Instantly Art, Connie and Duke set out on a dead run for the sycamore tree. They were not halfway to it before the other boys, one at a time as they scrambled into their clothes, were trailing behind. As they reached the battlefield a familiar gang call sounded from the railroad bridge and in a few moments Sammy Addington rejoined his chums.
“Duke lost all the money,” Art explained sullenly as he made a preliminary survey.
“Cowardy-calf, cowardy-calf!” was Wart Ware’s salutation to Sammy. But Sammy had no time to resent this insult immediately. He was bubbling over with other business.
“Ole Chris got it,” he panted.
“Got my pocket book?” gasped Duke.
“Three dollars an’ eighty cents,” went on Sammy, yet out of breath. “An’,” with a sniffle, “he’s a-goin’ to turn it over to the mayor.”
“Father’ll get it for us; he’s comin’ home to-night,” began Art. But Sammy had more and worse news.
“An’ he’s got the papers an’ ever’body’s name,” went on the courier. “An’ the marshal says ’at he’s goin’ to take up ever’one ’at was in the scrap.” (“Take up” in Scottsville meant arrest and incarceration in the lockup.)
In the solemn silence that followed, even Duke’s tears ceased to flow. Not even Connie seemed to have a word suitable to the alarming situation.