The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P. Figg by Rodman Philbrick Read Free Book Online Page B

Quaker fool.”
    “So now you know, right?”
    “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t.”
    “I did what you wanted. Give me back my horse.”
    That makes him laugh. “It’s my horse now, for sparin’ your worthless life.”
    “You promised to let me go,” I insist. “I’ve got to find my brother before he gets to the war.”
    In the dark he looks like a jack-o’-lantern with one snaggle tooth, grinning me for a fool. “That wasn’t the deal. The deal was, do like I say and I might let you live. It’s still a ‘might,’ boy. Show me this door in the dirt and then we’ll see who is lying and who is dying.”
    Then he stuffs a rag in my mouth, whips a rope around my wrists, and drags me off into the night.
     

     
    W HEN I WAS LITTLE , and we first went to live with our uncle Squinton Leach, the thing I was most scared of, other than the dark, was my brother, Harold, disappearing. Our father was gone and our Dear Mother, too, and it seemed like my big brother would be next and then I’d be all alone in the world. I’d wake up crying and afraid, and to soothe me Harold told stories about pirates and Indians. The pirates and Indians wanted to get us, but couldn’t, no matter how hard they tried. Harold always made me the one who saved us. I’d trick the pirates and we’d get away. Or I’d show him how to hide from the Indians, and he’d tell me how clever and brave I was, only it was him making up the story, not me.
    Harold never believed in pirates, not real pirates, and the only Indians left in Pine Swamp worked for the timber company, felling trees. It was only made-up stories to make me feel safe. We never had a story about someone like Ebenezer Smelt because we never knew a man that bad really existed. A man that’ll hunt innocent people like animals and drag a boy through the dark of night and threaten to kill him.
    Some things are worse than the worst kind of nightmare, and it turns out the only thing worse than Ebenezer Smelt is his partner, Stink Mullins, who’s waiting for us in the woods.
    The moment we get there Stink grabs the rope, throws me to the ground, and kicks the air out of me.
    “You was thinkin’ something bad,” he says, satisfied. “That’ll teach you.” Then he grabs the rag from my mouth and dabs at his empty eye socket. Lucky for me he decides to keep the rag, and jams it in his pocket.
    “Where they hid?” he asks Smelt. “The boy find out?”
    “Says they’re at the mine, in a secret tunnel.”
    “You believe him, do you?”
    “I don’t believe nothing till I see it with my own eyes. Where’s Festus?”
    “In the lean-to, trussed up like a turkey,” Stink says with a chuckle. “That darky is too scared to move, let alone get himself free.”
    I don’t know why they call Samuel Reed, the conductor, Festus. I figure he’s got about as much chance of seeing the sunrise as I do, once they figure out I’m lying about the mine. Unless I can come up with a better lie, one that will set us both free.
    “They on the move tonight?” Stink asks, prodding at me with his boot.
    Best I can do is nod. That’s enough to get us up and moving again. There’s no moon in the sky, and only a few dim stars showing through the clouds, but the two men know where they’re going. Before long we’re on the trail up to the mine, following the wagon ruts. The dark feels heavy, like a thick blanket that won’t let you breathe, and the ground is hard and sharp under my feet.
    Suddenly Smelt holds up his hand and stops us. “You hear that?”
    Pebbles skitter down from the hills around us.
    “Ground is always moving here,” says Stink. “All that scavenge from the mine.”
    “Something’s out there,” Smelt complains. “Something alive.”
    “Raccoon or a skunk,” says Stink with a laugh. “What you afraid of?”
    “Nothin’.”
    “Afraid of an old Quaker man that won’t lift a hand to defend himself? ’Fraid of a bunch of scared-to-death darkies?”
    “Shut