Freddy Rides Again by Walter R. Brooks Page A

hire me to follow this feller’s trail, and you’re hirin’ me to lift his hair. That’s how the Comanche Kid operates.”
    â€œYou mean you’ll scalp him?” Billy asked.
    â€œI don’t want you to shoot or scalp him,” said Mr. Margarine. “Find him. Bring him in alive. I’ll see to the rest of it.”
    â€œâ€™Taint my way of doing business,” said Freddy with a sneer. “But suit yourself. Generally on a job like this, I get paid by the scalp. No scalp, no pay.”
    Mr. Margarine brought out a fat pocketbook. “I’ll pay you the first week right now.”
    â€œWeek!” Freddy exclaimed. “It don’t take a week for the Comanche Kid to do a little job like this.” He walked over to Cy and gathered up the rein and swung into the saddle. “See you around,” he said, and cantered off towards the woods.
    â€œYou’re kind of getting yourself into a spot, aren’t you, Freddy?” said Cy.
    â€œMaybe. But I’m glad I don’t have to scalp myself to get that money. Oh, I can’t get away with being the Comanche Kid. Up there I was standing in the doorway with all that bright sky behind me—he couldn’t get a good look at me. But they’d have caught me if I hadn’t bluffed them.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do about that rattler?” Cy asked.
    Freddy said: “Darn those Margarines. All that work we had catching him, and they had to let him out. I wish I’d turned him over to Whibley.”
    â€œYou ought to have taken him down to that dentist in Centerboro and had his fangs pulled.”
    â€œI understand they just grow back in again,” said Freddy. “Anyway, he’d scare everybody to death rattling even if he didn’t have any fangs. H’m, that’s an idea. Wonder if the rabbits could handle it.”
    He rode up to the Grimby House and had a long talk with the Horribles, and with Georgie and Charles, and having warned them to keep a sharp eye out for the escaped rattler, he circled around to the north and came down out of the woods on to the Margarine farm.
    The sun had set; it was dark and beginning to get chilly. As he came down towards the Margarine house he saw lights in the dining room; evidently the family was still at dinner. He rode around to the front of the house and up to the front door and banged on it with the butt of his pistol.
    A maid in a little white apron opened the door, saw Freddy, gave a screech and slammed it shut again.
    So Freddy banged on it harder.
    There were voices calling inside and a bustle of movement, and then the door opened again and Mr. Margarine stood there with a shotgun in his hands. Behind him was Billy and a man in a chauffeur’s cap.
    â€œOh, it’s you,” he said. “What do you mean, making such a disturbance?”
    â€œIf you want that pig,” Freddy drawled, “stop yapping at me and go saddle your horse.”
    â€œYou mean you’ve found him?”
    â€œI know where he is,” Freddy said.
    Five minutes later, Mr. Margarine and Billy followed Freddy down the drive. He led them at a trot up along the wall to the Big Woods, then turned in among the trees. Here Freddy said they must leave the horses and proceed on foot.
    From this side there was no path to the Grimby house. Though they had flashlights, there were roots to fall over and witch hopple to tangle their feet and low boughs to whip their faces. They stumbled along for a few minutes, then Mr. Margarine stopped.
    â€œThis is all nonsense,” he said angrily. “I’m paying you to catch this Freddy, not to break my neck looking for him. What is this place?”
    â€œThe Big Woods,” said Freddy. “Some folks call it Snakeville, on account of the rattlers.”
    â€œSay, Dad,” said Billy, “That was a rattlesnake in the pig pen this afternoon, wasn’t it?”
    â€œYou mean there are