The Ransom of Red Chief

by O. Henry

It looked like a good thing: but wait till I tell you. We were in the South, in Alabama – Bill Driscoll and myself – when this kidnapping idea came to us. It was, as Bill afterwards expressed it, "during a moment of temporary mental instability"; but we didn't find that out till later.

There was a town down there, as flat as the sea, but called Summit, of course. Its inhabitants were as pleasant and self-satisfied as you ever saw anywhere.

Bill and I had about six hundred dollars, and we needed just two thousand more to manage a fraudulent scheme in Western Illinois. We talked it over on the front steps of the hotel. In semi-rural communities, loving little kids was a strong trait and, therefore, a kidnapping project ought to do better there than in places where newspapers send reporters to make trouble about such things. We knew that Summit couldn't come after us with anything more than a couple of police officers and, maybe, some lackadaisical dogs and an article or two in the Weekly Farmers' newspaper. So, it looked good.

For our victim, we selected the only child of a prominent citizen named Ebenezer Dorset. The father was respectable and mean. The kid was a boy of ten, with freckles and hair the colour of kids in magazines. Bill and I guessed that Ebenezer would pay a ransom of two thousand dollars. But wait till I tell you.

About two miles from Summit was a little mountain, covered with thick forest. At the back of this mountain was a cave. There we stored provisions.

One evening after sunset, we drove past Dorset's house. The kid was in the street, throwing stones at a kitten.

"Hey, little boy!" says Bill. "Would you like to have a bag of sweets and a nice ride in our car?"

The boy caught Bill exactly in the eye with a stone.

"That will cost the old man an extra five hundred dollars," said Bill, as he went to get the kid.

That boy fought like a bear, but, at last, we got him in the car and drove away. We took him to the cave. After dark I drove the car to the village three miles away, where we had hired it, and walked back to the mountain.

Bill was putting plasters over the cuts and bruises on his face. There was a fire burning behind the big rock at the entrance of the cave and the boy was watching a pot of boiling coffee, with two bird feathers in his hair. He pointed a stick at me when I came up, and said:

"Ha! Whiteface, do you dare to enter the camp of Red Chief?"

"He's alright now," said Bill, pulling up his trousers and examining some bruises on his legs. "We're playing Indians. I'm Old Hank, Red Chief's prisoner, and I'm to be scalped at dawn. By God! That kid can kick hard."

Yes, sir, that boy seemed to be having the time of his life. The fun of camping out in a cave had made him forget that he was a prisoner himself. He immediately called me Snake-eye and announced that, when his Indian soldiers returned, I was going to be burnt.

Then we had supper and he filled his mouth full of meat and bread and began to talk. He made a speech something like this:

"I like this a lot. I never camped out before; but I had a pet once, and I was nine last birthday. I hate to go to school. Rats ate up sixteen of Jimmy Talbot's aunt's hen's eggs. Are there any real Indians in these woods? I want some more meat. Is it the trees moving that makes the wind blow? We had five puppies. What makes your nose so red, Hank? My father has lots of money. Are the stars hot? I beat Ed Walker twice, Saturday. I don't like girls. You can’t catch frogs without a cup. Do oxen make any noise? Why are oranges round? Have you got beds to sleep on in this cave? Amos Murray has got six toes. A parrot can talk, but a monkey or a fish can't. How many does it take to make twelve?"

Every few minutes he would remember that he was an Indian and pick up his wooden rifle and tiptoe to the mouth of the cave. Now and then he would let out a war cry that made Hank shiver. That boy terrorised Bill from the start.

"Red Chief," I said to the kid, "would you like to go home?"

"What for? I don't have any fun at home. I hate going to school. I like to camp out. You won't take me back home again, Snake-eye, will you?"

"Not right away. We'll stay here in the cave a while."

"Alright!" said he. "That'll be fine. I never had such fun in all my life."

We went to bed about eleven o'clock. We spread some wide blankets on the ground and put Red Chief between us. We weren't afraid he'd run away. He kept us awake for three hours, jumping up and reaching for his rifle. At last, I fell into a troubled sleep and dreamt that I had been kidnapped and tied to a tree by a fierce pirate with blonde hair.

At dawn, I was woken up by a series of awful screams from Bill. They weren't groans, or shouts, they were simply terrifying screams, such as women make when they see ghosts or spiders. It's an awful thing to hear a strong, desperate, fat man scream in a cave at dawn.

I jumped up to see what the problem was. Red Chief was sitting on Bill's chest, with one hand in Bill's hair. In the other he had the sharp knife we used for cutting meat and he was working hard and really trying to take Bill's scalp, according to his decision of the evening before.

I got the knife away from the kid and made him lie down again. But, from that moment, Bill was a broken man. He lay down on his side of the bed, but he never closed his eyes again as long as that boy was with us. I dozed off for a while, but towards dawn I remembered that Red Chief had said I was to be burnt at about that time. I wasn't nervous or afraid, but I sat up and lit my pipe.

"What are you getting up so soon for, Sam?" asked Bill.

"Me? Oh, I’ve got a pain in my shoulder. I thought sitting up would rest it."

"You're a liar!" says Bill. "You're afraid. You were going to be burnt at dawn and you were afraid he'd do it. And he would, too, if he could find a match. Ain't it awful, Sam? Do you think anybody will pay money to get him back home?"

"Sure," I said. "A rowdy kid like that is just the kind that parents love most. Now, you and the Chief get up and cook breakfast, while I go up to the top of this mountain and look around."

I went up the little mountain and looked over the neighbourhood. Towards Summit I expected to see the village police officers searching the countryside for the kidnappers. But everything was peaceful, with just one man farming in his fields. Nobody was searching the river; no messengers were dashing back and forth, bringing news to the worried parents. There was a sleepiness all over that part of Alabama as far as I could see. "Perhaps," I said to myself, "they have not yet discovered that the wolves have taken away the lamb!", and I went down the mountain to breakfast.

When I got to the cave I found Bill against a wall, breathing hard, and the boy threatening to smash him with a stone as big as a coconut.

"He put a red-hot potato down my back," explained Bill, "and then smashed it with his foot and I hit him. Have you got a gun with you, Sam?"

I took the rock away from the boy. "I'll get you," said the kid to Bill. "No man ever yet hit the Red Chief but he suffered for it. You’d better watch out!"

After breakfast the kid took a piece of leather with strings around it out of his pocket and went outside the cave.

"What's he up to now?" says Bill, anxiously. "You don't think he'll run away, do you, Sam?"

"Don’t worry," I answered. "He doesn't seem homesick. But we've got to make a plan about the ransom. There doesn't seem to be much excitement about his disappearance around Summit, but maybe they haven't realised yet that he's gone. His folks may think he's spending the night with Aunt Jane or one of the neighbours. Anyhow, he'll be missed today. Tonight we must get a message to his father demanding two thousand dollars for his return."

Just then we heard a kind of war cry. It was a sling that Red Chief had pulled out of his pocket, and he was moving it around his head. I dodged and heard a heavy thud and a kind of a sigh from Bill. A rock the size of an egg had caught Bill just behind his left ear. He fell in the fire across the pan of hot water for washing the dishes. I dragged him out and poured cold water on his head for half an hour.

After a while – quite a long while – Bill sat up and felt behind his ear. “You won't go away and leave me here alone, will you, Sam?"

I went out and caught that boy and shook him until his freckles nearly fell off.

"If you don't behave," I said, "I'll take you straight home. Now, are you going to be good, or not?"

"I was only joking," he said sullenly. "I didn't mean to hurt Old Hank. But what did he hit me for? I'll behave, Snake-eye, if you don't send me home, and if you let me play the Black Scout today."

"I don't know the game," I answered. "That's for you and Mr. Bill to decide. He's your playmate for the day. I'm going away for a while, on business. Now, you come in and make friends with him and say you’re sorry for hurting him or you go home at once."

I made him and Bill shake hands and then I told Bill I was going to a little village three miles from the cave to find out what I could about how the kidnapping was seen in Summit. Also, I thought it best to send a letter to Mr. Dorset that day, demanding the ransom and saying how it should be paid.

"You know, Sam," says Bill, "I've stood by you in earthquakes and fires, in police raids, train robberies and cyclones. I never lost my nerve till we kidnapped that kid. You won't leave me long with him, will you, Sam?"

"I'll be back some time this afternoon," I said. "You must keep the boy happy and quiet till I return. And now we'll write the letter to old Dorset."

Bill and I got paper and pencil and worked on the letter while Red Chief, with a blanket around him, walked up and down, guarding the opening of the cave. Bill begged me tearfully to make the ransom fifteen hundred dollars instead of two thousand. "I ain't trying," says he, "to say a father’s affection ain’t important, but we're dealing with humans, and it ain't human for anybody to give two thousand dollars for that freckled wildcat. I'm happy to take a chance at fifteen hundred dollars. You can charge the difference to me."

So, to make Bill happy, I agreed and we wrote a letter that ran this way:

"We have your boy in a place far from Summit. It is useless for you or the most skilful detectives to attempt to find him. The only way you can get him back is this: we demand fifteen hundred dollars for his return, the money to be left at midnight tonight at the same spot and in the same box as your reply. If you agree, send your answer in writing by a single messenger tonight at half past eight. After crossing Owl Creek, on the road to Poplar Cove, there are three large trees about a hundred metres apart, close to the field on the right-hand side. Opposite the third tree, you will find a small box. The messenger will place the answer in this box and return immediately to Summit.

"If you do not do as we ask, you will never see your boy again.

"If you pay the money, he will be returned to you safe and well within three hours. These conditions are final and if you do not agree to them, there will be no more communication.

"FROM TWO DESPERATE MEN"

I addressed this letter to Dorset and put it in my pocket. As I was about to start, the kid came up to me and said:

"Aw, Snake-eye, you said I could play Black Scout while you were gone."

"Play it, of course. Mr. Bill will play with you. What kind of a game is it?"

"I'm the Black Scout," said Red Chief, "and I have to ride to the fort to warn the settlers that the Indians are coming. I'm tired of playing Indian myself. I want to be the Black Scout."

"Alright. It sounds harmless to me. I guess Mr. Bill will help you beat the Indians."

"What must I do?" asked Bill, looking at the kid suspiciously.

"You are the horse," said Black Scout. "Get down on your hands and knees. How can I ride to the fort without a horse?"

"You'd better keep him interested," I said, "till we get the money. Relax."

Bill gets down and a look came into his eye like a rabbit's when you catch it in a trap.

"How far is it to the fort, kid?" he asked, in a worried voice.

"Ninety miles," said the Black Scout. "And you’ll have to ride like hell to get there on time!"

The Black Scout jumped on Bill's back and kicked his sides.

"Please, please, please," says Bill, "hurry back, Sam, as soon as you can. I wish we hadn't made the ransom more than a thousand. Say, stop kicking me or I’ll get up and hit you."

I walked over to Poplar Cove and sat around the post office, talking with the customers that came in. One old man said that he heard Summit was upset because of Dorset's boy being lost. That was all I wanted to know. I bought some tobacco, asked the price of peas, posted my letter secretly and came away. The postmaster said the postman would come by in an hour to take the mail on to Summit.

When I got back to the cave, Bill and the boy were not to be found. I explored around the cave and risked a shout or two, but there was no response.

So I lit my pipe and sat down to wait.

In about half an hour I heard the bushes move, and Bill walked out unsteadily in front of the cave. Behind him was the kid, stepping very softly and making no noise, with a broad grin on his face. Bill stopped, took off his hat and wiped his face with a red handkerchief. The kid stopped about three metres behind him.

"Sam, I suppose you'll think I'm a coward, but I couldn't help it. There’s a time when enough is enough. The boy is gone. I’ve sent him home. All our plans are cancelled. There were people in old times," Bill went on, "that suffered death rather than give up what they enjoyed. None of them ever suffered such supernatural terror as I have."

"What's the trouble, Bill?" I asked him.

"I was ridden," says Bill, "ninety miles to the fort. Then, when the settlers were safe, I was given grass. And then, for an hour I had to try to explain to him why there was nothing in holes, how a road can run both ways and what makes the grass green. I tell you, Sam, a man can only stand so much. I took him by the neck and dragged him down the mountain. On the way he kicked my legs black-and-blue from the knees down; and I've got two or three bites on my thumb and hand.

"But he's gone", continued Bill, "gone home. I showed him the road to Summit and kicked him about three metres nearer. I'm sorry we lose the ransom; but it was either that or me to the madhouse."

Bill was breathing hard, but there was a look of peace and growing happiness on his rose-pink face.

"Bill," I said, "there isn't any heart disease in your family, is there?"

"No," says Bill, "nothing except malaria and accidents. Why?"

"Then you might turn around," I said, "and have a look behind you."

Bill turned and saw the boy, and lost his colour and sat down on the ground and began to pick aimlessly at grass and little sticks. For an hour I was afraid for his mind. And then I told him that my scheme was to do the whole job immediately and that we would get the ransom and be off with it by midnight if old Dorset agreed. So Bill gave the kid a weak sort of a smile and a promise to play the Russian in a Japanese war with him as soon as he felt a little better.

I had a scheme for collecting that ransom without any danger of being caught which was good enough for professional kidnappers. The tree under which the answer was to be left – and the money later on – was close to big, empty fields on all sides. If a group of police officers should be watching for anyone to come for the note they could see him a long way off crossing the fields or in the road. But no, sir! At half past eight I was up in that tree well hidden, waiting for the messenger to arrive.

Exactly on time, a half-grown boy rode up the road on a bicycle, found the box, put a piece of paper into it and rode away again back towards Summit.

I waited an hour and then concluded everything was safe. I climbed down the tree, got the note, crawled along till I reached the woods and was back at the cave in another half an hour. I opened the note, got near the lamp and read it to Bill. It said this:

"Two Desperate Men,

"Gentlemen, I received your letter today by post. I think you ask too much and I want to make you a counter-offer, which I believe you will accept. You bring Johnny home and pay me two hundred and fifty dollars in cash, and I agree to take him off your hands. You’d better come at night, for the neighbours believe he is lost, and I couldn't be responsible for what they would do to anybody they saw bringing him back.

"Very respectfully,

"EBENEZER DORSET."

I glanced at Bill and hesitated.

"Sam," said he, "what's two hundred and fifty dollars, after all? We've got the money. One more night of this kid will send me to the madhouse. Besides being a gentleman, I think Mr. Dorset is a spendthrift for making us such a kind offer. You ain't going to let the chance go, are you?"

"To tell you the truth, Bill," said I, "this little lamb has got on my nerves too. We'll take him home, pay the ransom and make our get-away."

We took him home that night. We got him to go by telling him that his father had bought a rifle for him and we were going to hunt bears the next day.

It was just twelve o'clock when we knocked at Ebenezer's front door. Just at the moment when I should have been taking the fifteen hundred dollars from the box under the tree, Bill was counting out two hundred and fifty dollars into Dorset's hand.

When the kid found out we were going to leave him at home he held onto Bill's leg. His father pulled him away gradually.

"How long can you hold him?" asked Bill.

"I'm not as strong as I used to be," said old Dorset, "but I think I can promise you ten minutes."

"Enough," says Bill. "In ten minutes, I’ll be running for the Canadian border."

And, as dark as it was, and as fat as Bill was, and as good a runner as I am, he was a good mile and a half out of Summit before I could catch up with him.