When I was very young, I liked to pretend I was an Indian, and try to walk silently through grass or in the barn. One day, “Indian Bobby” crept into the barn. Stepping down into the cattle part of the barn, I carefully avoided walking on the planks because they would rattle. As I approached the door leading to the big barn, I heard voices. That’s strange, I thought, no one is working at the farm. No one should be in the barn.
I peeked through the door. No one was in sight, but the voices were coming from under the barn floorboards. “Indian Bobby” carefully retraced his way out of the barn, and ran as fast as I could to the house. I told Mom about the men hiding under the barn floor, and she called Daddy, who called the sheriff. Daddy arrived first and got his 10 gauge shotgun, then followed the sheriff’s deputy to the barn as backup.
Daddy shared later that the deputy was skeptical of my story, especially when there was no one under the floor. But, he condescended to climb the high ladder to look in the loft over the sheep shed. Daddy laughed and told us that the deputy almost dropped his gun, trying to get it out when he saw the two men were there.
They had rifles stolen from the sport shop a half mile south of us the night before. They were two young guys who had escaped from the medium security prison outside of Ionia the day before. With no food, and getting dirty, and tired from running, they decided to give up peacefully.