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At the time, kidnapping seemed like an excellent idea.

You may find that difficult to believe by the end of this story. So do I.

My partner, Bill Driscoll, and I were in Alabama when we thought of it. Between us, we had six hundred dollars. We needed another two thousand for a dishonest property deal we were planning in Illinois.

We wanted somewhere quiet to carry out the kidnapping. A small town, where people loved their children and the police had little experience of serious crime.

We found a place called Summit. Despite its name, the town was almost completely flat.

It looked perfect.

Our chosen victim was the only son of Ebenezer Dorset, a wealthy local businessman. Mr Dorset had a reputation for keeping a tight hold on his money, but we felt sure he would pay to get his boy back.

The child was about ten, with bright red hair and a face covered in freckles.

Two thousand dollars seemed a reasonable price.

About two miles outside Summit, we found a cave on a wooded hill. We stored some food there and waited for our chance.

One evening, we drove past Dorset’s house in a horse-drawn carriage. His son was in the street, throwing stones at a kitten on a fence.

Bill leaned towards him.

“Hello, little fellow. Would you like some sweets and a ride?”

The boy threw a piece of brick at him.

It hit Bill in the eye.

“That will cost his father another five hundred dollars,” Bill said, climbing down.

The child fought like a small bear. But eventually we got him into the carriage and drove away.

That was the easy part.

We took the boy to the cave. After dark, I returned the carriage to the village where we had hired it, then walked back.

When I arrived, Bill was putting small bandages on his face.

A fire burned near the entrance. Beside it sat our prisoner, with two feathers in his red hair and a stick across his knees.

He pointed the stick at me.

“Stop! Who dares enter the camp of Red Chief?”

“He’s settled down,” Bill said. He rolled up his trousers and examined the bruises on his legs. “We’re playing a battle game. He’s Red Chief, and I’m his prisoner, Old Hank.”

“That sounds harmless.”

“He says he’s going to cut my scalp off at dawn.”

The boy jumped to his feet.

“And you’re Snake-eye the Spy!” he told me. “We’ll burn you at sunrise!”

I looked at Bill.

Bill looked at the boy.

The boy looked delighted.

He was enjoying himself so much that he seemed to have forgotten he had been kidnapped.

We sat down to supper. Red Chief ate bread and bacon, covered everything in gravy, and talked without stopping.

“I like camping. I’ve never slept in a cave before. I hate school. Jimmy Talbot’s aunt had sixteen eggs and rats ate them. Can I have more gravy? Does the wind blow because the trees move? Why is your nose red, Hank? My father’s got lots of money. Are the stars hot? Why are oranges round? Can fish talk? Where do we sleep?”

Every few minutes, he grabbed his stick and rushed to the cave entrance to check for enemies.

Then he shouted.

Each time, Bill jumped.

After supper, I tried a question.

“Red Chief, would you like to go home?”

“What for? There’s nothing to do at home. I like it here.”

He looked at me anxiously.

“You won’t take me back, will you, Snake-eye?”

“Not yet.”

“Good! This is the most fun I’ve ever had.”

Bill said nothing.

At eleven o’clock, we spread our blankets on the ground and put the boy between us.

We were not worried about him escaping.

For the next three hours, he defended the cave against imaginary enemies.

A leaf moved outside, and he jumped up.

A branch cracked, and he reached for his wooden rifle.

“Listen!” he whispered directly into my ear.

Then he shouted the same thing into Bill’s.

Eventually, I fell asleep. I dreamed that a red-haired pirate had tied me to a tree.

At dawn, Bill’s screams woke me.

I had known Bill for years. I had heard him angry, frightened, and surprised.

I had never heard him make a noise like that.

Red Chief was sitting on his chest. With one hand, he held a handful of Bill’s hair. In the other, he held the knife we had used to cut the bacon.

He was trying to carry out his promise.

I took the knife away and ordered him to lie down.

Bill rolled onto his side.

He did not close his eyes again.

I managed to sleep a little longer. Then the sky began to brighten, and I remembered what Red Chief had planned for me at sunrise.

I sat up.

“What are you doing, Sam?” Bill asked.

“My shoulder hurts. I thought sitting up might help.”

“You’re afraid he’ll burn you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“He would, too, if he could find the matches.”

Bill watched the boy for a moment.

“Sam, do you honestly think somebody will pay money to have him back?”

“Of course. Parents love lively children.”

“Lively.”

“You two make breakfast. I’ll go up the hill and see what’s happening in town.”

From the top of the hill, I could see the fields around Summit.

I expected search parties. Anxious neighbours. Perhaps a few policemen and dogs.

Instead, I saw one man working in a field with a mule.

Nobody was running anywhere.

The whole countryside looked peaceful.

Perhaps they had not discovered that the child was missing.

Perhaps they thought he was staying with a friend.

I returned to the cave.

Bill stood with his back against the rock. The boy faced him, holding a large stone.

“What happened?”

“He put a hot potato down the back of my shirt,” Bill said. “Then he stamped on it. I hit him.”

I took the stone away.

“Nobody hits Red Chief and gets away with it,” the boy warned.

After breakfast, he went outside and took something from his pocket: a small piece of leather attached to two strings.

Bill followed him with his eyes.

“What’s he doing now?”

“Playing.”

“You don’t think he’ll run away?”

There was a hopeful note in Bill’s voice.

“I doubt it. We need to think about the ransom.”

We had barely begun discussing the letter when a shout came from outside.

The boy was swinging the leather sling around his head.

I ducked.

There was a heavy thud behind me.

Bill dropped to the ground beside the fire.

A stone had caught him behind the ear.

I pulled him away from the flames and splashed cold water on his face. After a while, he sat up and touched his head.

“Sam?”

“Yes?”

“Please tell me you’re not going to leave me alone with him.”

I went outside and caught the boy by the shoulders.

“Listen carefully. If you don’t behave, I’ll take you straight home.”

His expression changed immediately.

“I was only playing.”

“You hurt him.”

“He hit me first.”

“Do you want to go home?”

“No.”

“Then come inside and apologise.”

He agreed, provided we allowed him to play another game that afternoon.

I made him shake hands with Bill.

Then I took my partner aside.

“I need to go to the next village. I’ll find out what people are saying and post the ransom letter.”

“How long?”

“Until this afternoon.”

Bill stared at me.

“I’ve stayed with you through fires, floods, police raids, and train robberies. I’ve never complained.”

“You’re complaining now.”

“We’d never kidnapped this boy before.”

We sat down with paper and a pencil.

The boy marched up and down outside, guarding the cave.

“I’ve been thinking,” Bill said. “Two thousand dollars is too much.”

“His father can afford it.”

“That’s not the point. Let’s ask for fifteen hundred.”

“We agreed on two thousand.”

“Sam, we must be reasonable. We’re asking a man to pay for this child to come home.”

Bill looked so miserable that I agreed.

Our letter explained that we had Dorset’s son and demanded fifteen hundred dollars for his safe return.

We told him to send his reply that evening. His messenger would find a small box beside a fence post on the road to the next village.

The reply had to be there at half past eight.

If Dorset agreed, he would leave the money in the same place at midnight. We would then return his son.

We warned him not to involve the police and signed the letter:

TWO DESPERATE MEN.

It was becoming a more accurate description every hour.