Secret of the Indian. Lynne Banks Reid

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      He stretched out his foot and nudged Patrick awake.

      “Patrick! Listen. There’s another Indian dead. And Matron says, if we don’t find a proper doctor, more will die.”

      Patrick scrambled to his feet, rubbing his hair.

      “How can we get any new ones on Sunday?”

      “What about the ones Tamsin has?”

      “What are you saying? That I should go back to Aunty’s and nick them when Tamsin isn’t looking?”

      “It’s only borrowing.”

      “Not when the owner doesn’t know or agree! Not when the owner’s my little creep of a cousin! She’d have my guts for garters!”

      Omri said, with a note of desperation, “Well, what are we to do, then? This is a real emergency!” Suddenly he had an idea. “Why don’t you try buying them off her?”

      “It might work. Have you got any dosh?”

      “Not a penny, we spent it all on the Indian braves. Maybe Dad’ll lend me a couple of quid.”

      His dad did better than that. He gave him a fiver, and not just till pay-day. “You’ve earned it. Here’s one for Patrick, too.”

      So there was no problem about money.

      At breakfast, hastily eaten, the boys sneaked some crispy bits of bacon and quite a few Crunchy Nut Cornflakes into their pockets, and Omri astonished his mother by asking for a mug of tea instead of milk. Matron couldn’t cope without her tea.

      “I thought you hated tea!”

      “I’m coming round to it.”

      “You’ll be hitting the Scotch next,” commented his father from behind his Sunday paper.

      Patrick nudged Omri. When whisky was mentioned, there was just one person who came to mind. Halfway back up the stairs, Patrick whispered: “Let’s bring Boone back to life right now!”

      At that moment, the doorbell rang.

      Omri went back down and opened the door. Then he gasped. Outside stood Tamsin. Of all people!

      How could it be, she’d broken her leg!

      Omri looked again. It wasn’t Tamsin, it was Emma.

      Emma was Tamsin’s twin sister. She was the spitting image of Tamsin, and yet she was wholly different. As far as Omri could remember, she was quite a decent sort of girl.

      “Hello, Omri,” she said. “Can I see Patrick?”

      Patrick dragged himself reluctantly down into the hall. Omri stood aside, waiting. He could feel himself tensing all over for fear there was a car outside waiting to cart Patrick away.

      “Hi, Em. How’s it going?” said Patrick carelessly.

      “Okay. Tam’s leg’s in a cast and she’s better. They sent me here because Omri’s phone’s busted and your mum couldn’t ring you and you’re to come back with me.”

      “Right now?”

      “Yes.”

      “I – I can’t come now!”

      “Why not?”

      Patrick dithered helplessly, trying to think of some excuse.

      “How are we supposed to get back?”

      “On the train of course,” said Emma. “Come on.”

      Omri said, “Did you come here on the train?”

      “Yes, why?”

      “And you walked up the road to here, from the station?”

      “Yes.”

      Omri thought of the skinheads. It was Sunday – even the few who went to school or had jobs, were free and on the prowl on Sundays. He himself never walked down Hovel Road on Sundays if he could possibly help it.

      “Did you meet anyone…?”

      She shrugged. “A few boys. Hanging around. Real creeps, gross. I took no notice of them.”

      Omri shivered. But then he remembered. There was a pretty good chance he didn’t have to be scared of that gang any more. He put his hand in his jeans pocket, and fingered the little penlight the smallest of the burglars had dropped the night before.

      As he touched it, he felt something else. It was the key. A sudden flash of inspiration came to him, stiffening his whole body like a bolt of electricity.

      “Emma,” he said in a queer sort of voice, “would you mind if I had a private chat to Patrick before he – er – goes?”

      She looked from one of them to the other. “What’s the secret?”

      They both flushed.

      “Wait here, okay?” Omri gabbled, and pulling Patrick into the living-room he closed the door.

      “You’ve got to get out of going home,” Omri said. “I can’t cope without you.”

      “What can I do? Break my leg?”

      “Well… if you had the bottle for it, you could throw yourself down the stairs… probably do yourself some serious enough injury…”

      “Thanks!”

      “…But I wasn’t thinking of that. Tell Emma you’ve left something upstairs. We’ll go up to my room and you can get in the chest with Boone’s figure and I can send you back to his time.”

       5

       Patrick Goes Back

      Patrick’s face was blank for a moment, and Omri thought: He’s scared, and who can blame him! But then he saw it wasn’t that at all. Patrick simply hadn’t been able to grasp the idea at first.

      When he did grasp it, not just his face but his whole body seemed to light up with excitement.

      “Wow,” he said simply.

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