"But that ain't all; we can beat the city itself for burglars."—page 36."But that ain't all; we can beat the city itself for burglars."—page 36.
"Burglars, too!"
"Yes,burglars!" This the gentleman emphasized very freely. "And cute ones; they never get caught, and they seldom miss a figure."
"How's that?"
"They always know where to strike. If a man goes away to be absent for a night or two, they know it. If a man draws money from the bank, or sells cattle, they know that. And if some of our farmers, who like to go home drunk once in a while, travel the road alone, they are liable to be relieved of a part of their load."
"And who do the folks suspect of doing the mischief?"
"They talk among themselves, and very carefully, abouthavingsuspicions andbeingon the watch; but very few dare breathe a name. And after all, there is no clear reason for suspecting anyone."
"Butyoususpect some one, or I miss my guess."
"Well, and so I do, but I ain't the man to lay myself liable to an action for damages, so I say nothing, butI'm watching."
Little more was said on the subject that interested me, and presently the Traftonite took leave of his friend, and quitted the train at a station, not more than twenty miles east of Trafton; the other was going to the city, like myself.
When quiet was restored in my vicinity, I settled myself for a fresh cogitation, and now I gave no thought to the fate of Mamie Rutger and 'Squire Ewing's daughter. My mind was absorbed entirely with what I had just heard.
The pretty, stupid-looking little town of Trafton had suddenly become to me what the great Hippodrome is to small boys. I wanted to see it; I wanted to explore it, and to find the mainspring that moved its mystery.
The words that had fallen from the lips of the Trafton man, had revealed to my practiced ear a more comprehensive story than he had supposed himself relating.
Systematic thieving and burglary for five years! Systematic, and always successful. What a masterful rogue must be the founder of this system! How secure he must be in his place, and his scheming, and what a foeman to encounter. It would be something to thwart, to baffle, and bring to justice a villain of such caliber.
After a while my thoughts turned back to Groveland. Certainly the mystery there was quite as deep, and the solution of it of more vital importance. But—Groveland was the mystery that I had touched and handled; Trafton was the mystery unseen.
So my mind returned to the latter subject, and when, hours later, we ran into the city, Groveland was still absent, and Trafton present, in my thoughts.
By the time I reached the city my arm, which needed fresh bandages, began to pain me, and I went straight to the office of a surgeon, well-known to fame, and to the detective service. He had bound up many a broken bone for our office, and we of the fraternity called him "Our Samaritan." Some of the boys, and, let me confess it, myself among the number, called him "Our old woman," as well, for, while he bandaged and healed and prescribed, he waged continued warfare upon our profession, or rather the dangers of it.
Of course, the country needed secret service men, and must have them, but there was an especial reason why each one of us should not be a detective. We were too young, or too old; we were too reckless, or we were cut out for some other career. In short, every patient that came under the hand of good Dr. Denham, became straightway an object of interest to his kindly old heart; and—strange weakness in a man of his cloth—he desired to keep us out of danger.
"So ho!" cried "our old woman," when I appeared before him with my bandaged arm, "hereyouare! I knew you'd be along soon. You've kept out of my clutches a good while. Arm, eh? Glad of it! I'll cut it off; I'll cut it off! That'll spoilonedetective."
I laughed. We always laughed at the talkative soul, and he expected it.
"Cut it off, then," I retorted, flinging myself down in a chair and beginning to remove my sling. "I don't need a left arm to shoot the fellow that gave me this, and I'm bound to do that, you know."
"So! Got shot again? Go on, go on, sir! I'll have the pleasure of dissecting you yet. You'll come home dead some day, you scoundrel. Ah! here we are. Um! flesh wound, rear of arm, under side; close, pretty close, pret-ty close, sir!"
"So! Got shot again? Go on, go on, sir! I'll have the pleasure of dissecting you yet."—page 43."So! Got shot again? Go on, go on, sir! I'll have the pleasure of dissecting you yet."—page 43.
All this was jerked out in short breaths, while he was undoing and taking a first look at my arm. When the actual business of dressing commenced, "our old woman" was always silent and very intent upon the delicate task.
"Pity it wasn't a little worse," he sniffled, moving across the room and opening a case of instruments. "You chaps get off too easy; you don't come quite near enough to Death's door. There's Carnes, now; got a knife through his shoulder, and fretting and fuming because he can't put himself in a position to get another dig."
"Is Carnes in?"
"Yes. And was badly cut."
"Poor fellow! I'm sorry for that, but glad of the chance to see him; he's been on a long cruise."
"Well, I'm not so sure about his going on another. Now then."
And the doctor applied himself to business, and I sat, wincing sometimes, under his hand, but thinking through it all of Carnes.
He was thecomiqueof the force; a man who was either loved or hated by all who knew him. No one could be simply indifferent to Carnes. He was a well-educated man, although he habitually spoke with a brogue. But I knew Carnes was not an Irishman; although he professed to have "hailed from Erin," he could drop the accent at pleasure and assume any other with perfect ease,—a feat rather difficult of accomplishment by a genuine Irishman.
Nobody knew much about Carnes; he had no confidants, although he had his favorites, one of whom I chanced to be.
He was older than myself by ten years, but when the mood seized him, could be younger by twenty. He had been absent from the office for nearly a year, and I mentally resolved that, after making my report and attending to business, I would lose no time in seeing him.
Under the skilled hand of Dr. Denham my arm was soon dressed and made comfortable. It would be well in a fortnight, the good doctor assured me, and then as soon as I could, I withdrew from his presence and his customary fire of raillery and questions, and stopping only to refresh myself at a restaurant by the way, hastened on toward our office, where I was soon closeted with my Chief.
As usual, he made no comments, asked no questions, when I dawned upon him thus unexpectedly. He never made use of unnecessary words. He only turned out one or two of the force who were lounging there, waiting his pleasure to attend to less important business, saw that the doors were closed and the outer office properly attended, and then seating himself opposite me at the desk, said quietly:
"Now, Bathurst?"
I was well accustomed to this condensed way of doing things, and it suited me. In a concise manner matching his own, I put him in possession of the facts relating to the Groveland case, and then I made a discovery. After relating how I had received the anonymous letter I produced my pocket-book, where I supposed it to be, and found it missing! It was useless to search; the letter was not in my pocket-book, neither was it on my person.
"Well!" I said, when fully convinced that the letter was certainly not in my possession, "here's another complication. I've been robbed and—I know who did it!"
My companion made no comment, and I continued:
"The letter was of no vital importance; I will finish my story and then you will know what has become of it."
I told the rest; of my ride upon Mrs. Ballou's colt, of the pistol shot, my runaway steed, and my subsequent interview with Mrs. Ballou. How she had dressed my wound, how the circumstances had compelled me to confide in her, and how she had risen to the occasion, and driven me to the station at half-past three in the morning, and I finished by saying:
"Now it looks to me as if Mrs. Ballou had stolen my letter, and if so, one might take that fact and the one that Nellie Ewing was never seen after leaving her house, and count it as strong circumstantial evidence; but, that kind of evidence won't convince me that Mrs. Ballou is implicated in the crime or the mystery. When I told her of the printed letter, I saw her eyes gleam; and when she asked to see the document I read anxiety in her face. I am sure she took the letter, and I think she has a suspicion of some sort; but if she has the letter she will return it."
My chief made no comment on all that I had told him; he picked up a paper weight and laid it down again with great precision, then he put all my story "on the shelf," as we were wont to express it, by asking abruptly:
"What are you going to do next?"
The question did not surprise me. He was not in the habit of offering much advice to such operatives as he trusted with delicate cases, for he never trusted a man until he felt full confidence in his skill and integrity. But when we desired to consult with him, he entered into the study of the case with animation and zeal; and then, and then only, did he do a full share of the talking.
"Going to send them a 'dummy,' if we can find one with the grit to face the chances. They must suppose me entirely out of the business."
"Yes."
"I want an extraordinary dummy, too; a blusterer."
"Wait," interrupted my companion, beginning to smile, "I have got just the animal. When do you want to see him?"
"As soon as possible; I want him in the field at once."
"Very good. This fellow came here yesterday, and he's the greatest combination of fool and egotist I ever saw. Knows he was born for a detective and is ready to face a colony of desperadoes; there is no limit to his cheek and no end to his tongue. If you want a talkative fool he'll do."
"Well," I replied, "that's what I want, but the man must not be quite destitute of courage. I don't think that the party or parties will make another attack upon a fresh man, and yet they may; and this dummy must remain there quite alone until the rascals are convinced that he has no confederates. There is a keen brain at the bottom of this Groveland mischief. I mean to overreach it and all its confederates, for I believe there must be confederates; and, sir, I don't believe those girls have been murdered."
"No?"
"No. But I want our dummy to act on the supposition that theyhavebeen. This will ease the vigilance of the guilty parties, and when they are off their guard, our time will come. Where is Carnes?"
My companion was in full sympathy with my abrupt change of the subject, and he answered, readily:
"At his old rooms. Carnes had a bad cut, but he is getting along finely."
"Is he? The doctor gave me the idea that he was still in a doubtful condition."
"Stuff," giving a short laugh, "some of his scarey talk; he told me that Carnes would be about within two weeks. Carnes did some good work in the West."
"He is a splendid fellow; I must see him to-night. But about our dummy: when can you produce him?"
"Will to-morrow do? say ten o'clock."
"It must be later by an hour; the doctor takes me in hand at ten."
"Eleven, then. I will have him here, and you'll find him a jewel."
"Very good," I said, rising, and taking up my hat, "any message to send to Carnes? I shall see him to-night."
"Look here," turning upon me suddenly, "you are not to go to Carnes for any purpose but toseehim. You must not talk to him much, nor let him talk; the doctor should have told you that. He is weak, and easily excited. It's bad enough to have two of my best men crippled and off at once; you must not retard his recovery. Carnes is as unruly as a ten-year old, now."
I laughed; I could see just how this whimsical comrade of mine would chafe under his temporary imprisonment.
"I won't upset the old fellow," I said, and took my leave.
Over the minor events of my story I will not linger, for although they cannot be omitted altogether, they are still so overshadowed by startling and thrilling after events that they may, with propriety, be narrated in brief.
I saw Carnes, and found that the Chief had not exaggerated, and that the doctor had.
Carnes was getting well very fast, but was chafing like a caged bear, if I may use so ancient an illustration.
We compared notes and sympathized with each other, and then we made some plans. Of course we were off duty for the present, and could be our own masters. Carnes had been operating in a western city, and I proposed to him a change. I told him of the conversation I had overheard that morning, and soon had him as much interested in Trafton as was myself. Then I said:
"Now, old man, why not run down to that little paradise of freebooters and see what we think of it?"
"Now, old man, why not run down to that little paradise of freebooters and see what we think of it?"—page 50."Now, old man, why not run down to that little paradise of freebooters and see what we think of it?"—page 50.
"Begorra and that'll jist suit me case," cried Carnes, who was just then in his Hibernian mood. "And it's go we will widen the wake."
But go "widen the wake" we did not.
We were forced to curb our impatience somewhat, for Carnes needed a little more strength, and my arm must be free from Dr. Denham's sling.
We were to go as Summer strollers, and, in order to come more naturally into contact with different classes of the Traftonites, I assumed therôleof a well-to-do Gothamite with a taste for rural Summer sports, and Carnes made a happy hit in choosing the character of half companion, half servant; resolving himself into awholeIrishman for the occasion.
It was a fancy of his always to operate in disguise, so for this reason, and because of his pallor, and the unusual length of his hair and beard, he chose to take his holidayen naturale, and most unnatural he looked to me, who had never seen him in ill-health.
As for me, I preferred on this occasion to adopt a light disguise.
In spite of the warning of our Chief, but not in defiance of it, I talked Carnes into a fidget, and even worked myself into a state of enthusiasm. Of course I made no mention of the Groveland case; we never discussed our private operations with each other; at least, not until they were finished and thefinalea foregone conclusion.
After bidding Carnes good-night, I sauntered leisurely homeward, if a hotel may be called home, and the ring of a horse's hoofs on the pavement brought to my mind my wild ride, Groveland, and Mrs. Ballou.
Why had she stolen that letter of warning? That she had I felt assured. Did she give her true reason for wishing my revolver? Would she return my letter? And would she, after all, keep the secret of my identity?
I did not flatter myself that I was the wonderful judge of human nature some people think themselves, but I did believe myself able to judge between honest and dishonest faces, and I had judged Mrs. Ballou as honest.
So after a little I was able to answer my own questions. Shewouldreturn my letter. Shecouldkeep a secret, and—she would make good use, if any, of my weapon.
It was not long before my judgment of Mrs. Ballou, in one particular at least, was verified.
On the morning after my interview with Carnes, I saw the man who was destined to cover himself with glory in the capacity of "Dummy," and here a word of explanation may be necessary.
Sometimes, not often, it becomes expedient, if not absolutely necessary, for a detective to work under a double guard. It is not always enough that others should not know him as a detective; it is required that they should be doubly deluded by fancying themselves aware ofwho is, hence the dummy.
But in this narrative I shall speak in brief of the dummy's operations. Suffice it to say that he was just the man for the place; egotistical, ignorant, talkative to a fault, and thoroughly imbued, as all dummies should be, with the idea that he was "born for a detective."
Of course he was not aware of the part he was actually to play. He was instructed as to the nature of the case, given such points as we thought he would make best use of, and told in full just what risk he might run.
But our dummy was no coward. He inspected my wounded arm, expressed himself more than ready to take any risk, promised to keep within the bounds of safety after nightfall, and panted to be in the field.
Just one day before our departure for Trafton I received a letter from Mrs. Ballou. Enclosed with it was my lost note of warning. Its contents puzzled me not a little. It ran thus:
Dear Sir—I return you the letter I took from your pocket the morning you left us. You did not suspect me of burglary, did you? Of course you guessed the truth when you came to miss it. I thought it might help me to a clue, but was wrong.I can not use it.
If anythingnew or strangeoccurs, it may be to your interest to informmefirst of all.
The time may come when you can doubly repay the service I rendered you not long since. If so, remember me. I think I shall come to the city soon.
Respectfully, etc.,M. A. Ballou
P. S.—Please destroy.
From some women such a letter might have meant simply nothing. From Mrs. Ballou it was fraught with meaning.
How coolly she waived the ceremony of apology! She wanted the letter—she took it; a mere matter of course.
And as a matter of course, she returned it.
Thus much of the letter was straight-forward, and suited me well enough; but——
"I thought it might help me to a clue, but was wrong.I can not use it."
Over these words I pondered, and then I connected them with the remainder of the letter. Mrs. Ballou was clever, but she was no diplomatist. She had put a thread in my hands.
I made some marks in a little memorandum book, that would have been called anything but intelligible to the average mortal, but that were very plain language to my eye, and to none other. Next I put a certain bit of information in the hands of my Chief; then I turned my face toward Trafton.
To my readers the connection between the fate of the two missing girls, and the mysterious doings at Trafton, may seem slight.
To my mind, as we set out that day for the scene of a new operation, there seemed nothing to connect the two; I was simply, as I thought, for the time being, laying down one thread to take up another.
A detective has not the gift of second sight, and without this gift how was I to know that at Trafton I was to find my clue to the Groveland mystery, and that that mystery was in its turn to shed a light upon the dark doings of Trafton, and aid justice in her work of requital?
So it is. Out of threads, divers and far-fetched, Fate loves to weave her wonderful webs.
And now, for a time, we leave Groveland with the shadow upon it. We leave the shadow now; later it comes to us.
For the present we areen routefor Trafton.
"Trafton?" said Jim Long, more familiarly known as Long Jim, scratching his head reflectively, "can't remember just how long Ididlive in Trafton; good sight longer'n I'll live in it any more, I calklate; green, oh, dretful green, when I come here; in fact mem'ry hadn't de-welluped; wasn't peart then like I am now. But I ain't got nothin' to say agin' Trafton,Iain't, tho' therebesome folks as has. Thar's Kurnel Brookhouse, now,he'sbin scalped severial times; then thar's—hello!"
Jim brought his rhetoric up standing, and lowered one leg hastily off the fence, where he had been balancing like a Chinese juggler.
At the same moment a fine chestnut horse dashed around a curve of the road, bearing a woman, who rode with a free rein, and sat as if born to the saddle. She favored Jim with a friendly nod as she flew past, and that worthy responded with a delighted grin and no other sign of recognition.
When she had disappeared among the trees, and the horse's hoofs could scarcely be heard on the hard dry road, Jim drew up his leg, resumed his former balance, and went on as if nothing had happened.
"There was Kurnel Brookhouse and—"
"The mischief fly away wid old Brookhouse," broke in Carnes, giving the fence a shake that nearly unseated our juggler. "Who's the purty girl as bowed till yee's? That's the question on board now."
"Look here, Mr. Ireland," expostulated Jim, getting slowly off the fence backward, and affecting great timidity in so doing, "ye shouldn't shake a chap that way when he's practisin' jimnasti—what's its name? It's awful unsafe."
"Look here, Mr. Ireland," expostulated Jim, "ye shouldn't shake a chap that way."—page 59."Look here, Mr. Ireland," expostulated Jim, "ye shouldn't shake a chap that way."—page 59.
And he assured himself that his two feet were actually onterra firmabefore he relinquished his hold upon the top rail of the fence. Then turning toward Carnes he asked, with a most insinuating smile:
"Wasn't you askin' something?"
"That's jist what I was, by the powers," cried Carnes, as if his fate hung upon the answer. "Who is the leddy? be dacent, now."
We had been some two weeks in Trafton when this dialogue occurred, and Jim Long was one of our first acquaintances. Carnes had picked him up somewhere about town; and the two had grown quite friendly and intimate.
Long was a character in the eyes of Carnes, and was gradually developing into a genius in mine. Jim was, to all outward appearances, the personification of laziness, candor, good nature, and a species of blundering waggishness; but as I grew to know him better, I learned to respect the irony under his innocent looks and boorish speeches, and I soon found that he possessed a faculty, and a fondness, for baffling and annoying Carnes, that delighted me; for Carnes was, like most indefatigible jokers, rather nonplussed at having the tables turned.
Jim never did anything for a livelihood that could be discovered, but he called himself a "Hoss Fysician," and indeed it was said that he could always be trusted with a horse, if he could be induced to look at one. But he had his likes and dislikes, so he said, and he would obstinately refuse to treat a horse toward which he had what he called "onfriendly feelin's."
Jim could tell us all there was to tell concerning the town of Trafton. It was only necessary to set him going; and no story lost anything of spirit through being told by him.
He was an oracle on the subjects of fishing and hunting; indeed, he was usually to be found in the companionship of gun or fishing rod.
Fortunately for us, Trafton had rare facilities for sports of the aforementioned sort, and we gathered up many small items while, in the society of Long Jim, we scrambled through copses, gun in hand, or whipped the streams, and listened to the heterogenous mass of information that flowed from his ready tongue.
But the spirit of gossip was not always present with Jim. Sometimes he was in an argumentative mood, and then would ensue the most astounding discussions between himself and Carnes. Sometimes he was full of theology, and then his discourse would have enraptured Swing, and out-Heroded Ingersoll, for his theology varied with his moods. Sometimes he was given to moralizing, and then Carnes was in despair.
Jim lived alone in a little house, or more properly, "cabin," something more than a mile from town. He had a small piece of ground which he called his "farm," and all his slight amount of industry was expended on this.
"Who is the leddy, I tell yee's?" roared Carnes, who, I may as well state here, had introduced himself to the Traftonites as Barney Cooley. "Bedad, a body would think she was your first shwateheart by the dumbness av yee's!"
"And so she air," retorted Jim with much solemnity. "Don'tyougo ter presoomin', Mr. Ireland. That are Miss Manvers, as lives in the house that's just a notch bigger'n Kurnel Brookhouse's; and her father was Captain Manvers, as went down in the good shipAmy Audrey, and left his darter that big house, and a bigger fortune dug out 'en a treasure-ship on the coast uv—"
"Stop a bit, long legs," interposed Carnes, or Barney, as we had better call him, "was it a threasure-ship yee's wur hatchin' when it tuck yee's so long to shun out yer little sthory?"
"Well, then, Erin, tell your own stories, that's all. If yer wan't ter kick over one uv the institooshuns uv Trafton, why, wade in."
But Carnes only shook his head, and lying at full length upon the ground feigning great pain, groaned at intervals:
"Oh! h! h! threasure-ship!"
"But, Long," I interposed, "does this young lady, this Miss Manvers, sanction the story of a treasure from the deep, or is it only a flying rumor?"
"It's flyin' enough," retorted Jim, soberly. "It's in everybody's mouth; that is, everybody as has an appetite for flyin' rumors. And I never knew of the lady contradictin' it, nuther. The facks is jest these, boss. There's Miss Manvers, and there's the big house, and the blooded horses, an' all the other fine things that I couldn't begin to interduce by their right names. They're facks, as anybody can see. There seems to be plenty o' money backin' the big house an' other big fixins, an'Iain't agoin' to be oudacious enough ter say there ain't a big treasure-ship backin' up the whole business. Now, I ain't never seen 'em, an' I ain't never seen anyone as has, not bein' much of a society man; but folkssayas Miss Manvers has got the most wonderfullest things dug out o' that ship; old coins, heaps of 'em; jewels an'aunteeks, as they call 'em, that don't hardly ever see daylight. One thing's certain: old Manvers come here most six years ago; he dressed, looked, and talked like a sailor; he bought the big house, fitted it up, an' left his daughter in it. Then he went away and got drowned. They say he made his fortune at sea, and it's pretty sartin that he brought some wonderful things home from the briny. Mebbe you had better go up to the Hill, that's Miss Manvers' place, and interduce yourself, and ask for the family history, Mr. 'Exile of Erin,'" concluded Jim, with a grin intended to be sarcastic, as he seated himself on a half decayed stump, and prepared to fill his pipe.
"Bedad, an' so I will, Long Jim," cried Barney, springing up with alacrity. "An' thank ye kindly for mintionin' it. When will I find the leddy at home, then?"
Partly to avert the tournament which I saw was about to break out afresh between the two, and partly through interest in the fair owner of the treasure-ship spoils, I interposed once more.
"Miss Manvers must be a fair target for fortune-hunters, Long; are there any such in Trafton?"
"Wall, now, that's whatsomefolks says, tho' I ain't goin' ter lay myself liable ter an action fer slander. There'sloversenough; it ain't easy tellin' jest what theyairafter. There's young Mr. Brookhouse; now,hispa's rich enough;heain't no call to go fortin huntin'. There's a lawyer from G——, too, and a young 'Piscopal parson; then there's our new young doctor. I ain't hearn anyone say anythin' about him; butI'veseen 'em together, and I makebold ter say that he's anuther on 'em. Seen the young doctor, ain't ye?" turning to me suddenly with the last question.
"Yes," I replied, carelessly; "he dines at the hotel."
"Just so, and keeps his own lodgin' house in that little smit on a cottage across the creek on the Brookhouse farm road."
"Oh, does he?"
"Yes. Queer place for a doctor, some think, but bless you, it's as central as any, when you come ter look. Trafton ain't got anyheart, like most towns; you can't tell where the middle of it is. It's as crookid as—its reputation."
Not desiring to appear over anxious concerning the reputation of Trafton, I continued my queries about the doctor.
"He's new to Trafton, I think you said?"
"Yes, bran new;toonew. We don't like new things, we don't; have to learn 'em afore we like 'em. We don't like the new doctor like we orter."
"We, Long? Don't you like Dr. Bethel?"
"Well, speakin' as an individual, I like him fust rate.Iwuz speakin' as a good citizen, ye see; kind o' identifyin' myself with the common pulse," with an oratorical flourish.
"Oh, I do see," I responded, laughingly.
"Yis, we see!" broke in Barney, who had bridled his tongue all too long for his own comfort. "He's runnin' fur office, is Jim; he's afther wantin' to be alderman."
"Ireland," retorted Long, in a tone of lofty admonition, "we're talkin' sense, wot nobody expects ye to understand. Hold yer gab, won't yer?"
Thus admonished, Barney relapsed into silence, and Jim, who was now fairly launched, resumed:
"Firstly," said he, "the doctor's a leetle too good lookin', don't you think so?"
"Why, he is handsome, certainly, but it's in a massive way; he is not effeminate enough to betoohandsome."
"That's it," replied Long, disparagingly; "he ain't our style.Ourstyle is curled locks, cunnin' little moustachys, little hands and feet, and slim waists. Our style is more ruffles to the square fut of shirt front, and more chains and rings than this interlopin' doctor wears."
"Our sthyle! Och, murther, hear him!" groaned Carnes, in a stage aside.
"His manners ain't our style, nuther," went on Long, lugubriously. "Wealways has a bow and a smile fur all, rich an poor alike, exceptin' now and then a no count person what there's no need uv wastin' politeness on.Hegoes along head up, independenter nor Fouth o' July. He don't make no distincshun between folks an' folks, like a man orter. I've seen him bow jist the same bow to old Granny Sanders, as lives down at the poor farm, and to Parson Radcliffe, our biggest preachin' gun. Now,that'sno way fer a man ter do as wants ter live happy in Trafton; it ain'tourway."
A mighty groan from Barney.
"He's got a practice, though," went on Jim, utterly ignoring the apparent misery of his would-be tormentor. "Somehow he manages to cure folks as some of our old doctors can't. I reckon a change o' physic's good fer folks, same's a change o' diet—"
"Or a clane shirt," broke in Carnes, with an insinuating glance in the direction of Jim's rather dingy linen.
"Eggsackly," retorted Long, turning back his cuffs with great care and glancing menacingly at his enemy—"er a thrashin'."
"Gentlemen," I interposed, "let us have peace. And tell me, Jim, where may we find your model Traftonite, your hero of the curls, moustaches, dainty hands, and discriminating politeness? I have not seen him."
"Whar?" retorted Long, in an aggrieved tone, "look here, boss, you don't thinkIever mean anythin' personal by my remarks? I'd sworn it were all that way when you come ter notice. The average Traftonite's the sleekest, pertiest chap on earth. We wuz born so."
Some more demonstrations in pantomime from Carnes, and silence fell upon us. I knew from the way Long smoked at his pipe and glowered at Carnes that nothing more in the way of information need be expected from him. He had said enough, or too much, or something he had not intended to say; he looked dissatisfied, and soon we separated, Long repairing to his farm, and Carnes and I to our hotel, all in search of dinner.
"We won't have much trouble in finding the 'Average Traftonite,' old man," I said, as we sauntered back to town.
No answer; Carnes was smoking a huge black pipe and gazing thoughtfully on the ground.
"I wonder if any attempt has been made to rob Miss Manvers of those treasure-ship jewels," I ventured next.
"Umph!"
"Or of her blooded horses. Carnes, what's your opinion of Long?"
Carnes took his pipe from his mouth and turned upon me two serious eyes. When I saw the expression in them I knew he was ready to talk business.
"Honor bright?" he queried, without a trace of his Irish accent.
"Honor bright."
"Well," restoring his pipe and puffing out a black cloud, "he's an odd fish!"
"Bad?"
"He's a fraud!"
"As how?"
"Cute, keen, has played the fool so long he sometimes believes himself one. Did you notice any little discrepancies in his speech?
"Well, rather."
"Nobody else ever would, I'll be bound; not the 'Average Traftonite,' at least. That man has not always been at odds with the English grammar, mark me. What do you think, Bathurst?"
"I think," responded I, soberly, "that we shall find in him an ally or an enemy."
We had been sauntering "across lots," over some of the Brookhouse acres, and we now struck into a path leading down to the highway, that brought us out just opposite the cottage occupied by Dr. Bethel.
As we approached, the doctor was leaning over the gate in conversation with a gentleman seated in a light road wagon, whose face was turned away from us.
As we came near he turned his head, favoring us with a careless glance, and, as I saw his face, I recognized him as the handsome young gallant who had attended the friend of Miss Grace Ballou, on the occasion of that friend's visit to the Ballou farm, and who had bidden the ladies such an impressive good-bye as I drove them away from the village station.
Contrary to my first intention I approached the gate, and as I drew near, the young man gathered up his reins and nodding to the doctor drove away.
Dr. Bethel and myself had exchanged civilities at our hotel, and I addressed him in a careless way as I paused at the gate.
"That's a fine stepping horse, doctor," nodding after the receding turnout; "is it owned in the town?"
"Yes," replied the doctor; "that is young Brookhouse, or rather one of them. There are two or three sons; they all drive fine stock."
I was passing in the town for a well-to-do city young man with sporting propensities, and as the doctor swung open the gate and strode beside me toward the hotel, Carnes trudging on in advance, the talk turned quite naturally upon horses, and horse owners.
That night I wrote to Mrs. Ballou, stating that I had nothing of much moment to impart, but desired that she would notify me several days in advance of her proposed visit to the city, as I wished to meet her. This letter I sent to our office to be forwarded to Groveland from thence.
We had not been long in Trafton before our reputation as thoroughly good fellows was well established, "each man after his kind."
Carnes entered with zest into the part he had undertaken. He was hail fellow well met with every old bummer and corner loafer; he made himself acquainted with all the gossippers and possessed of all the gossip of the town.
After a little he began to grow somewhat unsteady in his habits, and under the influence of too much liquor, would occasionally make remarks, disparaging or otherwise as the occasion warranted, concerning me, and so it came about that I was believed to be a young man of wealth, the possessor of an irascible temper, but very generous; the victim of a woman's falseness;—but here Carnes always assured people that he did not know "the particulars," and that, if it came to my ears that he had "mentioned" it, it would cost him his place, etc.
These scraps of private history were always brought forward by, or drawn out of, him when he was supposed to be "the worse for liquor." In his "sober" moments he was discreetness itself.
So adroitly did he play his part that, without knowing how it came about, Trafton had accepted me at Carnes' standard, and I found my way made smooth, and myself considered a desirable acquisition to Trafton society.
I became acquainted with the lawyers, the ministers, the county officials, for Trafton was the county seat. I was soon on a social footing with the Brookhouses, father and son. I made my bow before the fair owner of the treasure-ship jewels; and began to feel a genuine interest in, and liking for, Dr. Bethel, who, according to Jim Long, wasnotTrafton style.
Thus fairly launched upon the Trafton tide, and having assured ourselves that no one entertained a suspicion of our masquerade, we began to look more diligently about us for fresh information concerning the depredations that had made the town attractive to us.
Sitting together one night, after Carnes had spent the evening at an especially objectionable saloon, and I had returned from a small social gathering whither I had been piloted by one of my new acquaintances, we began "taking account of stock," as Carnes quaintly put it.
"The question now arises," said Carnes, dropping his Hibernianisms, and taking them up again as his enthusiasm waxed or waned. "The question is this: What's in our hand? What do wee's know? What do wee's surmise, and what have wee's got till find out?"
"Very comprehensively put, old fellow," I laughed, while I referred to a previously mentioned note book. "First, then, what do we know?"
"Well," replied Carnes, tilting back his chair, "we know more than mony a poor fellow has known when he set out to work up a knotty case. We know we are in the field, bedad. We know that horses have been stolen, houses broken open, robberies great and small committedhere. We know they have been well planned and systematic, engineered by a cute head."
Carnes stopped abruptly, and looked over as if he expected me to finish the summing up.
"Yes," I replied, "we knew all that in the beginning; now for what we have picked up. First, then, just run your eye over this memorandum; I made it out to-day, and, like a love letter, it should be destroyed as soon as read. Here you have, as near as I could get them, the names of the farmers who have lost horses, harness, buggies, etc. Here is the average distance of their respective residences from the town, and their directions. Do you see the drift?"
Carnes rubbed the bridge of his nose; a favorite habit.
"No, be the powers," he ejaculated; "St. Patrick himself couldn't see the sinse o' that."
"Very good. Now, here is a map of this county. On this map, one by one, you must locate those farms."
"Bother the location," broke in Carnes, impatiently. "Serve it up in a nutshell. What's the point?"
"The point, then, is this," drawing the map toward me. "The places where these robberies have been committed, are all in certain directions. Look; east, northeast, west, north; scarce one south, southeast, or southwest. Hence, I conclude that these stolen horses are run into some rendezvous that is not more than a five hours' ride from the scene of the theft."
"The dickens ye do!" muttered Carnes, under his breath.
"Again," I resumed, perceiving that Carnes was becoming deeply interested, and very alert, "the horses, etc., have been stolen from points ten, twelve, twenty miles, from Trafton; the most distant, so far as I have found out, is twenty-two miles."
"Ar-m-m-m?" from Carnes.
"Now, then, let us suppose the robbers to be living in this town. They leave here at nine, ten, or later when the distance is short. They ride fleet horses. At midnight, let us say, the robbery is committed. The horses must be off the road, and safe from prying eyes, before morning, and must remainperduuntil the search is over. What, then? The question is, do the robbers turn them over to confederates, in order to get safely back to the town under cover of the night; or, is the hiding-place so near that no change is necessary?"
I paused for a comment, but Carnes sat mute.
"Now, then," I resumed, "I am supposing this lair of horse-thieves to besomewheresouth, or nearly south, of the town, and not more than thirty miles distant."
"Umph!"
"I suppose it to be south, or nearly south, for obvious reasons. Don't you see what they are?"
"Niver mind; prache on."
"No horses have been taken from the south road, or from any of the roads that intersect it from this. I infer that it is used as an avenue of escape for the marauding bands. Consequently—"
"We must make the acquaintance of that north and south highway," broke in Carnes.
"Just so; and we must begin a systematic search from this out."
"System's the word," said Carnes, jerking his chair close to the table, upon which he planted his elbows. "Now, then, let's organize."