One glance toward the railroad bridge revealed the well-known blue uniform of Marshal Chris Walter. And it was advancing at the old man’s best pace. Close behind waddled Sammy Addington. By the time Old Chris reached the big sycamore the only Goosetowners or Elm Streeters to be seen were those just disappearing above the river dam.
[CHAPTER IV]
THE BITTER FRUITS OF DEFEAT
When the fugitives had time to take stock, the Elm Streeters decided that the personal victories of Art and Connie were so completely overshadowed by the rout of the other boys that the day was irretrievably lost. Bloody noses and torn clothing were not counted. But the destruction and loss of the prized aeroplanes was despair itself.
“They could be arrested,” suggested Colly Craighead, rubbing his injured arm and still breathing vengeance.
“I’d cut out that kind of talk,” exclaimed Alex Conyers. “Don’t be sore. Hank Milleson did his best to head you off. You got what you was tryin’ to give an’ that was enough. Be game.”
“I reckon that’s right,” broke in Art, lying flat on his back. “We outnumbered ’em an’ we did a little dirty work too. Sammy ought to get his for usin’ a rock. It kind o’ tickled me though to see the kid hand it to that big stiff. At that, it wasn’t much worse ’an Job Wilkes jumpin’ on Connie’s back.”
The Goosetowners had a flat-bottomed skiff moored just above the dam. All of these boys had jumped into the boat and were already lost to view behind the Big Willow Bend. The Elm Streeters were recovering their wind, sprawled on the high bank under the leaning walnut tree just above the dam. A look-out kept an eye on the marshal, who lingered for a time at the scene of the fight and then retired, followed by his informer, Sammy Addington. Sammy would have made an attempt to rejoin his chums but as he was just as likely to run into the enemy he discreetly withdrew under convoy of Old Chris.
“I got all the toy aeroplane business I want,” remarked Connie, ignoring Art’s comment. “It is kind o’ sissy at that.” He was gazing longingly at the dammed-up stretch of blue water before him. “Let’s go swimmin’.”