Bayport Buccaneers

1 A Thief by Any Other Name "Gun it, Frank! He's getting away!" Joe said. "Tell me something I don't already know!" I replied. My brotherJoe was right. If we didn't do something fast, Jules Kendallson, the motorcyclebandit, would give us the slip -- again. Joe and I opened up the throttles on our custom bikes and roared afterKendallson. The Northside Woods whizzed past. We ducked branches and dartedaround the tree trunks blocking the overgrown trail. Every twist and turnpresented a new danger -- a new place to wipe out. Kendallson didn't care. He was an expert rider and could have done well on themotocross circuit. Instead he'd turned to crime -- stealing bikes instead ofracing them. It was up to Joe and me to catch him. "Frank, low branch!" Joe's voice blared loud and clear over the two-way radioin my helmet. As I ducked, the tree branch scraped the top of my helmet. Without it, I'd havegotten a nice set of scratches. But if Joe hadn't warned me, I might have lostmy head. "Keep your mind on the trail, big brain!" Joe chided. My face went red, partly because of what Joe said and partly because I knew hewas right. My brother's weakness was that he charged in without thinking; minewas that I sometimes thought too much. "Worrywart!" I called back. "Just stay with him!" Both Joe and the bandit were ahead of me now. Kendallson twisted his bikearound a sharp turn and launched into the air, over a shallow ravine. Joe skidded in the turn and didn't get as good a jump. He landed hard justbelow the ravine's rim and lost valuable time as he motored up to the top. Ihit the jump better and landed in front of him. I grinned. Sometimes it pays tobe the more cautious, older brother. "Man, that guy is good," Joe said as he roared up behind me. "If he wasn't, he wouldn't have eluded the cops for so long after busting outof jail," I replied. "Let's hope they throw away the key this time," Joe said. "They will, once we catch him," I added, trying to sound more confident than Ifelt. Kendallson had slipped away from us twice before. Plus he was definitelythe better biker. Fortunately Joe and I had been riding the woods north ofBayport since we were kids. We knew these woods better than the crook. "I'm going to motor around to the left," Joe called over the headset, "and tryto cut him off by Benson Ravine." "Check," I replied. "I'll herd him in that direction." I angled to the rightand accelerated again, jumping over the low hills like they were whoop-de-doosat a motocross track. Joe cut in the opposite direction, with the bandit ridingbetween us about fifty yards ahead. The trees zipped past as I easily swerved and bobbed through the familiarterrain. I was catching up to the bandit. Now I just needed to force Kendallsonsouth so Joe could catch him at the ravine. Benson Ravine is a wide streambed that cuts through the middle of the woodedhills north of Bayport. The stream rambles through the forest before eventuallyemptying into Barmet Bay. There's only one easy way over the ravine, whichmakes that crossing an ideal trap. Kendallson spotted me as I angled in on him from the west. He turned east, justlike I hoped he would. He wove between the trees ahead of me, keepingdangerously close to the trunks. He clearly wanted me to crash into one, but Iknew the area too well for that. Besides, I'd learned my lesson with the treebranch earlier. I couldn't see Joe through the forest ahead of us, and I hoped the banditcouldn't see him either. With a little luck, Joe would reach the crossingfirst. Kendallson glanced back at me as he rode. Little by little I was catching up,and he knew it. Suddenly he ripped off his helmet and threw it at me. Nowthatwas a stupid tDixon, Franklin W. is the author of 'Bayport Buccaneers ', published 2007 under ISBN 9781416934035 and ISBN 1416934030.