The Sugar Creek Gang Digs for Treasure by Paul Hutchens

Author:Paul Hutchens [Hutchens, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9783965371729
Publisher: otbebookpublishing
Published: 2018-02-11T18:30:00+00:00

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6

WELL, what can you do, when there isn’t a thing you can think of, of doing? When you are looking through an opening in a hanging curtain and see a mean man coming into your cabin, and when you know there isn’t any door you can dash through to get away? Poetry already had the radio shut off and all of us were as still as scared mice, listening, and also all of us were trying to peep through the opening in the curtain.

I noticed that John Till had a newish-looking fishing rod, which he stood against the wall by a window, then he turned his back, reached out of the window and bent his body over to pick up something that he had left out there. A jiffy later I saw what it was—a stringer of fish—what looked liked five or six big walleyed pike, and an extra large northern pike, which he probably caught out in the lake.

He lifted the stringer and I heard the fish go kerflippety-flop-flop into the sink, then I heard the iron pitcher pump squeaking like he was pumping water on the fish, maybe to wash the dirt and slime off of them.

The curtain we were peeping through looked like it had been made out of the same kind of material one of my mom’s chenille bedspreads is made out of, and was kinda fuzzy on one side. Even before I heard Dragonfly do what he did just then, I was afraid he would do it. He had his face up close to the curtain not far from mine, and all of a sudden he got a puzzled expression on his face, his eyes started to squint, and his mouth to open, and he made a quick grab for his crooked nose with one of his hands.

But it was too late. Out came the cuckooest-sounding sneezes you ever heard, which he tried to smother and didn’t; and like it nearly always sounds when he sneezes, it was like a fourth-of-July firecracker that didn’t explode but just went “hisssss-sh-sh-sh” instead. At that same instant John Till whirled around and looked through the main room and at the curtain behind which we were hiding. If it had still been raining terribly hard, he wouldn’t have heard us, maybe, but Dragonfly’s sneeze seemed to have been timed with a lull in the rain, ’cause in spite of the fact that it was a smothered hissing noise, it sounded like it was loud enough to be heard a long ways away.

John Till jumped like he had been shot at and hit, and I expected most anything terribly exciting and dangerous to happen.

First I saw him take a wild look around like he wanted to make a dash for a door or a window and disappear. He must have thought better of it, though, ’cause he started pumping water again and doing something to the fish he had caught, then he fumbled at his belt and in a second I saw in his right hand a fierce-looking sheath knife, just like the kind Barry carried.

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