Freddy and the Flying Saucer Plans (6 page)

“H'm,” said Jinx thoughtfully. “Smart guy, eh? Well, O.K., I accept your invitation. I'll come in. I'll dig 'em out.” And with a sudden spring he landed on top of the ant hill and began digging frantically with his sharp claws, sending the dirt flying in all directions.

He hadn't dug very far however before the soldiers in the underground barracks rushed to the defense. They seemed to come boiling up out of the ground, big black ferocious insects, and although Jinx jumped and whirled as he dug, sending ants and dirt flying in a cloud about him, some of them managed to grab his fur, and they swarmed over him, biting until he yowled in pain, and jumping off the nest, rolled on the ground.

While Jinx was trying to get the ants off him, Bill took a hand—or rather a hoof. He plowed into the hill with all four feet, pawing and stamping and doing a lot more damage than Jinx had, and because his legs were longer and there was no fur to cling to, very few ants got on to him, and those that did, didn't bother much, because a goat's hide is thicker than a cat's.

Bill was having a good time, and the cannibal city would have been ruined for good, if Jinx, having finally got rid of his attackers, hadn't yelled suddenly: “Hey, Bill, remember Jerry is in there somewhere.”

Bill was having a good time.

So then Bill jumped off. Jinx picked up the megaphone and went slowly closer to the hill, which was now a scene of wild turmoil. It was scooped and clawed out to a depth of nearly a foot, and soldiers and worker ants were dashing about in all directions. “Where's your captain?” he called; and when the captain came forward, he said: “We mean what we say, ant. Now where are those three prisoners?”

“If it was up to me,” said the captain angrily, “I'd say: go right ahead, destroy our city if you want to. We can rebuild. And then we can take our revenge. We know where you live, cat, and we can visit you there. You can watch and listen, but you have to sleep some time. That's when we'll come.”

“Oh, stop talking big,” said the cat. “It's not up to you anyway, you say. Well, who is it up to, then?”

“It's up to the queen. She has sent up word that if these prisoners haven't been eaten, we are to let you have them.”

“Eaten!” Jinx exclaimed.

“Sure,” said the captain. “When the boys get home from a raid they're hungry. They want a little snack, and they'll divide up one or two of the weakest prisoners. Good husky prisoners we keep as slaves, to work for us. But those three: I remember, weak little critters, I don't believe they've done a good day's work in their lives.”

“It's just too bad for you if you've eaten Jerry,” said Jinx. “You'll have Freddy on your neck, and you won't—” He broke off. “Ah, here they come,” he said, as three smaller ants, guarded by two huge soldiers, appeared from one of the broken galleries of the hill. “Jerry, is that you?” And when one of the ants, coming forward through the ranks of the cannibals, who drew aside to let them pass, waved his feelers: “Climb up Bill's leg. Get on his neck and I'll take you home.”

He was about to jump into the saddle when he noticed that the cannibal captain had come forward and was waving his feelers to attract attention. He pointed the small end of the megaphone down at him. “Yeah?” he said. “What is it now?”

The ant's voice came up harsh and grating, and vaguely menacing. “Just to warn you. Remember, we'll be coming up to the house to see you some dark night.”

Jinx cocked his hat over his ear and waved a negligent paw. “Any time, brother—any time.” And they cantered away.

CHAPTER

6

Freddy had his cowboy clothes on that morning, and he had ridden Cy down to the hotel. When he came out with the cylinder he jumped into the saddle and rode westward out of town toward the Bean farm. But he wasn't going home. Once away from the town, he turned right on a dirt road that led to Otesaraga Lake.

“I hope you know where you're going, Freddy,” said the horse. “We just passed two carloads of those spies—they're probably coming back to pick up Uncle Ben's trail. If you want to let 'em steal those plans—”

“If I want 'em to steal the plans,” Freddy said, “we've got first to draw the whole mob away from Uncle Ben. Then when they're all chasing me, we've got to somehow let one of 'em steal them. That will take some figuring.”

“Why not hold an auction,” said Cy. “Golly, some of those governments would pay a couple million dollars for saucer plans, I reckon. And would you be loaded! Steam yachts and private airplanes and—Why, you could buy a ranch in Texas.”

“Can't be done that way,” said the pig. “I wouldn't sell even a spy false plans for money.”

“You'll let him steal 'em,” said Cy. “Oh, sure, there's a difference. One way you make money out of being patriotic, and the other way you're just patriotic, period. And what good is that? Sell the false plans, and you take money from the enemy. That's patriotic, isn't it?”

“Kind of hard to tell where patriotism stops and dishonesty begins,” said the pig. “Besides, how could we hold an auction? There'd just be another free-for-all fight with us in the middle of it. No, we've got to hide from the cops and then let just one spy trail us and steal this cylinder. And it's got to look good. If we make it too easy he may suspect that these plans are fakes. Then we'll be in the soup for keeps.”

Indeed, Freddy didn't have any plan. As he rode along he was trying desperately to think of one. By noon he had ridden up around the east end of the lake and back along the south shore, past the estate of his friend, Mr. Camphor. He would have liked to stop in to see Mr. Camphor, but he knew that by this time Uncle Ben had given the alarm and the police would be looking for him. And if the police came, the spies would come too, and they'd be on Mr. Camphor like a swarm of bees. “It's like having the mumps,” Freddy said. “You can't go near your friends for fear of their catching it too.”

He found out soon enough that the police were looking for him. They'd turned up a stony dirt road that wound up into the hills, northwest of the Bean farm, and were perhaps a mile up it when behind them they heard the wail of a siren. Looking back, Freddy saw a car turning off the main road to follow them. “State cop,” he said. “Darn it, he mustn't catch us. This is no time to get thrown in jail.”

A couple of hundred yards up the hill the road curved and ended in the barnyard of a small farmhouse. All around were open fields. “It's the house for us,” said Freddy. “There's no car around so I guess there isn't anybody home, and the front door is open. Come on, Cy. I can be the man of the house, and maybe you can get down cellar and hide.” And glancing round to see that the curve of the road hid them from the trooper, he reined Cy through the barnyard and right into the front door.

They were in a hall so narrow that Freddy had to slide off over Cy's tail. There were overalls and a battered hat hanging on pegs; Freddy hung up his own hat, pulled the house owner's hat well down over his eyes and slid into the overalls. But Cy had found the cellar stairs and backed away from them. “I'm not going down there—not even to save you from the headsman's axe, Freddy,” he said firmly.

Freddy didn't argue. “Up the front stairs, then,” he said. “They're solid, and no cop would look for a horse upstairs.”

So as Cy went clumping up to the second floor, Freddy dashed out through the kitchen. He was bending down, pulling up things in the garden that he hoped were weeds, when the trooper came around the side of the house.

“Where'd that guy go?” the officer demanded.

“What guy?” Freddy asked, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead.

“Guy on a horse just rode in your front door.”

“In the front door!” Freddy exclaimed. “Mister, you—excuse me, but you ought to wear glasses.”

“I saw what I saw,” said the trooper crossly. “He rode in the front door. And what's more, he didn't ride out the back door, because I was watching it. He's inside and I'm going to go in and get him.” He drew a large pistol and turned back into the house.

Freddy went on pulling things up.

The trooper searched the downstairs rooms; then he went back into the hall. He opened the cellar door and looked down and shook his head. He looked at the stairs leading to the upper floor and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Got to be somewhere!” he muttered, and started slowly up.

“Well.” said Freddy to himself. “I can't desert Cy. He's sure to be discovered.” He came back into the house and followed the trooper upstairs just as the latter, having looked through several rooms, tried a door which was locked. He shook the handle.

And from behind the door came a terrible falsetto screech, which Freddy could hardly recognize as Cy's. “Who's there?”

The trooper started violently. “Moses!” he exclaimed. Then he looked suspiciously at Freddy. “This some monkey business?” he demanded.

“It's my wife,” said Freddy quickly. He spoke in a voice loud enough so that the horse could hear. Then: “Hey, Minnie,” he called, “there's a policeman here looking for a man on a horse.”

“Well, he ain't in here,” Cy shrieked. “I'm takin' a bath, and this tub ain't no public swimmin' pool.”

The trooper stepped next to the door. “I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am,” he said. His voice shook, for the dreadful screech had pretty well unstrung his nerves. “I saw them come into the house, and I thought they must be hiding here.”

“And you want to look in here, hey?” Cy yelled. “Well now, you just wait a minute till I get some duds on. I'll come down and make you a nice cup of tea. You go down with pa and I'll be right along. It's always a pleasure to see new faces.—And say,” Cy added, as the trooper began a hasty retreat, “I ain't seen your face yet, have I?” And with that the key turned in the lock, the door opened part way, and a terrible brown face over which a bath towel was draped, a face with an immense long nose and huge teeth showing in what was evidently meant to be a hospitable smile, appeared in the opening.

“Great Jehoshaphat Peabody!” whispered the trooper, and he fairly tumbled down the stairs.

“
Great Jehoshaphat Peabody!
”

Freddy followed him. “We don't see many folks up here,” he said apologetically. “My wife gets kind of lonesome for company. We'd be pleased to have you stay for tea,” he added.

But the man kept on going. “Yeah?” he said. “Well, you have my sympathy, mister.” And he hurried over to his car.

After he had gone, Cy clumped downstairs. “Pretty quick thinking, eh, Freddy?” he said. “Golly, I ought to be on the stage.”

“Or in the zoo,” the pig replied. “That grin of yours would scare little children into fits. Hey!” he exclaimed suddenly. “The cop's coming back!” And indeed at that moment the whine of an engine re-climbing the hill was reinforced by the squeal of a police siren.