folded it up carefully. Then he stepped forward and placed it on the counter.
âTake this!â he said. Then, suddenly, he was gone.
Joe sat, too stunned to move. I wonder where Frank is, he thought dully. Why isnât he here when I need him? Suddenly it occurred to him that his brother might be needing him even more. He may be in worse shape than I, Joe figured and stood up. His limbs still ached from his fall, but apparently he was not injured seriously.
Gingerly he touched his bruise again, relieved that he felt no nausea, which might have indicated a concussion or a fractured skull.
He still wondered if the Indian had socked him with the tomahawk. No, he finally decided. That would have cracked my head for sure. Those things are deadly weapons!
He picked up his flashlight. On the floor, he noticed an old-fashioned coal scuttle turned on its side. It was a peculiarly shaped pail in which peopleused to carry the coal they burned in their fireplaces and stoves.
Joe beamed his light around. At least a dozen such coal scuttles were hanging over the door, and he saw that one of them had simply fallen from its nail. âThatâs what clouted me!â he cried out aloud. âIt wasnât the Indian at all, just another of those weird accidents that make it such fun to walk around Flaming Rock!â
Then he stepped to the counter. The headband was still there. He reached out and took it. It felt real. Joe stared at it for a moment, then put it in his pocket. Finally he went out of the general store.
He stumbled a little, still dizzy from his ordeal, and tried to breathe deeply in the cool night air. His head pounded with pain. He called out for his brother, but his voice sounded weak, and there was no reply.
He called again and felt even dizzier. He started to hallucinate and imagined seeing eyes glowing in the dark and hearing people talking, shuffling, walking around him.
He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Then he realized there were desert animals and other nocturnal creatures around, trying to find acorns or other food. Strange, Joe thought. Earlier there had been no sign of life at all, now I see squirrels and mice. And they were real, he knew.
He moved on again, and went through the house next to the general store. He beamed his light around, but found nothing unusual. Afterward he called his brother again, but received no reply. I justhave to keep looking in all the houses, Joe thought. I hope Iâll find him!
The next place had a cellar with two big doors opening out from it. Joe decided to explore it. He opened the doors with some difficulty. They were very heavy and the hinges had rusted. The basement was filled with tools, old pieces of timber, and some broken furniture. Joe walked inside. Suddenly he froze. He realized that he had stepped right over a snake that was just as surprised as he.
Now it coiled between him and the door, and he could see in the beam of his light that it was a diamondback rattler!
Joe had no doubt that the snake was real. He stood stock-still, beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead. Then he heard a noise. A little pack rat, who apparently had been sharing this part of the cellar with the rattler and had managed to survive, appeared off to one side, staring at both Joe and the snake. Then it jumped straight up in the air and ran for the corner. The rattler struck instinctively in that direction, but missed by a good foot.
But the strike had carried it far enough away from the door so Joe could jump past it and rush out of the basement.
Frank, meanwhile, had been exploring several homes and had arrived at the town jail. It consisted of a waiting room/office and two cells. Frank beamed his light along the walls and found that things were written on them.
âGraffiti, 1870 style!â the boy exclaimed.
Most of it were drawings and Indian words. Frank chuckled to himself. Probably curses called down on the heads of white men, he
âTake this!â he said. Then, suddenly, he was gone.
Joe sat, too stunned to move. I wonder where Frank is, he thought dully. Why isnât he here when I need him? Suddenly it occurred to him that his brother might be needing him even more. He may be in worse shape than I, Joe figured and stood up. His limbs still ached from his fall, but apparently he was not injured seriously.
Gingerly he touched his bruise again, relieved that he felt no nausea, which might have indicated a concussion or a fractured skull.
He still wondered if the Indian had socked him with the tomahawk. No, he finally decided. That would have cracked my head for sure. Those things are deadly weapons!
He picked up his flashlight. On the floor, he noticed an old-fashioned coal scuttle turned on its side. It was a peculiarly shaped pail in which peopleused to carry the coal they burned in their fireplaces and stoves.
Joe beamed his light around. At least a dozen such coal scuttles were hanging over the door, and he saw that one of them had simply fallen from its nail. âThatâs what clouted me!â he cried out aloud. âIt wasnât the Indian at all, just another of those weird accidents that make it such fun to walk around Flaming Rock!â
Then he stepped to the counter. The headband was still there. He reached out and took it. It felt real. Joe stared at it for a moment, then put it in his pocket. Finally he went out of the general store.
He stumbled a little, still dizzy from his ordeal, and tried to breathe deeply in the cool night air. His head pounded with pain. He called out for his brother, but his voice sounded weak, and there was no reply.
He called again and felt even dizzier. He started to hallucinate and imagined seeing eyes glowing in the dark and hearing people talking, shuffling, walking around him.
He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Then he realized there were desert animals and other nocturnal creatures around, trying to find acorns or other food. Strange, Joe thought. Earlier there had been no sign of life at all, now I see squirrels and mice. And they were real, he knew.
He moved on again, and went through the house next to the general store. He beamed his light around, but found nothing unusual. Afterward he called his brother again, but received no reply. I justhave to keep looking in all the houses, Joe thought. I hope Iâll find him!
The next place had a cellar with two big doors opening out from it. Joe decided to explore it. He opened the doors with some difficulty. They were very heavy and the hinges had rusted. The basement was filled with tools, old pieces of timber, and some broken furniture. Joe walked inside. Suddenly he froze. He realized that he had stepped right over a snake that was just as surprised as he.
Now it coiled between him and the door, and he could see in the beam of his light that it was a diamondback rattler!
Joe had no doubt that the snake was real. He stood stock-still, beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead. Then he heard a noise. A little pack rat, who apparently had been sharing this part of the cellar with the rattler and had managed to survive, appeared off to one side, staring at both Joe and the snake. Then it jumped straight up in the air and ran for the corner. The rattler struck instinctively in that direction, but missed by a good foot.
But the strike had carried it far enough away from the door so Joe could jump past it and rush out of the basement.
Frank, meanwhile, had been exploring several homes and had arrived at the town jail. It consisted of a waiting room/office and two cells. Frank beamed his light along the walls and found that things were written on them.
âGraffiti, 1870 style!â the boy exclaimed.
Most of it were drawings and Indian words. Frank chuckled to himself. Probably curses called down on the heads of white men, he
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