# Ralph of the Roundhouse/Chapter 33

CHAPTER XXXIII
IKE SLUMP'S RAFT
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Van.
"Yes," declared Ralph—"the missing Ike Slump is found. I would know him anywhere, in any guise, and at any distance, and that is he yonder."
"You don't seem to have luck or anything in finding opportunities—and people!" observed Van dryly.
"I don't know about that."
"There's the boy the railroad company wants to find, isn't it?"
"Well, Ike Slump alone, a vagabond fugitive, isn't so much what they are after," explained Ralph. "They want to recover that stolen plunder, and from the general appearance of Slump I don't imagine he has much of anything visible about him except what he probably calls 'hard luck.'"
"What are you going to do?"
"Have a talk with him first, if I can."
Ralph reflected for a few moments. Then he ​decided on a course of action. He suggested that Van remain where he was. Lining the shore himself, Ralph kept well in the shelter of the shrubbery until he was directly opposite the spot where the object of his interest was at work.
He could not secure more than a general idea of what Ike was about unless he exposed himself to view. Ike seemed to be framing together a raft. He was very intent on his task—so much so, that when Ralph finally decided to show himself he was not aware of a visitor until Ralph stood directly at his side.
"How do you do, Slump?" spoke Ralph, as carelessly as though meeting him on the streets of Stanley Junction in an everyday recognition.
"Hi! who—smithereens! Stand back!"
Ike let out a whoop of amazement. He jumped back two feet. Then he stared at his visitor in a strained attitude, too overcome to speak coherently.
"Ralph Fairbanks!" he spluttered.
Ralph nodded pleasantly.
Ike grew more collected. He presented a wretched appearance. He was thin, hungry-looking, sullen of manner, and evidently dejected of spirit.
A sudden suspicion lit up his face as he glanced furtively into the shrubbery beyond his visitor, ​as though fearing other intruders. Then with his old time tricky nimbleness he described a kind of a sliding slip, and seized a short iron bar lying on the ground.
"What do you want?" he demanded, with a scowl.
"I want to have a talk with you, Ike."
"What about?"
"Your mother."
Ralph had heard back at Stanley Junction that Ike's mother had mourned her son's evil course as a judgment sent upon them because her husband sold liquor. He felt sorry for her, as Ike now shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and not a gleam of home-longing or affection followed the allusion to his mother.
"Did you come specially for that?" demanded Ike. "Because if you did, how did you know I was here?"
"I didn't—this meeting is purely accidental."
"Oh!" muttered Ike incredulously.
"I'll be plain, Slump," said Ralph, "for I see you don't welcome my company or my mission. Your father is worried to death about you, your mother is slowly pining away. If you have any manhood at all, you will go home."
"What for?" flared out Ike, savagely swinging the iron rod—"to get walloped! Worse, to ​get jugged! You played me a fine trick spying into Cohen's and getting the gang in a box. I ought to just kill you, I ought!"
"Well, hear what I have to say before you begin your slaughter," said Ralph quietly. "Out of sympathy for your mother, and because your father has friends among the railroad men, I think the disposition of the railroad company is to treat you with leniency in the matter of the stolen junk, if you show you are ready to do the square thing."
"They can't prove a thing against me!" shouted Ike wrathfully. "Think I don't know how affairs stand? They can't do anything with Cohen, either, unless some one peaches—and no one will."
"Don't be too sure of that," advised Ralph. "They can lock you up, and if they delve very deep, can convict you on circumstantial evidence. But I don't want to discuss that. It's plain business, and now is your time to act. Go home, give the company a chance to get back it's property, and I'll guarantee they will deal lightly with you—this time."
"Put my head in the jaws of the lion?" derided Ike—"not much! Say, Ralph Fairbanks, what do you take me for? And what do I know about their stolen plunder?"
​"You drove off from Stanley Junction that night with it."
"Prove it!"
"You and your tramp friend. I was at Dover to-day. Your tramp friend sold those two horses belonging to Cohen twenty miles further on, I learned."
"Drat him!" snarled Ike viciously.
"You wasn't with him. Did he give you the slip, and leave you in the lurch? It looks so. I wouldn't hold the bag for anybody, if I were you, Ike Slump," rallied Ralph.
"See here, Fairbanks," gritted Ike between his set teeth, "you know too much, you do!"
"Now what, in the meantime, became of the stolen brass fittings? You know. Tell. Give the company a square deal, and take another chance to drop bad company and behave yourself."
"I won't go home," declared Ike, with knit, sullen brows. "You start on about your business, and leave me to mine."
"All right," said Ralph. "I'd be a friend to you if you would let me. By the way, what is your business, Slump? Ah, I see—building a raft?"
"What of it?"
"And what for?"
​"Say!" cried Ike, brandishing the rod furiously and trying to intimidate his visitor with a furious demonstration, "what do you torment me for! Get out! I'm building a raft because I'm a persecuted, hunted being, driven like a rat into a hole. I want to float to safety past the towns, and go west. And I'm going to do it!"
"Why not walk?" suggested Ralph.
Ike flared a glance of dark suspicion at Ralph.
"And why such a big raft?" pursued Ralph smoothly—"no, you don't! Now then, since you've forced the issue, lie still."
Ike had suddenly sprung towards Ralph, swinging the iron rod. The latter was watching him, however. In a flash he had the bad boy disarmed, lying flat on the ground, and sat astride of him, pinioning his arms outspread at full length.
Ralph gave a sharp, clear whistle. Van came rushing down the bank in the distance in response.
Ike Slump raved like a madman. He threatened, he pleaded. He even took refuge in tears. All the time, Ralph Fairbanks was making up his mind. That partially built raft had roused his suspicions very keenly, had suggested a new line of action, and he determined to follow out the promptings of his judgment.
​"There's a piece of rope yonder," said Ralph, as Van approached on a run. "Get it, and help me tie this young man hand and foot."
They did the job promptly and well, Ike Slump raving worse than ever in the meanwhile.
"Now then," directed Ralph, "help me carry him to the gig. Van, this is Ike Slump, of whom you have heard a little something. He is bound he won't further the ends of justice, and I am as fully determined that at least he shall not have his liberty to frustrate them. We will load him in the gig, take him to headquarters, and you are to ask our friend there as a special favor to me to keep him safely till he hears from me."
"I won't go!" yelled the squirming Ike—"I'll have your bones for this!"
"I would advise you," said Ralph to the frantic captive, "to behave yourself. You are going where you will have good treatment. Build up, and do some thinking. I shall be as friendly to you as if you hadn't tried to brain me."
"You don't mean," said the astonished Van, "that you are going to stay behind?"
"Yes," answered Ralph, with a significant glance at Ike. "I have an idea it is my clear duty to investigate why Ike Slump built that raft."