CHAPTER II
AT CLOSE QUARTERS
AT CLOSE QUARTERS
AT CLOSE QUARTERS
The fellow in the driver’s seat of the big automobile dropped his cigarette and half started from his seat as he heard Bobby’s words and saw him making for the fence.
“Hey, youse!” he shouted, “what are youse buttin’ in for? Keep out of this. Get right along an’ mind your own business.”
“Nobody asked for your advice,” shouted Bobby, as he scaled the fence and dropped on the other side. “Come along, fellows, and come quick.”
At a little distance from the fence stood a tree that the doctor, who was an enthusiast on fruit growing, prized above all his other possessions. It bore an exceedingly rare species of apple that matured early in the season, had a delicious flavor and was highly valued by experts. It was a new variety, and it was understood that the doctor had paid as much as a thousand dollars for it with a view to developing in time a whole orchard of the same species. The boys had often heard him talk about it, and they knew how much he valued it. One of Billy’s stock jokes was to refer to it as the “apple of his eye.”
Beneath this special tree were standing four youths of the same type as the one in the car, while in the tree itself was another. The apples were still green, of course, but this did not deter the marauders.
They were considerably larger and older than the Rockledge boys, but the latter were so full of indignation as they ran toward them that they took little account of size or age.
“What are you fellows doing?” cried Bobby, as he came within earshot of the intruders. “Leave those apples alone.”
The strangers looked up in some surprise at the interruption and then conferred together hastily.
“What have you got to say about it?” blurted out the one who seemed to be the leader of the party. “They ain’t your apples, are they?”
“No, but they belong to the head of our school,” replied Bobby. “And he’d have you arrested for stealing them if he knew about it.”
“Well, what he don’t know ain’t a-goin’ to hurt him,” sneered the fellow. “An’ if they ain’t your apples you ain’t got no license to interfere. You git along now an’ beat it while the goin’s good.”
“Give him a clip in the jaw, Hen, an’ take some of the freshness out of him,” growled one of the fruit thieves.
“You can’t bluff us with any of that kind of talk,” declared Bobby stoutly. “I’ve got the number of that car, and you fellows will be tracked down and arrested if you don’t get away from here quick.”
An ugly look came into the bully’s eyes as he clenched his fist.
And while, with his heart beating fast but his courage unshaken, Bobby waited for the expected rush, it may be well, for the benefit of those who have not read the earlier volumes of this series, to tell who Bobby and his chums are.
Bobby Blake was now about thirteen years old, and had been born in a little town called Clinton. He was the only child of a business man of that place, whose affairs frequently called him away from home.
Mr. and Mrs. Blake had gone to South America on a protracted trip a few years before our present story opens, and had been fortunate in finding an excellent private school for Bobby near home, in the Rockledge School. His first year there and adventures are related in “Bobby Blake at Rockledge School.”
His special friend was Fred Martin, the son of a merchant of Clinton. Fred had received the nickname of “Ginger” because of his fiery red hair. It is also a fact that Fred had the hot temper that is popularly supposed to go with hair of that color. It did not take much to get him angry. Still he was generous and straight as a string, and he and Bobby got on famously together. Bobby often had his hands full in getting Fred out of the scrapes into which the red-headed boy’s quick temper led him, and sometimes he did not succeed. But the boys formed a perfect team, and where one was the other was quite sure not to be far away.
They made some good friends at the school and when vacation came they were invited to visit one of them, Perry Wise, the fat boy called “Pee Wee,” at the home of his parents on the coast. Here the boys had a great time fishing, boating, and swimming and found themselves with an exciting adventure on their hands in hunting for a missing boat. These and other adventures of the school chums are related in other volumes of the “Bobby Blake Series.”
And now to return to Bobby where he stood tense and undaunted, awaiting the onslaught of the bully whom he had discovered with his gang robbing Dr. Raymond’s orchard.
“So you got the number of the car, did you?” snarled the leader of the gang, Hen Lemming. “Well, now let me tell you, bo, that I’ve got your number too, and it’s number twenty-three. Do you get me? Twenty-three. That’s a mighty unlucky number, too, as you’ll find out, for I’m going to change the map of that face of yours for buttin’ in.”
As he spoke he made a rush at Bobby with his fist upraised.
Quick as a flash, Bobby grabbed for his legs, as he had often done when tackling an opponent on a football field. It was a perfect tackle, and the bully went down with a crash, so hard, indeed, that he lay sprawling on the ground, stunned for the moment.
In an instant Bobby was on his feet again. “One of you hold that fellow down!” he cried, assuming command of the situation. “Here, Pee Wee, you sit on him.”
Pee Wee instantly obeyed, and his ponderous weight settled on Lemming’s back, keeping him flat to the ground despite the desperate attempts of the reviving bully to throw him off.
“Now,” said Bobby, facing the rest of the intruders, who had stood for a moment paralyzed by the sudden downfall of their leader, “who’s the next one that wants to start something?”
They faced him, growling and storming, but irresolute. The fellow in the tree had now dropped down and joined his companions.
“We’re going to smash you for this,” he threatened, as he rolled up his sleeves.
Fred and the rest of the boys had gathered about Bobby ready to pitch in if need be, and the hostile groups faced each other frowningly. Fred suddenly set up a loud whistle, the well-known Rockledge call for aid.
“Look out, Bobby!” suddenly cried Pee Wee.
Bobby wheeled at the cry and saw the driver of the car, who had climbed the fence and was running to the help of his companions, holding a large stone in his hand.
He was not more than ten yards away and he raised the stone to hurl it at Bobby’s head.
But Bobby was too quick for him. In his pocket was the baseball with which he and Fred had been practicing. Like lightning he drew it out and threw it at the driver with all his strength.
The ball caught the fellow right below the breastbone and he doubled up like a jackknife. The stone dropped from his hand, and he sat down suddenly on the grass, trying to recover the breath that had been knocked out of him.
“Get the ball, Fred,” commanded Bobby, and like a flash Fred retrieved it and put it in Bobby’s hand. Then Fred gave another loud whistle for aid.
“Now,” said Bobby, as he whirled about and faced the group of enemies, who were fairly gasping with astonishment, “that takes care of two of you fellows. Want any more of our game?”
It was very evident that they did not. What they had seen of Bobby’s quickness and resource had been quite enough. And that baseball at such close quarters looked like a mighty powerful weapon. Besides, they could hear the shouts of other schoolboys not far away. All the easy victory the gang had promised itself over these younger and slighter opponents vanished like smoke.
There was no answer except mutterings and growls, and the fellow who had dropped from the tree slowly put on his coat.
“You boys have got the edge on us just now,” he snarled. “But don’t think for a minute that you’re through with us. We’ll get you some time, and what we’ll do to you will be a-plenty. Ain’t that so, Lemming?” he asked of the fellow who had been sat upon.
“We’ll take a chance on you,” replied Bobby heatedly.
The toughs started to go away from the tree, but one of them picked up the bag of apples they had gathered to take along.
“No, you don’t!” exclaimed Bobby. “Drop that.”
The fellow glared at him, but evidently thought it best to obey.
“Ain’t you going to let him up?” asked one of them, pointing to his prostrate leader. “Going to keep him there all night?”
“He’ll get up when you get on the other side of that fence,” replied Bobby.
They picked up the driver on the way and Bobby waited until they had all climbed into the car.
“Now, Pee Wee,” he said, “let that fellow up.”
Pee Wee, much gratified at the prominent part his weight had permitted him to take in the contest, got off his prostrate victim and Lemming struggled to his feet, his face livid and his whole body shaking with rage at his humiliation and defeat. For a moment it seemed as if he would rush at Bobby like a mad bull, but a glance at the faces of the boys and at the baseball that Bobby held ready for action convinced him for the present that discretion was the better part of valor.
“You ain’t heard the last of this,” he snapped. “I’ll get even with you. And when I once get hold of you away from your gang I’ll make you wish you had never been born.”
“Your pals are waiting for you,” was all the response that Bobby vouchsafed, while he watched his enemy with the eye of a hawk.
With muttered imprecations, Lemming slouched sullenly away and climbed the fence. Before he got into the car he turned and shook his fist vengefully and shouted out a torrent of threats. But Bobby simply laughed, and with a honking of the horn that was in itself a promise of vengeance the car started up and rolled away.
They watched it until it had passed from sight and then turned and looked at each other. Other boys now came running up, having heard Fred’s whistle for help.
“Bobby, you’re a trump,” cried Fred, in admiration as he clapped his friend on the shoulder.
All crowded round their leader and showered him with praise until Bobby blushed to the ears.
“Lay off, you fellows,” he cried in some confusion. “The chance simply came my way and I took it. It simply shows that football and baseball tactics are good for something besides games.”
“I thought sure it was coming to a regular fist fight and I was bracing myself for it,” put in Skeets. “But, thanks to Bobby, none of us got a scratch.”
“They’d have had a good chance of getting away with it, too,” affirmed Billy. “They were big husky fellows, almost men, and they’d probably have been too heavy for our bunch. It simply shows that brains and muscle combined are a good sight better than muscle alone.”
“Weight isn’t such a bad thing either,” remarked Pee Wee.
“Right you are, old boy,” laughed Fred. “It would have taken three of us to hold that fellow down as well as you did. You sure did yourself proud.”
“I’d hate to be the driver of that car,” grinned Skeets. “You doubled him up good and plenty, Bobby. He went down as though he had been shot.”
“One strike and out,” laughed Fred. “Bobby’s eyesight was good. He put the ball right over the plate.”
There was more excited talk, then one of the boys who had come running to help their comrades but who had arrived too late said to those who had come with him:
“Well, come on, fellows. Let’s go about our business. This bunch is all right now.” With these words he turned and went off, his especial friends going with him.