“How’d he get his car _un_stuck?” Dragonfly wanted to know, even though the whole Sugar Creek Gang had probably been told it a dozen times, every time Poetry and I had told it to them. So I said to Dragonfly, “Well, his wheels were spinning and spinning in the sand and he couldn’t make his car go forward, but it would rock forth and back, so he got out and let the air out of his back tires till they were almost half flat. That made them wider and increased traction, and then when he climbed back into his car and stepped on the gas, why he pulled out of the sand and went lickety-sizzle right on up this road.” “You going to initiate me _here_?” Dragonfly wanted to know, and I started to say, “Yes,” but Poetry said, “No, a little farther up, where we found the little girl herself.” We walked along, in the terribly sultry afternoon weather. Pretty soon we turned off to the side of the road and came out into a little clearing that was surrounded by tall pine trees. I was remembering how right here Poetry and I had heard the little girl gasping out half-smothered cries and with our flashlights shining right on her, we’d found her lying wrapped up in an Indian blanket. “She was lying right here,” Poetry said, “--right here where we’re going to initiate you.” Poetry’s ordinarily duck-like voice changed to a sound like a growling bear’s voice as he talked and sounded very fierce. There really wasn’t anything to worry about, though, ’cause we knew the police had caught the kidnapper and he was in jail somewhere, and the pretty little golden-haired Ostberg girl was safe and sound with her parents again back in St. Paul. “But they never did find the ransom money,” Poetry said, which was the truth, “and nobody knows where it is. But whoever finds it gets a thousand dollar reward--a whole thousand dollars!” “You think maybe it’s buried somewhere?” Dragonfly asked with a serious face. “Sure,” Poetry said. “We’re going to play Robinson Crusoe and Treasure Island both at once. First we save our Man Friday from the cannibals, and then we quit playing Robinson Crusoe and change to Treasure Island.” Well, it was good imagination and lots of fun, and I was already imagining myself to be Robinson Crusoe on an island, living all by myself. In fact, I sometimes have more fun when I imagine myself to be somebody else than when I am just plain red-haired fiery-tempered, freckled-faced Bill Collins, living back at Sugar Creek. It was fun the way Poetry and I initiated Dragonfly into our secret gang--anyway, fun for Poetry and me. This is the way we did it.... I hid myself out of sight behind some low fir trees with a stick in my hand for a gun, and Poetry stood Dragonfly up against a tree and tied him with a piece of string he carried in his pocket. “Now, don’t you _dare_ break that string!” Poetry told him. “You’re going to be cooked and eaten in a few minutes! You can pretend to _try_ to get loose, but don’t you dare do it!”