, President of the Centerboro Bank, had this to say: “Frederick Bean is President of the First Animal Bank, a most reputable and financially sound institution. It is unthinkable that a person of his standing, whether man or pig, should go about tearing up gardens and stealing hams.”

  “You think that because he is a banker, he is incapable of committing a crime?” the interviewer asked.

  “Sir,” said Mr. Weezer, “when a banker commits a crime, it is a big crime, a first-class crime, a crime on a scale with his standing in the community.”

  Many other solid citizens thought as he did.

  The most important item, however, was a report of a conversation between Mr. Beller and Mr. Rohr, owners of the music store, and Mr. Howell, their manager. It was overheard by Horace, a bumblebee, and Mr. Pomeroy’s star operative. It was like this: Horace had gone into Beller & Rohr’s to listen to some new records that had come in. He was very fond of music. But as soon as the customer for whom they were playing the records left, the three men began talking excitedly. It seems that a letter had come that morning, and they could not agree what to do about it. It began without any “Gentlemen” or “Dear Sirs” or anything.

  “Mr. Beller’s picture window was smashed the other night. There has been some robberies and lot of vandalism around town and all through the county. Maybe you had better pay us so your store window won’t get smashed and your gardens tore up and your houses busted into. Our service costs $1 per week, $50 per year in advance. If you want to hire us, take $50 in $5 bills and put them in an envelope. Before nine o’clock tomorrow night drive out the west road, take the back road that runs between the Big Woods and the Bean woods. Just before you come to the end of the Big Woods a stone wall begins on your right. Lay the envelope down on the corner of the wall and go home.

  The Otesaraga Perfective Association. PS. Come alone, and don’t tell the sheriff or the police, or your window may get busted.”

  “He misspelled ‘vandalism,’” said Mr. Rohr.

  “And ‘protective,’” said Mr. Beller.

  Mr. Howell said: “It’s up near the Bean farm. Do you suppose that Freddy really is back of all this?”

  The others agreed firmly that they did not. “This letter was written by a man—probably a racketeer from some big city. It sounds like a big city racket—selling protection that way. Anyway, Freddy’s a good speller.”

  “With all the hoof marks that have been found, there must be animals in it too,” said Mr. Rohr.

  Mr. Beller said: “We’d better give ’em the fifty dollars. You know what it’s going to cost to replace the picture window out at my house? And this store window is more’n twice as big. Will you take the money out tonight, Rohr?”

  “Sure,” said Mr. Rohr.

  When Freddy heard about this, he called a meeting in the cow barn. The three cows, the two dogs, Jinx, Charles and his daughter, Chiquita, Samuel Jackson, Cy, Bill, and Sniffy Wilson, the skunk, were there. Also, of course, Mr. Pomeroy.

  The head of the A.B.I. first gave his report. Then Freddy told his story: “This is perhaps the most dangerous situation we have ever faced. I do not mean merely for myself. All of us appear to be under suspicion. And if this lynching business gets beyond the talking stage; if a mob really comes out here … well, I’ll tell you one thing that would happen. Mr. Bean would try to protect us, and they would shoot him.

  “No, my friends, we’ve got to find who’s back of these robberies and smashings. And this racket of paying for protection. I’m pretty sure that it’s all one gang and that there’s a pig in it, and a horse. And a man in it too, because it must have been a man who wrote that letter. No animal would misspell words the way that fellow did.

  “This money Beller & Rohr are going to pay them gives us a chance. We’ll have someone hiding up beside that stone wall tonight, and we’ll find out who takes the money. Who do you suggest should go, J. J.?”

  The robin took his spectacles off and tapped them reflectively on his beak. “Trouble is,” he said, “most of my boys work best in daylight. Birds and bumblebees can’t see much after dark, and rabbits, though they can get around all right, are too easy to spot in the dark. I’d suggest Jinx. He’s black and he moves quiet, and he can see pretty well at night.”

  “Hey, now wait a minute,” said the cat. “You think I’m going up and tackle an armed gangster with my bare claws? Uh-uh.”

  “You don’t have to tackle him,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “You just watch and follow where he goes.”

  Charles, the rooster, pushed forward. “I volunteer for this service!” he said. He looked around at the other animals. “My friends,” he said, “you know me. You know what a stout heart beats beneath this feathered bosom.” He whacked on his chest with a claw, which gave him a fit of coughing. When he had recovered, he went on: “In the face of danger let cats and rabbits quail; a rooster knows no fear. This is a task for which boldness and high courage are needed. I say nothing against our friend, Jinx. But remember that ‘Jinx’ rhymes with ‘slinks.’ He slinks, he lurks, he trembles. Has he ever fought anything bigger than a mouse? While I, my friends—I who stand here before you—”

  He stopped suddenly, for Chiquita reac
hed out and tugged his tail feathers. “Daddy,” she said, “Mother’s coming.”

  Charles’s beak opened and shut a few times as if he was still speaking, but no words came out. And Henrietta came into the barn.

  Charles didn’t say any more. Henrietta didn’t approve of his speeches, which were very noble and high-sounding, and which he would make on the slightest excuse. He wasn’t by any means a coward, but when he got going he was apt to brag about his bravery. Henrietta thought it sounded silly, and she didn’t like to have a silly husband.

  Now when she saw Charles at the center of the group, she looked around suspiciously. “He been sounding off again?” she demanded.

  “No, no,” said Freddy. “We were just discussing another matter. I’ll explain it to you.”

  “H’m,” she said thoughtfully. “Thought I heard his voice as I was coming in.” She glared at her husband, who, with sidelong look and drooping tail feathers, was certainly the picture of guilt. Then, as if having made up her mind, she gave a short nod and walked toward him. “Better box his ears anyway.”

  But Charles turned and ducked swiftly out between Sniffy Wilson and Georgie, the little brown dog, who closed up to prevent Henrietta from pursuing him.

  “Now that that’s over,” said Freddy, “—how about it, Jinx?”

  “Oh, all right,” said the cat. “I’ll go. I thought you expected me to grab this guy and take the money away from him.”

  “I don’t think he’s working alone,” said Mr. Pomeroy. “There must be a gang, and my guess is there’s a man at the head of it, not an animal. We want to find out where their headquarters is. So your job is to follow and see where he goes.”

  “Do you think this bull is one of ’em?” Sniffy Wilson asked.

  “Maybe we can find out,” said Freddy. “I think we’ve got something we can trade for his information.”

  “You mean his freedom?” Samuel Jackson demanded. “Turn him loose? He’s too dangerous. I say he’s too dangerous.”

  “No. Come on, let’s go in and talk to him.”

  They trooped out of the cow barn and followed Freddy into the stable. At the far end, in the box stall, the bull was muttering and grumbling to himself in a voice that sounded like distant thunder.

  Mrs. Wogus put her mouth close to Mrs. Wiggins’s ear. “He grumbles the way Father used to,” she whispered. “Remember?”

  Mrs. Wiggins nodded. “Father was kind of a complainer,” she replied. “Dear, dear, I wonder where he is now?” For the father of these three cows had been a discontented animal. He had gotten tired of farm life, and when his children were grown up and provided for—though grumpy, he had been fond of them and anxious about their future—he had run away and never been heard from again. This was some years before they had come to the Bean farm.

  “Phew!” Sniffy Wilson exclaimed. “He sure is fragrant!” He wrinkled up his nose disgustedly. Skunks are very sensitive.

  Although the bull was tied by his nose ring, and in addition the front of the stall was built of heavy bars of wood, a few inches apart, the animals at first rather hung back. Only the mole seemed eager to have a close look. He ran forward and got up on his hind legs and looked through the bars.

  “Hey, you!” he said. “You smell terrible flowery. You goin’ to a party? I say, you goin’ to a party?”

  The bull didn’t turn round. He gave an irritated snort. “I been rolling in a posy bed,” he growled.

  “It’ll be some party,” said Georgie. “I’m glad I’m not invited.”

  The animals had moved closer, and Freddy went up to the door. “Hey, Percy,” he said.

  “Percy!” Mrs. Wogus muttered in a startled voice. And then the bull turned his head, and the three cows saw his face.

  “Father!” they exclaimed. Mrs. Wiggins and Mrs. Wogus stared at him incredulously, but Mrs. Wurzburger, with a low moo, fell over in a dead faint. Charles, who stood beside her, came near being fallen on and squashed.

  Mrs. Wurzburger fell over in a dead faint.

  The animals paid no attention to her as they crowded up to the stall. She quite often threw such a faint as this, and, as Mrs. Wiggins said, she came out of it quicker if you let her alone than if you fussed over her.

  The bull stared at the cows. “You claim you are … h’m … yes, there’s a familiar look. Well, so what? What do you expect me to do for you?”

  “Not a thing, Father; not a thing,” said Mrs. Wogus, turning away.

  But Mrs. Wiggins said: “You looked after us when we were little, Father. But when we were old enough to look after ourselves you went away and left us. After Mr. Bean came up to that farm near Oswego where we all lived, and bought us, you never looked us up. You never sent us even a postcard. We don’t expect anything from you, Father. And you mustn’t expect anything from us.”

  The bull threw up his head and gave a loud roaring laugh. “Good for you, daughter,” he said, “good for you. You and I’ll get along.”

  But Mrs. Wurzburger, who had come to and staggered to her feet, began to cry. “Oh, Father,” she sobbed, “aren’t you glad to see us? Don’t you care anything for your own girls, whom you haven’t seen in so many years? Your three little darlings, you used to call us.”

  “Well, you ain’t very little now,” said Percy. “Nor darling, neither. And I don’t know which one you are, and if I did, I wouldn’t know what your name was, because I never did know which was which.”

  At this Mrs. Wurzburger boohooed louder than ever. Cows make an awful rumpus when they laugh or cry, and it made the animals’ ears ring. Freddy motioned Mrs. Wogus to take her outside. When she had been led back to the cow barn, and her bawling sounded in the stable only like the cheering at a distant baseball game, Mrs. Wiggins said: “Instead of us just walking out, Father, it’s only fair to give you a chance. Isn’t there anything you have to say to us?”

  The bull looked at her and wrinkled up his forehead as if in thought. “I dunno,” he said. “I dunno what to say. I remember what you were like when you were little—cute little critters. But now … it’s a long time… Here’s three strangers claimin’ I’m their father, and I don’t even know their faces. What do you expect—that I’m going to dance with joy?” And he shook his head and turned his back.

  The cows looked at each other and then walked slowly out. Freddy said: “Reluctant as I am to intrude on this touching family scene, I’ve a proposition for you, Percy. I take it you don’t like going around all perfumed up like a French poodle at a garden party.”

  “Going around where?” the bull grumbled.

  “Well, that’s so,” said the pig. “You’re locked up tight right now. But maybe I could fix that too. Suppose I took you out and scrubbed that perfumery off you. And in return you tell me some things I want to know.”

  The bull turned and grinned at him and shook his head. “There’s so many things you don’t know, if I started now I’d be still talking ten years later. Why, you don’t even know what time it is!”

  Freddy grinned back. He rather liked the bull. “I have no wish,” he said, “to share with you the vast wealth of knowledge stored up in that magnificent brain. All I want is answers to a few simple questions. For instance: who’s the head of your gang, and where’s your headquarters?”

  “Gang?” said the bull. “What gang?” His look of artificial innocence wouldn’t have fooled a grasshopper.

  Freddy said: “We know more about you than you think. However, I’m in no hurry. Think it over. We can keep you here indefinitely. And when your perfume begins to wear off, I’ll come and give you a fresh squirt.”

  Freddy motioned the other animals to leave, and when they were outside, he said to Mr. Pomeroy: “Keep after him, J. J.”

  The robin nodded, and a few minutes later a squad of sparrows went into the stable and perched on the top of the box stall. And they sang:

  “Oh … mercy!

  Here’s our Percy!

  Ain’t he delicious! Ain’t he a treat!<
br />
  When in good humor he

  Soaks in perfumery;

  That’s why he smells so lovely and sweet.”

  CHAPTER 6

  After leaving Percy, Freddy went upstairs to see Uncle Ben, and told him about Jimmy Wiggs’s problem. Uncle Ben thought for a minute, then he said: “Atomic merry-go-round?”

  Freddy shook his head. “They’d be afraid of it. They’d be afraid it would get going so fast that they’d be all thrown out of it. Like your station wagon.”

  Uncle Ben nodded. “Might, too,” he said.

  Then he drew a sheet of paper toward him and began to draw. As Freddy watched, a long shape began to appear—something between a lizard and a snake. “A dragon!” Freddy exclaimed. “That sure would draw a crowd. But there aren’t any dragons any more, Uncle Ben.”

  “Make one,” said Uncle Ben. He began to draw the dragon’s feet. There seemed to be four feet up near his head, and they were pig’s trotters, and there were four halfway down, and they were dog’s feet, and there were four more close to the tail—cat’s feet.

  “Twelve feet?” Freddy asked. “Did dragons have twelve feet?”

  “This one will,” said Uncle Ben. He sometimes talked more freely to Freddy than to other people.

  “But you mean … you’re going to make him for us? And I suppose you mean that I’ll be inside him, and maybe Robert in the middle, and Jinx at the tail. But what’s this fire and smoke coming out of his nostrils? You can’t make that, can you?”

  “Sure.”

  “But our feet will show. People’ll know who we are inside him.”

  Uncle Ben shook his head and sketched a dragon’s claw with three long scaly talons. “Tie ’em on your feet,” he said.

  Freddy would have liked to ask a lot more questions, but he knew that Uncle Ben didn’t like to make explanations. So he said: “Oh, that will be wonderful, Uncle Ben. When will it be ready? We’ll have to practice a lot with it before the show.”