The next morning the twins came over and used the punching bag for a tackling dummy. The rope broke and the bag split when it hit the floor. Stoney leaned against the wall and watched them moodily. I knew the way the twins operated. They were trying to get a rise out of Stoney. And once they did, it would be too bad for Stoney.
After they had gone I said to Stoney, “Shall we fix the bag?”
He shrugged. “I only got two more days here. Skip it.”...
The following afternoon I was up in the room working on my stamps. A bunch of approval items had come in the mail and I was budgeting my allowance to cover the ones I had to have.
It was getting late. I knew that Looie was trudging around after Stoney Wotnack. The sound came from afar — a thin, high screaming. I knew right away that it was Looie’s built-in screech. She used it for major catastrophes.
Dad wasn’t back from the office yet. I got out in back the same time Mother did, but Mother beat me to Looie. Mother went over her, bone by bone, and dug under her hair looking for scalp wounds.
All we could find was some angry-looking rope bums on her ankles and wrists, and a little lump on her forehead right at the hairline. When the screeching began to fade into words, I told Mother that she was yelling about Indians. We got her into the house and finally she calmed down so that Mother could understand her too.
Mother said, “Oh, it was just those silly Branton twins playing Indian.”
For my money, silly was a pretty lightweight word. I had got tangled in one of the Brantons’ Indian games the summer before, and Mr. Branton had to come over and apologize to Dad about the arrow hole in my left leg in the back. The Brantons were kept in their own yard for a week, and when they got out they twisted my arm for telling.
Just then Stoney Wotnack came sauntering down across the lot with his hands in his pockets. He was whistling. It was the first time I had ever heard him whistle.
Mother turned on him real quick and said, “Johnny, didn’t you know those big twins were picking on little Looie?”
“They quit after a while,” he said idly. I could see she wanted to ask him more, but he went on into the house.
Looie’s yelping had simmered down to dry sobs that were a minute apart. I could see by the expression on her face that she was thinking of something to ask for. She knew that she usually got a yes answer right after she was hurt.
Mother said, “When your father comes home, I’m sending him over to the Brantons’. This sort of thing has happened too often.”
Dad came home a half hour later. I saw a little gleam in his eyes as Mother told him about Looie. Dad gently rubbed his hands together and said, “A decent local government would put a bounty on those two. But I couldn’t go out after them. It would be too much like shooting horses, and I love horses.”
“This is nothing to kid about, Sam,” Mother snapped.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go have words with Harvey Branton. But if they carry me home on a shutter, you’ll know it went further than words. Remember, darling, he’s the guy who lifted the front end of our car out of the ditch last winter.”
“Just give him a piece of your mind.”
Dad turned to me. “Jimmy, would you care if you weren’t friends any more with the twins? I can tell Harvey to keep them off the property.”
“Have I been friends with them?” I asked.
Dad stood up. “Wish me luck,” he said.
Just then a car came roaring into our driveway and the car door slammed almost before the motor stopped running.
Harvey Branton came striding across the grass to our front porch. He walked with his big fists swinging and with a set look around the mouth. Twenty feet from the porch he yelled, “I want a word with you, Sam Baker!”
From the way he looked, if I was Dad, I would have headed for the storeroom in the attic. But Dad came out onto the porch and leaned against a pillar and held his lighter to his cigarette. “Just coming over to see you, Harvey.”
Harvey Branton pulled up to a stop, his face a foot from Dad’s. “You’re harboring a criminal in this house, Baker. This is a decent section. I won’t have you bringing city riffraff up here to pick on my children.”
“Pick on your children!” Dad said with surprise.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know anything about it, Baker. My two boys were worked over by an expert. I have the whole story from them. That gutter rat you’re boarding attacked them. Kim has two black eyes and so does Cam. Their mother has driven them down to the doctor. Kim’s nose has to be set and we think that he’ll have to take stitches on the inside of Cam’s lip. A man couldn’t have punished them worse.”
Dad said mildly, “Harvey, I was coming over to tell you that unless you could keep those two pony-sized kids of yours from picking on Looie, you could keep them off the property.”
“Harmless play,” Harvey rasped. “Don’t change the subject. I’m talking about brutal assault, and that riffraff is your guest, so you can damn’ well assume the responsibility.”
Mother came out onto the porch and said, “I just got the rest of the story from Looie. She wandered away from Johnny, and your two fiends jumped her and tied her to one of the saplings in the back pasture and piled brush around her legs. They had matches and they told Looie they were going to burn her alive. They were holding lighted matches by that dry brush. She said they had red paint on their faces.” Mother’s voice sounded funny and brittle.
“A stupid lie,” Harvey Branton said.
“Looie has never lied in her life,” Dad said softly.
Harvey gave him a mean look. “I’m not saying who is a liar, Baker. I’m just saying that I know my own boys and they wouldn’t do a thing like that and your wife is trying to shift the responsibility.”
Stoney Wotnack came out of the hallway. He came across the porch. His hands were out of his pockets and I saw that the big knuckles were bruised and reddened. He stopped and looked up at Harvey Branton and said, “I see it, mister. Them two creeps you got would ’a’ burned her. Now take back what you said about Mrs. Baker.”
Harvey made a sound deep in his throat. He grabbed Stoney’s arm and said, “Son, it’s going to take me about ten minutes to teach you to stay the hell away from decent children.” He raised his big right hand and his lips were drawn back from his teeth.
Dad said in a voice so low that I could hardly hear it, “Branton, if you hit that kid I’m going to try my level best to beat the hell out of you.”
I’d never heard Dad use that tone of voice. It made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
Branton slowly lowered his hand. He let go of Stoney and stepped back away from the porch. He said, “I’m going to sue you, Baker.”
“Go ahead,” Dad said. “Maybe those two kids of yours will be put in an institution where they belong, when the judge hears the case. Keep them off my property from now on.”
The car door chunked shut again and the back wheels spun on gravel as big Harvey Branton backed out into the highway.
Dad said, “Somebody better help me. When I stop leaning on this pillar my knees are going to bend the wrong way.”
Mother went to him and kissed him and slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Just like Jack Dempsey. A real killer, aren’t you, darling?”
She turned and put her hand on Stoney’s head. He stood rigid and uncomfortable.
Dad said, “Boy, this is your home away from home. We want you back here with us every chance you can get.”
“Break it off!” Stoney said. He twisted away from Mother and went into the house. We heard his steps on the stairs.
We all talked about it at dinner. Stoney didn’t say anything. Near the end of the meal he said with a faint tone of wonder, “That big monkey was really going to fix my wagon.”