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The
Christian Conqueror’s Camping Club
Adventure #1
“The Katydid Kaper”
Danny Baer
Written – 1988
©2002
VI.
“Do you see them behind us?”
“They can’t be too far back. I hope they aren’t lost.”
“Oh, there they are,” Mom said.
“And here’s the church,” Dad replied.
Our car with our family in it pulled into a parking space at our church, and the Williams, who were following us, parked beside us. Mr. Williams worked with Dad and promised to come with him on our “Bring a Buddy Day.”
I jumped out of the car and raced around to the side of the church where the other fellahs were, and sure enough, there stood Beanie right in the middle of all of them. I could hardly believe my eyes. I guess that he felt a bit ashamed of how he acted when we got back to Mike’s house the morning before.
You see, we had not slept a wink the night before after our meeting with the rustlers. Johnny came over to where I was when he heard the truck pull off, and the two of us decided that there wasn’t much use hanging around there anymore so we took off for camp.
I guess we must have sounded like a bunch of maniacs coming up the hill. We were a hollering and yelling like nobody’s business. Mike, Ronnie, and Beanie came out of there sleeping bags like my dog, Smokey, comes out of his doghouse when I get out of the school bus. We could hardly talk because we were out of breath, but we finally settled down enough to let out the story. Johnny first started by telling everything he knew, which wasn’t much, then I filled in the rest. When I came to the part about not getting the license number, the other guys weren’t the least bit happy.
“Oh great.” Mike said with some disgust in his voice. “Now we’ll never catch them. Why in the world didn’t you guys come, and get us?”
“Now wait a minute Mike.” Johnny came back in our defense. “Nobody could have done any better. There were just too many weeds around there to see good. And besides, we didn’t have any time to come and get you. By the time we would have gotten back they would have been tong gone.
“I guess you’re right.” Mike admitted, “We were so close though.”
By the time daylight came we were all pretty tired, but still determined to find those rustlers. Beanie, on the other hand, just kept saying “I told you so, I told you so.” He really was rubbing it in, and I could tell that Mike was getting a bit perturbed about the whole thing. Mike kept his peace though because he wanted Beanie to come to church some kinda bad.
Well it had paid off and Beanie was standing there as pretty as you please. He had on some old dress shoes that were real scuffed up, no socks, and trousers that were what we used to call ‘high water pants.’ His shirt was too big, and his very short hair was covered with some sort of grease. As funny as he looked, he really looked great. We had been working on him to become a Christian ever since us guys had been saved a couple of years before.
We all went into the church and planned our next strategy for the rustlers. We were going to meet at Mike’s the next day, and ride around the countryside looking for that dark pickup with the stain on the side. Hopefully they hadn’t washed it. Before we knew it, Sunday school was about to begin, and we had to get quiet.
I couldn’t believe the crowd at church. Our “Bring a Buddy Sunday” had really worked. In just about every pew I saw some stranger beside one of our regular folks. I was setting on the end of the pew with my folks, and the Williams. Mr. Williams was setting on the end. That was good because he was unsaved, and my Dad said that he was ‘under conviction’ which was our way of saying that the Lord was really working on him.
Just across the aisle, and one pew back was Beanie, and the other guys with Mike’s folks. I could glance back and could see Beanie through the service. For a while he seemed to be amazed at what all was going on. He hadn’t been in church at all except for a wedding or two. He mumbled along with the singing, trying to look like he knew what he was doing. I could tell he was a bit embarrassed, especially when he stood up on one song when no one else did.
When the preacher got up I saw a real interest in Beanie’s eyes. He sat and listened really well. As the preacher talked about heaven, and hell, and the death of Jesus on the cross, and the need to be saved I could see that Beanie was getting really worried. I was sure that he was under conviction. I was praying under my breath and believed with all my heart the Lord was working on his.
When the invitation came there were a lot of folks who were in the same shape Beanie was. The Lord was really working on a lot of people. In fact, during the first verse of the invitation hymn there were about a half a dozen who went up and knelt at the altar. One of them was Mr. Williams who went to the altar at a half run, crying like a baby with my Dad with him to pray with him.
When we stood up, I couldn’t see Beanie unless I leaned back really far which I didn’t want to do. When Dad and Mr. Williams left, I could move a bit to see him again. Boy, was he in bad shape. Tears were going down his cheeks, and he was gripping the pew with all his might. I thought sure he was about to move, but he didn’t. My heart ached for him, but I knew that these were things you just couldn’t force. I prayed that we would have another opportunity to reach him for Christ.
After the service just many folks had left or at least gone outside to fellowship. “This was the greatest service our church has had,” Pastor John was telling Dad. Everyone around shook their heads in agreement while I quietly walked over to the window.
I was admiring the sky and the trees across the road, and thinking of how happy I was for everyone, but at the same time wishing Beanie had gotten saved. Thinking of Beanie, I quickly looked over the half of the parking lot that I could see looking for him. It was then when I saw it. There, right in front of the church, was a dark-blue pickup truck with a cattle rack on the back. With a lump in my throat, and my heart beginning to race, I quickly looked toward the back on the side, and could see a dark spot that was red on the white stripe that went from the front of the truck to the back.
As quickly as I could, without running of course, I went outside, and about ran smack into the back of Johnny when I bolted through the door.
“What in the world are you doing,” Johnny shouted as I grabbed him so he wouldn’t fall while all the time looking for the truck which at that time was pulling out of the lot.
“Sorry Johnny,” I said apologizing. “Don’t look now fellows, but there go our rustlers.” I pointed to the back of the truck going down the road and rounding a bend. “They were in church with us!”
VII.
“That takes care of the last one,” Mike said as he took the big black crayon he had and marked out the name on the bottom of our list. We had taken some paper and taped it to the wall of our club house, and to the best of our recollection, we made a list of everyone that had been in the service that morning. In fact, I had called Pastor John, and asked about the visitors since he got all their names on cards.
We were able to eliminate, to our satisfaction, nearly everyone one the list. There were the Whites with their cousins from the other side of town, the Blankenship’s with their neighbors, the Davenports with a couple of college girls, the Jenkins with some out-of-town visitors, and about 15 other families. It seemed that everyone we could think of were either too old or known by us not to have a pickup or just not the size, and type that I had seen that night in the dim moonlight.
“We don’t have much to go on fellows,” Mike finally said after we all just kinda sat there for quite some time with our chins in our hands. “There can only be one possibility.”
Each one of us sat up quickly like Mike was about to give us some candy or something. We respected his ‘one-year-older-than-us’ wisdom and hoped like everything that he had the answer.
“One of those rustler’s wives must have been there, and just drove the truck.”
“I thought of that an hour ago,” Beanie chimed, “I just didn’t think you guys would listen to me.
“Sure, you did Bean Head,” Ronnie said mockingly. “And I suppose you know who it is.”
“Well, if you would like to know, I do have an idea,” He answered.
“Yea, and just who is that?” Johnny asked, not trying to sound too interested, but you could tell that he was.
“Well,” Beanie continued, “There were a couple of ladies that I know who live up Licking Holler. We could ride our bikes up there and take a look.”
“We don’t have much time,” I said, “So we better get going.”
I knew that we all had to be back by late afternoon so we could get to church. Our pastor had decided that, since our service that morning had gone so well, that we should meet for a few more nights for a revival meeting. We would have gone anyway, but the thought of a revival with the kind of a service we had that morning made us feel really excited about the whole thing -especially when we realized that we might get Beanie back on another night, and he might get saved!
I waved at Johnny as he turned down Webster Road. I was going to a road about a Haifa mile away. Mike and Beanie were heading for the houses Beanie knew about, and Johnny and I were following up other leads which were really just guesses.
My job was to ride up Long Pond Road to just about where Long Pond was. If nothing else, I was looking forward to getting to the pond, and seeing if there were any carp swimming around in the shallows. We would stop there many times during the summer, and watch them wishing we had one of those bow and arrow outfits that had a rig on it like a fishing pole where you could shoot a fish, and reel it in. Not that any of us would like carp, but they sure are fun to catch, and there are always some folks up those hollows that we could give them to.
Just about then, while I was daydreaming about carp, and such, I was jolted back to reality by something I heard up ahead. A dark blue pickup with a cattle rack on it turned into Long Pond Road. I just caught a glimpse of it before it disappeared behind some trees, but I was sure it was the right truck.
“Now what do I do?” I said to myself. There I was—really alone this time. There was no way I could get the other guys. I decided to ride up the road, looking in each yard all the while trying to find that truck. I could at least find their ‘hideout,’ maybe.
It seemed like I rode for hours, and hours. It took much longer than usual to get to the pond because I would ride slowly by each house looking carefully around, and behind each one. I did go by pretty fast if there was a mean looking dog in the yard. The other guys teased me all the time about my fear of strange dogs. I didn’t know why I was so afraid, but I figured that it was because when I was only about four I was bit by a dog with rabies. I didn’t remember any of it, but I understand that the treatments of shots in the stomach for fourteen days were pretty painful. The knots I had in my stomach now weren’t from those shots, but from expecting to find those rustlers any minute.
I was so nervous that when I finally arrived at the pond, I even forgot to look for the carp. I just didn’t know what to do. I was so close, but who knows how far away I was? I decided to go just to the top of the next hill, take a look see, and head back.
From the top of the hill I could see an old white church with cars in the parking lot. I remembered Dad telling me about that old church that only had service once a month. They didn’t have Sunday school at all! They would just meet on Sunday afternoon. Not many folks went there. In fact, there weren’t more than five or six cars and a couple of pickups in front. Just then I realized that one of the trucks had a cattle rack. It was parked on the other side and was so hidden by the other truck that all I could see was the rack. “Could it be?” I thought.
Fast as a wink I zoomed down the hill, and toward the church. I don’t know which was pumping harder - my feet were pumping my old ‘hand me down’ bike my brother gave me or my heart! I reached the church just about when some of the men came out the front door for a break. I was so startled by them coming out that I hit my breaks, and my bike slid out from under me, and I went skidding on the gravel road. Pain shot up from my knee, and my left hand, and I realized that I had scraped myself up good -just like I had about a dozen times before - twice in this summer alone!
The men saw me wreck and came running out to help.
“You’re Will Martin’s son, aren’t you?” One of the men asked.
I tried to squeeze out a “Yes sir,” between my teeth, but I knew if I said anything, I would bust out crying. That was the last thing a twelve-year old boy wanted to do. I just kinda half smiled half winced and nodded my head even though William Martin was my Grandfather, not my Dad. But I was used to it. Many of his friends would call me his son.
As they were helping me up, I realized one of the men who talked was Mr. Richards. Our family bought sausage from him all the time and he was a regular customer of my Grandfather’s gas station. He was the one who asked me the first question, and the one who spoke up again, and said, “Here, let me put your bike in the back of my truck, and run you home. You don’t look like you re in much shape to ride.”
“Thanks a lot Mr. Richards,” I said as I limped over to the parking lot. Just then I realized that I had just wasted a good two hours, and a good wreck. It was Mr. Richards’ pickup that I had seen, and yes, even though it was very dark it was not blue, but black, and had no white stripe on
As I sat in the back of his truck riding down the road, I thought of how silly I was, how I had spent the afternoon, and looked at my blood-stained trousers. I felt awful. In fact, even though I was twelve, and no baby anymore, I couldn’t help it. I started crying.
VIII.
“I now baptize you, Willard Miller,” the preacher said with his hand in the air, “in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” After he put Beanie in and out of the water he continued. “A special thanks goes to the efforts of Mike, Johnny, Pete, and Ronnie for winning their friend to the Lord. Come on down here boys, and congratulate Willard, or should I say, Beanie?”
We all started down the hill lickety split. Just then the preacher yelled, “Not so fast boys. Now slow down. Watch it! You’re going to knock me in the water! No! Stop! Stop!”
Just then I woke up. It had been a dream. I awoke with a start and realized that I was in my sleeping bag by the campfire. The other guys and I had been praying so hard for Beanie to get saved that my brain had taken all that praying and made a dream out of it. It seemed so real that I almost laughed out loud at the thought of our preacher falling back into the water of the creek where we held our baptisms. Then a tear came to my eye when I realized that Beanie had not gotten saved.
I stood up, kinda slowly because of my sore knee, and hand, and walked around camp a couple of times kinda listening and wondering what could be happening. Johnny, and Mike had taken the first watch tonight, and Ronnie, Beanie, and I were waiting for our turn.
You see, none of the other guys turned up anything during their hunt either. We had waited until Monday, and even though our church was in a revival, our folks still let us camp out, it being summer, and all. We all met at Mike’s that morning, planned our strategy, went home, got our camping gear together, went to church, and went back to Mike’s, and up to the cabin after church.
I was about ready to get back in my sleeping bag when I heard it.
“CLICK - CLICK!” “CLICK - CLICK!” “CLICK - CLICK!”
Although we said that they sounded like the katydids, the noise that those clickers made was really very distinct, and someone was clicking his like mad. Quickly I kicked Beanie, and Ronnie’s sleeping bags.
‘SHHHH! They’re signaling us.” I said in a whisper as the guys woke up with a start. “We gotta get down there, and help them.”
Before we knew it we all were heading over toward the sound of the clicks which I could tell was coming from the lookout point that I had been at just a few nights before.
“CLICK - CLICK!” “CLICK - CLICK!” “CLICK - CLICK!”
Just then we made out the shapes of Johnny, and Mike as they were starting to split up. “Hey,” I said in a loud whisper so as to get their attention, but not so loud that the rustlers could hear. “What’s up?” “They’re down there again,” Mike said in an excited voice. “We heard a calf and saw a light flickering. We gotta hurry or the rustlers are going to get away. Now, everyone get to your positions. You all know what to do.”
Yea, I knew what to do, but I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to go through with it. Mike, and Johnny had some firecrackers, and just about the time that those rustlers were going to load up the calf they were going to throw the lighted firecrackers at them hoping to spook them long enough to make them let go of the calf and get out. Beanie and I would try to get the license plate number while all the excitement was going on, and Ronnie was just supposed to stay out of the way. If nothing else, we figured that they would never try to take any more calves from the Franklins.
Right about then I was ready to trade with Ronnie, but it was too late. Beanie, and I were going down the fence row, and I knew that the excitement would begin any second.
“I’m not going to let them get away this time,” Beanie said as he was starting to move quickly away from me. “I’m gonna fix them good.”
“Beanie, wait.” I was too late. He had found clear spot that cut to the left and was running down the old road that the rustlers would take to get away. I knew that he was crazy, but I didn’t think he was silly. He was going to run right into those fellows and spoil it all. If they heard him coming, it’s hard to tell what they would do.
After walking down the fence row a few minutes I realized that I could hear some talking and strained to see a light flickering. The distinct sound of a calf about that time made me realize that I was about on those rustlers myself. I wondered where Beanie was. He must have made it to the other side of the truck without those guys seeing him. Maybe he even got there soon enough to get the license plate number before they showed up. Just maybe he wasn’t so silly after all.
Things were happening pretty fast. Before I knew it, the rustlers had the calf in the truck, and were closing their doors. I wondered then where the firecracker was, and found out later the guys lit it, and threw it out toward the truck, but nothing happened. It was a dud.
Since I knew that the truck was going to come close by me on the road that they left on before—the very same road Beanie had run down a few minutes earlier—I quickly moved over toward it to get a better look at them.
As they passed, I turned on my flashlight as shown it on the license plate which was so covered with mud that I couldn’t read, but the first two letters - “10”. I also noticed a green sticker on the right side of the bumper with some black lettering on it.
Happy that I had at least gotten that much information I started to turn my light off when something in the bed of the truck caught my attention. I figured it was just the calf, and not thinking that the rustlers might see my light in their rear-view mirror I quickly flashed the light up to see. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There in the back of the rustler’s truck with the calf was Beanie.
IX.
“What in the world do we do now?” Johnny asked as we all walked back into the camp.
“We gotta tell his folks,” I said. “His Mom will be worried sick. And I. . .”
“Your Mom would be worried sick,” Mike interrupted, “but not Beanie’s. She won’t even know he is gone until this evening.”
That was really sad, but true. Beanie left his house early in the morning, and sometimes wouldn’t go home until late that night. I sometimes wondered if his Mom even cared at all. That made me feel really bad, but also made me feel pretty good that my Mom was so always concerned about where I would be, and who I would be with, and when I would be home. I figured that it was because my folks were Christians, and Beanie’s folks weren’t. Just the thought of that made me even sadder. We had wanted so much for Beanie to go to the revival with us again, and to get saved. Now for all we knew those rustlers could find him in the back of that truck, and only heaven knows what they might do to him.
“Beanie has done some pretty dumb things, but this one beats all,” Johnny said sounding pretty disgusted. “If I could get my hands on his old Bean Head, I’d, I’d. . .”
“You’d what?” Mike interrupted in a tone of voice as to let us know that no one was going to do anything unless he approved. After all, he was the leader of our ‘Triple C’ Club.
After he said that we all just kinda walked over to the campfire, set down around it, and stared in the glowing coals without saying anything for a few minutes.
Finally, Mike broke the silence, “We need to figure out what our options are.” Mike always said that when we were about to devise a plan, and no one knew quite what we should do next.
“Well we could go home and call the police.” Ronnie offered as the first suggestion.
“That’s exactly what we will have to do if we can’t figure out anything else soon,” said Mike.
I spoke up with suggestion number two, “We could tell Franklin, and let him worry about Beanie. After all it did happen on his land, and those are his calves he is supposed to be watching.”
“That wouldn’t be too nice.” Johnny said before Mike had the chance. “Even though none of us like Joe that well, it really isn’t his fault. There’s just gotta be another way. How about let’s just go back and tell our parents.”
Ronnie looked at Johnny just as if he had said a bad word or something. “No way! They’d kill us! We wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week, and camping would be out for the rest of the summer. They’d just kill us. I know it. ...
“Oh, be quiet,” Mike ordered, “They are gonna kill us if we don’t tell them, and they find out by themselves. We have no other choice. Let’s gather our stuff up and go back. It’s about dawn, and Dad will be up soon.
It seemed like we were at a funeral or something. No one said a thing as we gathered up our stuff and made our way along the path that led to the pasture land, and down the hill by the pond.
I could hear the sound of the bullfrogs like they were beating out their song on those big kettle drums like we saw when the orchestra came to our school just the spring before. In the background I heard a whippoorwill, and loudest of all was the chorus of katydids that seemed to be making fun of us. Our great big adventure had turned into a great big failure. Some detectives we were.
When we topped the next hill, we could see Mike’s house below. Lights were on in the kitchen, and his parent’s bedroom. A big lump came in my throat wondering what would happen.
All the way back Ronnie kept muttering, “They’re gonna kill us. I just know that they are gonna kill us.”
Every time he said it Mike would look at him as if to say, “Will you be quiet?”
Ronnie would move back away from him, and quiet down, but after a few steps he would be saying it again.
Finally, right as we reached the back edge of Mike’s yard and crawled through the barbed wire that separated it from the pasture, Mike stopped all of us. “Wait a minute. All of this time we have been so worried about what would happen to us we haven’t even acted like we cared anything about Beanie.”
“You know you’re right”’ I said.
“Let’s have a ring of prayer for him,” Johnny suggested. That’s what we called it when we all knelt down on our right knee in a circle with our left foot flat on the ground pointing toward the middle of the circle. We would then put our hands across our left knee and our heads on our hands. That way the top of our heads would almost be touching each other, and we could pray softly, and hear each other very easily.
After we got in position Mike began our prayer, and asked for Beanie’s safety, and that the Lord might speak to his heart, and he would get saved soon. In fact, that was the way we all prayed. It seemed like our concern for our own hides was gone, and we all of the sudden were especially concerned about our friend who could be almost anywhere at that very instant. When all four of us got finished Mike, as he always did, said, “And the ‘Triple C’ Club all said ...,“ and we all responded by saying together, “Amen!”
Just an instant after we said “Amen” we heard another high pitched “Amen” from right behind Johnny in a very familiar, whiny voice. We all looked up, and you could have knocked us over with a feather. Sure enough. Right there in the flesh and kneeling with us was Beanie.
X.
“OK. Now you can tell us what in the world happened.” Mike took his hand off of Beanie’s mouth when we all got into the club house, and Ronnie shut the door.
Beanie had fallen down and started rolling on the ground out in the yard while holding his sides and laughing. I guess we all did look sorta funny when we realized that Beanie was right there with us instead of in some rustler’s hideout. He had to hold Beanie down to keep him from laughing so loud, and waking up the whole neighborhood, and alerting Mike’s father. “After all,” Mike later said, “there was no sense in letting our folks know now.” I wasn’t so sure if I would have rather gone ahead right then and told our parents. It seemed that this whole thing was getting a lot more dangerous than I had imagined.
Beanie began his story. “When I left Pete, I ran down that road, and almost ran right into those rustlers’ truck. I saw that they were in the back fooling with the calf, so I knelt down in the front. I tried to make out the license plate in the front, but it was just too muddy, and too dark. I did feel it though, and it felt like 10011.”
“I saw what I thought was an ‘I,’ and an ‘0’ on the back,” I said interrupting Beanie. “I guess it could have been a ‘1,’ and a ‘0’. I also saw a green sticker.”
“That green sticker could be anything.” Johnny sounded a bit upset that I even mentioned it. “I’ve seen thousands of green bumper stickers with everything on them from ‘Have you hugged your pig today’ to “You’re a creep if you’re not a Jeep.’ The South Webster high school, where the three cousins would be attending in a couple of years had a Jeep as their mascot. Not the Jeep that you drive in, but the little animal you see on Popeye cartoons. I always thought it was sorta strange, but no stranger than the mascot of Portsmouth East high school that my brother went to, and that I would end up in. Our mascot was the Tartans. I never have figured out what a ‘Tartan’ is.
“This sticker was different -- not a bumper sticker,” I spoke up in defense, “It was little. In fact, it almost looked like it was about the size of those little cards we have to use at school to put notes on for book reports.”
“You mean three by five cards?” Mike asked.
“Yea, that’s it. It was green, and about the size of a three by five card, but a little more square. In fact, it could have been three by three or three by four. It may even have been three, and one half by . . .”
“Wait a minute!” Beanie yelled. “Do you guys want to hear my story or are you gonna argue all day on the size of a silly sticker?”
I stopped talking right away, and Mike told Beanie to go ahead although as he said it he reached over, and picked up a note pad, and pencil, and started writing down the clues that we had so far.
Beanie continued, “Well anyway, after I felt the license plate, I didn’t know what to do. I thought about going around the truck, but I knew that any minute those guys would be getting in, and I might bump into one of them, so I decided to climb up on the truck.”
“You what?” Ronnie asked, and then laughed. “I knew that you were part monkey. Can you guys see it? What were you gonna do Beanie? Did you hope that they would think you were their hood ornament or something?”
We all began laughing then, and Johnny said, “No. I know what. He was going to let them get in the truck, and when they looked through the windshield, they would see Beanie’s face, and faint dead away right then, and…”
“What do you guys think I am anyway,” Beanie shot back, “a real lame brained idiot?”
We all stopped laughing, and there was silence for a few seconds. We all had our lips held together tight and our eyebrows were up as each of us were straining, and trying not to laugh or say anything. When we each realized that no one said, “No Beanie, we don’t,” we all just looked at each other, and burst out laughing all at once. When we finally settled down, I noticed that Beanie was getting pretty mad.
“If you guys don’t want to hear any more it’s just fine with me.”
We always seemed to have a lot of fun a Beanie’s expense. It really wasn’t right, and it was almost as if all of us realized it at the same time.
“Go on Beanie,” Mike said in a very calm voice. “We’re sorry.”
‘‘Well, Beanie continued after a while, and some more encouragement from the gang, ‘‘in case you’re interested. When I said I climbed up on the truck, I meant I climbed all the way up on the truck. I kneeled on the cab until the rustlers shut the back gate, and then I slipped into the bed with the calf.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t hear you.” Johnny said.
“Yea, I was, but I was really careful.”
“What happened then?”
“Why did you get in the truck anyway?”
“Did you get a close look at them?”
The questions came pretty fast.
“I figured if we were going to find out who these rustlers really were, we had to find out where their hideout was. But, when they got to the end of that dirt road, and started down the highway I knew that you guys would be pretty worried, so when they came to a stop sign, I jumped out, and walked back here, and came into the yard just in time to see you guys huddled in your little circle.”
We all pretty well knew that it was more likely that Beanie chickened out, but none of us said anything. After all, we knew that none of us would have had enough courage to even get into the truck in the first place.
Mike then spoke up as he was looking down at his paper. “Here’s what we have. We know that there are two of those guys. We know that they drive a dark blue pickup with a white stripe on it. They have a little green sticker on their bumper, and their license plate has an ‘I,’ and a ‘0’ or a ‘1’ and a ‘0’ and possibly a ‘011.’ That’s about it.”
“That ‘01 1’ could be the letters ‘0 II.’ “Johnny added.
“That’s not all,” Beanie jumped in saying it like he had almost forgotten something very important.
“What else?” asked Mike.
“Well,” Beanie answered. “There weren’t two guys.”
“You mean there were more of them?”
“No. I mean that the rustlers weren’t guys. They were girls!”
