W selected for our victim the only child of a prominent citizen named Ebenezer Dorset. The father was respectable and tight, amortgage fancier and stern collection-plate passer and forecloser. The kid was a boy of ten, with bas-relief freckles and hair the color of the cover of the magazine you buy at the newsstand when you wantto catch a train. Bill and me figured that Ebenezer would melt down for a ransom of two thousand dollars to a cent. But wait till I tell you.
About two miles from Summit was a little mountain,covered with a dense cedar brake. On the rear elevation of this mountain was a cave. There we stored provisions.
One evening, after sundown, we drove in a buggy past old Dorset’s house. The kid was in thestreet, throwing rocks at a kitten on the opposite fence.
“Hey, little boy!” says Bill. “Would you like to have a bag of candy and a nice ride?”
The boy catches Bill neatly in the eye with a piece ofbrick.
“That will cost the old man an extra five hundred dollars,” says Bill, climbing over the wheel.
That boy put up a fight like a welterweight cinnamon bear; but, at last, we got him down in thebottom of the buggy and drove away. We took him up to the cave, and I hitched the house in the cedar brake. After dark I drove the buggy to the little village three miles away where we had hired it,...