“How much is it?” Johnny said.
“Two-fifty complete with the gun. It’s a regular six shooter, see.” The clerk removed the cap pistol and for a fascinating few seconds twirled it expertly in his fingers.
“I’ve got a gun,” Johnny said.
The clerk looked at him. “Then you’ve got a belt too, haven’t you?”
“No, sir.”
“Would you like one?”
“How much does it cost?” Johnny asked.
The clerk surveyed him carefully, looked at his shoes, at the worn knees of his pants, and then thought for a second. “Well, the belts and guns come together as a set. But it just happens that I have a belt left over, somebody swiped the gun when I wasn’t looking. If you buy the hat, I’ll give you the belt for fifty cents.”
Johnny could not believe his wonderful luck; it came to him that this was a real cowboy and that was why he was being so generous and good to him. “I’ll take it,” he said quickly, before the offer could be revoked.
“All right, son, fine, that will be two-sixty-three with the tax.”
“Yes, sir,” Johnny said. Almost holding his breath he dug into his pocket and pulled out his little stock of bills. He carefully parted with two paper dollars and from his change counted out sixty-five cents. The clerk rang the register and gave him a receipt together with two cents change. “All right, son, have a good time.”
In his splendid new regalia Johnny hurried out of the store, for the moment so proud that the horror of the night before was banished from his mind. Then he looked at a clock and saw that it was past eleven; it was time to go to the baseball park.
As fast as he dared he hurried down the main street, past all of the wonderfully inviting stores, and to the town hall lockers where he had left his shoe box. Mercifully, no one else was there at the moment. With some labor he fished out the locker key, inserted it, and swung the small steel door open. There was his precious cache, just as he had left it.
He looked carefully both ways-no one seemed to be paying him the least attention. With a coolness that a professional gambler would have admired, Johnny opened the box, took out his gun, and fitted it experimentally into the holster he had just purchased. The neat little Chief’s Special snuggled into the pocket as though they had been designed for each other; it was an almost perfect fit. Greatly relieved that the problem of the awkward shoe box had been solved, Johnny pushed the box well down into a trash receptacle only a few feet away. With a sense of freedom, and feeling vastly uplifted by his wonderful new possessions, he walked through the tunnel and toward the exit gate, confident now that, somehow, he would find an answer to all of his troubles.
He was halfway through the exit when a man barked at him, “Hey, kid!”
Johnny did not dare to ignore the challenge; his right hand stole toward the butt of his gun as he turned to see what was the matter. “Come here,” he directed.
Cautiously Johnny obeyed. He was properly armed now and if there was to be trouble, he knew what to do. As he came closer the man reached out. “Give me your hand,” he said.
With his eyes narrowed and worried Johnny carefully offered his left hand, his right resting on the butt of his reliable weapon.
The man took a stamp and pressed it against Johnny’s flesh. “There,” he explained. “That’ll let you back in again. Be sure to come to this gate.” Still holding Johnny’s hand he moved it under an ultraviolet light; immediately the pattern of the stamp became visible in a pale glowing tint.
As the shadow of danger passed, Johnny made a quick decision. “Do you know where the ball park is?” he asked.
“Sure.” The man pointed. “Right over there, cross the freeway and you can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s all right. Have a nice time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Johnny walked away from the gate at a carefully controlled pace; within a minute he was able to slip through the first of the solid rows of parked cars and out of sight of people who might wonder why he was leaving so soon. It was a long way to the gate where the bus had driven in, but when he reached it there was no problem. He walked out calmly and was not challenged. Turning left as he had been directed, he began his hike to the baseball park.
Ten minutes later the Disneyland security office received the first word to be on the alert for an unaccompanied nine-year-old boy who would be carrying a shoe box. When the situation was made clear word was spread quickly to the gatekeepers and to all of the members of the protective force. Very shortly after Disneyland had been notified the police stationed in and around the Anaheim stadium received the same message; within minutes all of the ticket sellers, gate-men, and ushers were cautioned and forewarned.
In the bright sun of the warm day Johnny McGuire walked along the side of the highway feeling just a little lonely, but so proud of his comfortable new hat that he was able to put certain other worrisome thoughts out of his mind. He managed to forget that his stock of money, which had seemed so ample when he had started out, was melting away with distressing speed. His next purchase would be a ticket to get into the baseball park, then he planned to buy himself a hot dog for lunch. Beyond that point he did not attempt to go.
A car slowed beside him and the driver leaned over. “Where are you headed, cowboy?” he asked.
“I’m going to the ball game,” Johnny answered truthfully.
“Hop in, I’ll give you a lift.”
Johnny’s mother had cautioned him about accepting rides from strangers, but that had been under different circumstances. Without hesitation Johnny accepted the offered hospitality; he ducked so that his new hat would not be knocked off and carefully shut the door when he was inside.
“Are you an Angel fan?” the driver asked.
“Yes, sir!” Johnny declared.
“Who’s your favorite player?”
“Tom Satriano, I think he’s great.”
“He’s a very good catcher. Do you go to the game often?”
Johnny thought very fast before he answered that one. “No, sir, this is the first time that my dad has let me go.”
The driver did not comment; it is doubtful if Johnny would have heard him had he done so, because at that moment the car was crossing over the freeway and there before him Johnny saw the great curved shape of the Anaheim stadium.
They drove down a wide roadway, then turned right into another and there, almost at once, were the gates to the parking lot. Johnny was startled that it cost a whole dollar just to drive in; he even felt a certain sense of guilt as though he had somehow brought it about. The driver did not seem to mind: he continued down through the parking lot to a vacant location reasonably close to the main entrance and then stopped the car.
“Thank you very much,” Johnny said.
“You’re welcome. It’s nice to meet a boy who has been trained to be polite. What’s your name?”
“Johnny.” He said it before he stopped to think.
“Enjoy the game, Johnny. Have you money for your ticket?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” He got out of the car intent on making his escape because now the man knew his name. He was not sure where he should go, but as he walked closer to the huge stadium he was certain that he would somehow find out how to buy a ticket and get inside. He had been to baseball games once or twice before, but that had been in small wooden grandstands which did not compare with what was before him now.
Keeping his eyes open he watched for the pattern of traffic. It was still early and not too many people had as yet arrived. Although he knew that he was now in Anaheim, far from Pasadena where the police were looking for him, he was also dangerously far from home. If some guard were to notice that he was alone, he might ask some very bad questions. It would be safest, therefore, to do as he had been doing and keep in the crowd as much as possible.