Read Humbug Mountain for Free Online Page A

could eat oats out of a nose bag. Pa said there was no such real creature as the Fool Killer, but the hair on my neck had gone as stiff as hog bristles. This barefoot man was so long- faced he could eat out of a churn.
    He upended me, caught my ankles in his big, rattle-boned hands, and carried me like a dead chicken up some stairs to the top deck. I figured he must be going for his bur-oak club. If I didn’t do something quick I was done for.
    From one smokestack the crows began to squawk again.
    â€œFool Killer!”
    â€œBash’m!”
    His hands were powerful as iron chain. I was in a blue fright. If only I’d thought to glance at my mirror ring I’d have seen him come ghosting up behind me.
    He’d have to let go of my ankles when he fetched up his club, I thought. And I’d be off quicker’n high-lightning.
    The Fool Killer kicked open a door. From inside came a thunderous snort and snoring.
    â€œShagnasty,” the Fool Killer called out.
    We were in the pilothouse. I could make out the tall oaken steering wheel, and daylight aglow at the huge windows. Then I saw a man rouse himself from a bedroll on the floor.
    â€œCuss it all, Fool Killer,” he said. “Can’t a gentleman take a wink of sleep around here?”
    â€œI catched me another fool,” said the Fool Killer.
    â€œDon’t look like nothing but a shirttail boy. Set him down.”
    The Fool Killer kicked the door shut and swung me right-side up. For the first time I got a square look at Mr. Shagnasty. He wore a mangy old bearskin coat and he was big around as a sauerkraut barrel. His beard was dirt-brown and greasy and all a’tangle, like the hairs on a smelly old billy goat.
    â€œFool Killer,” he snorted. “Ain’t you got more sense than to bring him aboard? You give away our hideout.”
    â€œI spied him cat-footing around.”
    The other man fixed his eyes on me and hitched up his gunbelt. “Is that a fact?”
    â€œNo sir,” I said. “I wasn’t sneaking about. I was walking plain as day. But I reckon my grandpa’s nowhere around, so I’ll just be going.”
    â€œWell, now, sonny, it’s a mite late for that.” Mr. Shagnasty pulled out a blue bandanna and gave his lumpy nose a thunderous honk. He wasn’t wearing a shirt; just long red underwear, and it was so full of holes you’d think he carried his own moths. “You know who we are,” he said.
    I answered quickly. “No sir, I don’t.”
    â€œ ‘Course you do! Ain’t a sheriff anywhere in the territories not looking for the heads of Shagnasty John and the Fool Killer. The terror of the prairies—that’s us!”
    â€œI declare,” I muttered, struck with awe. I’d never talked to real outlaws before and I was getting all-over lathers of sweat. They were genuine blood-and-thunder badmen. “I won’t tell a perishing soul,” I added earnestly.
    â€œCan’t no boy keep a secret,” said the Fool Killer darkly. “Worse’n them crows.”
    â€œNothing we can do about the crows but chunk stones at ’em,” Shagnasty John said, scratching through his beard. “But dash it all, boy, me and the Fool Killer can’t chance you. It don’t leave us much choice. You can see that, can’t you?”
    â€œNo sir,” I answered, trying to stretch out the time. “You must be terrible bad shots if you can’t shoot those crows.”
    Shagnasty John rumbled out a laugh. “Oh, we can fire straight enough. Stop edging toward that door! The Fool Killer is kind of gone-minded, sonny, and you don’t want him to crack you in two like a chicken bone.”
    The Fool Killer reached out his long arm and yanked me back. “I’ll drop him in the woods with a mighty bash of my club.”
    â€œFool Killer, don’t get anxious,” said Shagnasty John, regarding me with slow, crafty