Macdonald Hall #7: The Joke's on us

The Smoking Gun

Boots O'Neal rolled over and opened his eyes, shivering. The window was wide open, letting in a sharp, cold breeze. He glanced over to Bruno's bed. It was empty. He looked around the room and discovered that he was alone.

He jumped out of bed and struggled into a pair of jeans and a sweater. Making straight for the window, he silently eased himself over the sill. He jumped to the ground and paused, surveying the deserted campus. Bruno was his best friend, but he could be wildly unpredictable. Boots wondered where he should look first.

Keeping close to the cover of the bushes, he crept around the corner of the building. There he could make out the other two dormitories. No lights were on; all seemed quiet.

He and Bruno had once had a secret whistle to call to each other. But that had been back during their first year at Macdonald Hall. Did he even remember what the whistle was? Would Bruno recognize it if he heard it?

"Hey!"

A dark figure dropped from the roof, bowling Boots over and knocking the wind out of him. The two rolled on the ground, wrestling. Boots got a hand in his attacker's face and pushed hard to try to break free. But the assailant was too strong. Boots felt himself being rolled over onto his stomach. Two knees pressed into the small of his back. His face in the mud, his struggles useless, Boots wondered if he had been jumped by the Phantom himself.

"You're busted, pal!"

Wait a minute! That voice sounded familiar. He was hauled to his feet and came face-to-face with —

"Bruno!"

"Boots, what are you doing here? I thought you were the Phantom!"

"I was looking for you!" Boots hissed, wiping a smear of mud from his face. "Thanks for the broken back!"

"Well, this is just great!" complained Bruno. "You get all my hopes up and I think I've caught the Phantom and it turns out to be just dumb old you."

Boots's eyes blazed. "I thought we agreed that it was impossible to stake out the whole campus for the Phantom."

"I know," Bruno admitted sheepishly. "But I couldn't sleep. I can't get it out of my head that the Phantom hasn't done anything in two whole days. He's bound to be up to something tonight."

"And did you see anything — besides me?"

Bruno shook his head glumly. "Not so much as a firefly. Three cars on the highway. Other than that, nothing. It's even quiet at Scrimmage's."

Boots put a sympathetic arm around his roommate's shoulder. "You said it yourself — there's too much campus to watch, too many suspects, and too many hours in a night. If we couldn't do it with a whole bunch of guys, how are you supposed to manage it all by yourself? Face it; if you saw anything, it would be by pure fluke."

And then the shadows moved.

Bruno and Boots both saw it at the same time. On the front lawn of the school, behind the old War of 1812 cannon, a lone figure emerged from the thicket.

"Let's go!" exclaimed Bruno. He set off at a gallop, Boots hot on his heels. The two boys descended like avenging angels on the front lawn of the school. They were about halfway to the cannon when the black-clad figure saw them coming. The silhouette bolted, running away from the lights of the Faculty Buildingand melting into the surrounding darkness.

"After him!" shouted Bruno. "Don't let him get away!"

Boots turned on the jets. He shot past Bruno and disappeared into the gloom after the fleeing figure. When Bruno caught up with him a few seconds later, Boots was doubled over, gasping.