“If your behavior doesn’t improve,” says I, “I’ll take you straight home. Now, are you going to
be good, or not?”
“I was only funning,” says he. “I didn’t mean to hurt Old Hank. But what did he hit me for?
I’ll behave if you don’t send me home.”
I thought it best to send a letter to old man Dorset that day, demanding the ransom and
telling how it should be paid. The letter said:
“We have your boy hidden in a place far from Summit. We demand fifteen hundred dollars
for his return; the money to be left at midnight tonight at the same place and in the same
box as your answer.
If you agree to these terms, send the answer in writing by a messenger tonight at half past
eight o’clock. After crossing Owl Creek, on the road to Poplar Cove, there are three large
trees. At the bottom of the fence, opposite the third tree, will be a small box. The messenger
will place the answer in this box and return immediately to Summit. If you fail to agree to our
demand, you will never see your boy again. If you pay the money as demanded, he will be
returned to you safe and well within three hours.”
I took the letter and walked over to Poplar Cove. I then sat around the post office and store.
An old man there says he hears Summit is all worried because of Ebenezer Dorset’s boy
having been lost or stolen. That was all I wanted to know. I mailed my letter and left. The
postmaster said the mail carrier would come by in an hour to take the mail on to Summit.
At half past eight, I was up in the third tree, waiting for the messenger to arrive. Exactly on
time, a half-grown boy rides up the road on a bicycle. He finds the box at the foot of the
fence. He puts a folded piece of paper into it and leaves, turning back toward Summit.
I slid down the tree, got the note and was back at the cave in a half hour. I opened the note
and read it to Bill. This is what it said:
“Gentlemen: I received your letter about the ransom you ask for the return of my son. I think
you are a little high in your demands. I hereby make you a counter-proposal, which I believe
you will accept. You bring Johnny home and pay me two hundred and fifty dollars, and I
agree to take him off your hands. You had better come at night because the neighbors
believe he is lost. And, I could not be responsible for what they would do to anybody they
saw bringing him back. Very respectfully, Ebenezer Dorset.”
“Great pirates of Penzance!” says I, “of all the nerve…” But I looked at Bill and stopped. He
had the most appealing look in his eyes I ever saw on the face of a dumb or talking animal.