Ted introduced Farnsworth as Mr. Dickson, whom he had met on the road, and the boys made the newcomer welcome in their usual characteristic style.
In a few minutes Major Caruthers rode up to the house, and Ted brought Farnsworth forward. From the question Farnsworth had put to him when he had first mentioned the owner of the Bubbly Well Ranch, Ted was anxious to see the meeting between the two men.
Major Caruthers received the young fellow cordially, and told him, with true Western hospitality, that he was welcome to stay as long as he wished.
But Ted was watching Farnsworth.
As he put out his hand to grasp the major's, a peculiar look crossed his face. It was rather wistful, too, and it seemed as if he wanted to say much more than the few formal words of thanks which he returned in exchange for the major's greeting.
Ted looked curiously at the two men, and started with surprise at a peculiar resemblance Farnsworth bore to the older man.
Ted had not particularly noticed the major's face and eyes before, but now he noticed that his eyes bore a remarkable resemblance to those of Farnsworth.
There was a resemblance, too, in the shape of the head and the turn of the jaw, but there it ended; and Ted surmised that the major must be at least fifteen or twenty years older than the stranger.
During the rest of the day there was much mystery about the house that always precedes Christmas.
Stella was particularly busy, and flew here and there, whispering with Bud, who seemed to be in some secret with her.
Behind the big ranch living room was a bedroom which had been used for casual guests.
Stella had possession of it, and had taken the bed down and banished it until after the holidays.
Within this room certain mysterious things were going on, and whenever Stella or Bud left it, the door was always locked behind them.
Not all the teasing of Ben and Kit, nor their efforts to get past the door, were successful in finding out what was going on.
Along toward evening, Bud, who had not met Farnsworth, or Dickson, as he was known to Bubbly Well, came across that young man pacing up and down the veranda alone.
When Bud saw him he stopped as if shot, took a long look, and then passed on.
But he set out to find Ted, which he did at last at the corral.
"See here, Ted," said the golden-haired cow-puncher, "whar did yer pick up ther maverick what's up at ther house? I hear he come with yer."
"I met him on the road, and he wanted to know if the major would put him up for the night, and I told him I thought he would be welcome," answered Ted.
"Of course he'd be welcome. Ther major would welcome a yaller dog with ther mange, out in this yere lonely place. But say, boy, does yer know what yer brought?"
"Why? I don't understand you exactly, I'm afraid."
"Yes, yer do. Who is that feller? He's not Dickson. Who is he?"
"Search me."
"That's what I'm tryin' ter do, an' if yer don't give up peaceful, I'm goin' through yer, minute."
"Do you know who he is?"
"I've got my suspicions. I see a feller up to Phoenix what's ther dead ringer fer him, an' his name wasn't Dickson then."
"What was it?"
"It was Fancy Farnsworth."
"I guess you're on, Bud. But Mr. Farnsworth asked me to keep it dark, and, as it is Christmas, I consented to do so. Remember, this is the time for brotherly love and peace toward all men. It wasn't much to do, and I invented the name of Dickson for him myself. What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothin', if yer like ter bring cattle like that ter our Chrismus festivities. Fer me, I wouldn't."
"I guess he's not as bad as that."
"He's worse."
"Explain."
"Well, if yer don't know, I will, an' let yer chew on it, an' see if yer want ter take any chances on him. Now, Farnsworth ain't his real name, neither. D'y'ever hear tell o' ther Somber Pass massacree, where a tenderfoot immigrant named Spooner an' his family was killed, an' their wagons an' horses, an' a pile o' money what Spooner had brought with him ter start a cattle ranch an' buy stock with, wuz taken? D'y'ever hear tell o' that?"
"Sure. It's part of the history of the Territory."
"D'y'ever hear any suspicions cast upon nobody?"
"I never did. That is, I never heard any one specifically charged with the crime. Did you?"
"I did, an' his other name was Farnsworth, only that wasn't ther name he went by at that time. He's ther feller who was p'inted out ter me as ther devil what led ther band o' cutthroats what killed ther Spooner family fer a measly few thousands o' dollars. That's what I meant if yer knew who yer was bringin' ter yer happy home."
"Why, that crime was committed five years ago, and Dickson or Farnsworth, as he calls himself, was too young then to be engaged in anything of that sort."
"He looks young, but he ain't. He's ther feller. Look out fer him, Ted."
"Don't you tip off who he is, Bud. I brought him here because it is Christmas, and he's going to stay. He's going to get a square deal here if I have to fight for him."
"Oh, I won't say nothin', but I'd like ter slip a pair o' handcuffs onto them smooth, white wrists o' hisn, jest ther same. But why is he here? What's he doin' in this part o' ther country?"
"I don't know, Bud. He asked me when he met me and knew who I was if I had heard the news about him. I hadn't, and told him so, but he did not volunteer any information on the subject."
"Whar did he come from? Did he tell you?"
"Yes, he said he had come from Rodeo; starting early this morning."
"Then look fer a big piece o' news from Rodeo right soon."
"How do you know?"
"I know this, if Farnsworth left Rodeo airly this mornin' thar was some good reason fer it. I reckon it's a killin'. But he's a chump ter stop off here. If anything has been pulled off at Rodeo, ther whole country will be out after him, fer Fancy, so called fer his passion fer good clothes an' high-colored poker chips, they don't like none too well, he's too almighty quick an' slick with his six-shooter, hez got a list o' killin's ter his credit as long as yer arm."
"Well, he's here; let's forget it until after breakfast. But as long as he's here as a guest, he gets all the protection I can give him."
Supper that night was a very merry function in the Bubbly Well ranch house, full of mysterious whisperings and jokes which were only understood by two or three at a time.
Mr. Dickson, as the latest guest, occupied a seat at the left hand of the host, and Ted again noticed the remarkable resemblance between the two, although it did not seem to be apparent to the others; at least, no one mentioned it.
After supper was over, and the Chinese cook and waiter had cleared the room, the major brought out a violin, and asked if any one could play it.
"Clay kin jest make a fiddle sing!" shouted Bud, dragging the modest Kentuckian forward.
There was a piano in the living room, and Stella and Clay went to it, and while Clay played the violin, Stella accompanied him.
Lively airs were demanded, and the ranch house fairly rang with the clapping of feet as Bud and Carl and Kit danced reels and jigs and cake walks, and the laughter of the boys at Bud's jokes and Carl's lingual mistakes.
But at last they became tired of music. It was ten o'clock, and the major disappeared for a few minutes, then entered, leading the way for the two Chinamen, who bore between them baskets of rosy apples, dishes of nuts and raisins and candies, and pitchers of cider.
Although the day had been warm enough in the sun, the night was cool, and the fire that leaped high in the fireplace made the room cozy and comfortable, and one could well imagine that outside was the snow glistening under the stars, and hear the far-away jingle of the sleigh bells.
They sat around the fireplace eating apples and cracking nuts, talking nonsense and laughing at Bud's comic antics, until even Farnsworth relaxed from the air of anxiety he had borne all evening, and once or twice laughed.
But Bud kept his eye on him, for he was distrustful of him, and believed that he was up to some trick.
At the end of the living room, between two massive deer heads, hung a big clock, and, while they were still cracking nuts and jokes it began to toll the hour of midnight.
Instantly every one was on his or her feet shouting "Merry Christmas!" and shaking hands all around. Farnsworth was not neglected because he was a stranger, and Stella was the very first to wish him happiness on this Christmas Day.
Ted was the last to press forward and with all sincerity wished him happiness, and, as he did so, he noticed that the young fellow was very pale, and that his eyes were filled with unshed tears as he looked from Ted to the major, who was fairly beaming with happiness and joy at the great success of his Christmas Eve party, which, he said, was the finest ever held in Arizona.
Then Clay sat down to the piano and began to play a march, and Bud, with a great flourish, unlocked and threw open the door of the guest room.
Every one started back in surprise, while a shout went up that shook the roof; but the old major hadn't a word to say. He simply stared, growing pale and red by turns. He was deeply affected, and Farnsworth had retired to a far corner, with his face buried in his hands. What memories stirred him that this desperate young man should be so shaken?
Inside the room all was aglow with myriads of candles which sparkled from a small pine tree, which was hung with numerous packages and strings of popcorn. Now every one understood the mysterious movements of Bud and Stella.
But the most marvelous thing of all was the enormous figure of Santa Claus, dressed in a coat of red, liberally trimmed with fur, and a long beard sweeping his breast, sitting on the back of a splendid little bay pony that was none too quiet in the midst of the light and noise.
"Where did it all come from?" asked Ted of Stella, as they were standing together admiring the tree.
"Oh, Bud and I thought it out for a surprise for you and the boys before we left Phoenix, and one afternoon, when you were busy, we went shopping and brought all these things. If we hadn't come here, we were going to have the tree in the dining room of the hotel," she answered.
"It was a great idea, and just like you, Stella. It has made this like Christmas, indeed. We couldn't have had a better one at Moon Valley."
"But look at Major Caruthers," said Stella, pulling Ted by the sleeve.
The old major was actually on the verge of tears.
"I have never been so near the dear home of my boyhood as this evening, with all you happy, generous young people around me," he said.
"Who in the world is Santa Claus?" asked Ted.
"Why, just Santa Claus, you goose," said Stella, laughing.
But now Santa Claus got down from the pony's back and stepped to the front of the tree. Every one gathered around and kept silent.
"Good evening, children," he said, in a gruff and husky voice.
"Ach, it iss Kris Krinkle!" shouted Carl Schwartz, in glee. "Py Chiminy, ain't he noble? How you vas, Kris?"
"Children, I have a few seasonable gifts for you which I will give you before I hurry away, for I have many more young friends whom I must visit before the dawn. But first I will turn over to my young friend Ted Strong this beautiful pony, which has been intrusted to me by Major Caruthers." He led the pony forward and thrust the bridle into Ted's hand.
Ted was so astonished that he did not know what to say, but managed at last to mumble his thanks to his host.
For Stella there was a beautiful necklace of New Mexican turquoises from the major, who also had not forgotten one of the boys.
Then mysterious packages, well wrapped, were handed off the tree, and as they were opened, shouts of laughter greeted them, for nearly every one of them contained something meant as a joke on the recipient.
Carl got a noble-looking parcel, and when he opened it, found a nice red bologna sausage. Every one screamed with laughter, but Carl promptly turned the joke by taking out his knife and cutting up and devouring the sausage.
There was a lemon for Kit from Ben, and a Joe Miller joke book, full of antiquated chestnuts, for Bud, who proceeded to get square by reading all the most ancient ones, such as the chicken crossing the road, and similar gems.
While the laughter and fun were at their height there was a sound on the veranda, and they all stopped to listen.
Ted instinctively turned to where Farnsworth was sitting alone in the corner, for there had been no presents for him, and saw him sitting up, listening intently.
Being a guilty man, or, at least, aware that he was being pursued, he was alert.
"What's the row out there?" asked the major, who was loath to have the evening's fun disturbed by outsiders.
"Don't know," said Ted. "Sounded like some one walking on the veranda and trying the door."
He had no sooner spoken when the door was thrust open and four men sprang into the room and looked around.
At the same instant, Farnsworth leaped to his feet, drawing his revolver and backing into the center of the room.
Farnsworth was as pale as paper, but his eyes flashed fire as he glanced swiftly around.
Apparently there was no way of escape, for the intruders barred the only outside door.
The sudden entrance into the brilliant light had temporarily blinded the men, so that they stood uncertainly for a few moments, looking from one to the other of the figures that almost filled the room.
Major Caruthers now stepped in front of them, his face red with anger.
"What do you mean by intruding on me like this?" he thundered.
For answer, one of the men threw back his coat and displayed the star of a deputy United States marshal.
"We're officers," he said gruffly, "an' we want Fancy Farnsworth."
"You've come to the wrong place," said the major.
"Oh, no, we haven't. We traced him right here, an' he's in this house."
"What crime has he committed?"
"He killed a woman over at Rodeo last night."
An exclamation of horror arose from all parts of the room.
"There he is! Get him!" almost screamed one of the men, pointing to the pale but resolute figure standing under the chandelier.
There was a rush, and confusion indescribable followed.
Crash went the chandelier, shattered into a thousand pieces by a dozen bullets.
Rushing, struggling forms turned the smoke-filled room into a perfect bedlam.
Two of the intruders went to the floor, sent there by swift and powerful right-handers from Ted.
But they were up and rushing through the room in the direction of the Christmas tree.
There Santa Claus met them, and again they were bowled over.
Ted saw the slender, black-clothed figure of Farnsworth slip past him in the smoke.
Then followed the sharp hoofbeats of a pony on the wooden floor, a crash of glass, and the swift patter on the earth outside, and all was still.
Farnsworth had leaped upon the back of Ted's Christmas-gift pony and escaped.
Several moments following the dramatic and sensational escape of the Christmas guest passed in silence, to be broken at last by Kit.
"That was about the smoothest get-away I ever saw," he said, with a grin, for he had assisted in it by deftly tripping the chief deputy while he was on the way to intercept the pony.
"What in thunder did they want to stop my star performance for?" asked Santa Claus, pulling off his beard and revealing the rubicund face of Ben Tremont, who was slowly baking beneath the heavy robes and hairy disguise.
"Well, he's gone, and only taken a pony and a window with him," said the major, "and he's welcome to both. And now, you men, we'll try to dispense with your company. You see, this is a private party, and had I known that you were in this part of the country, I probably would have invited you to be present. But I regret to say that the guest list is full."
The leader of the posse of deputy marshals looked up with a scowl. Apparently, he was mad clear through at the sudden and unexpected loss of his prospective prisoner.
As he looked about his eye encountered that of Ted Strong, in which he saw laughter, which did not tend to lessen his anger.
"I've a good mind to arrest the whole bunch of you for conspiring at the escape of a United States prisoner," he growled.
"You'd stand a fine show to do that," said Ted quietly. "On the other hand, I've a mind to arrest you for the forcible entry of this house."
"You have, have you?" sneered the other. "You make me laugh, young feller. You couldn't arrest a fly!"
Ted threw open his coat and showed that he, too, wore a star.
The leader of the posse leaned forward to read the authority on it.
"Who are you?" he asked huskily.
"I am Ted Strong."
"Then why didn't you stop Fancy Farnsworth?"
"What for? I have no knowledge of his having committed a crime, and, besides, I have no warrant for him. Have you?"
"No. Didn't have time to get one. But that makes no difference. He killed a woman, and as soon as I heard of it I got my posse together an' hit his trail. If it hadn't been for you fellows I'd have got him."
"I don't think you would."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because he'd have killed two or three of you first."
"What about this crime, and why are you so sure he committed it?" asked Major Caruthers. "I thought him a fine, gentlemanly, quiet young fellow, and I'm somewhat of a judge of men myself. I can hardly believe that a man of that stamp could commit so terrible a crime as woman murder. That is the lowest degree of killing."
"He done it, just the same," said the deputy marshal positively.
"Why are you so sure?" asked Ted, taking up the interrogation.
"Well, in the first place, he skipped the town just before the body of the woman was found. He was seen to ride out of town along the road on which her house stood."
"Is that all the evidence you have against him?"
"No; he was seen coming out of the house about three hours before he was seen leaving town."
"H'm! Is that all?"
"It comes pretty near enough. But, besides that, it was known that the woman, who was young and beautiful, had recently received a lot of money as her share in a mine, and that the money had been taken to her that morning by one of her partners."
"And it is believed that the young fellow you call Fancy Farnsworth killed the woman for her money?"
"Sure."
"In what shape was the money? Currency, gold dust, ingots, or gold coins?"
"It was in ingots."
"Anybody know how much of it there was?"
"Yes; her partner, Billy Slocum, was at the hotel, intendin' to go back to the mine to-day, and I went to see him."
"And did he give you any idea of how much the gold weighed?"
"Yes, it weighed about thirty pounds. Billy brought it in on his saddle, and he said it weighed quite considerable."
"But Farnsworth, as you call him, had nothing of the sort when he arrived here."
"That may be. He'd be too foxy to do that. He's cached it somewhere in the mountains, most likely."
"How was the woman killed?"
"She was strangled by a cord."
"What was her name?"
"Helen Mowbray."
"What sort of a woman was she?"
"She was a mystery to most the folks at Rodeo, an' all over the mountains, for that matter. Nobody knew where she came from. She didn't mix much with the folks, but lived in a swell house, what she had built for herself, with only two servants, a Japanese man and woman."
"Was she rich?"
"Said to be. Had interests in a good many mines, an' owned the Cristobal Turquoise Mine."
"Anybody ever learn where her mail came from?"
"Yes, she frequently got letters from England, and occasionally sent large drafts to a bank in London to her credit."
"How do you know this?"
"Early this morning, when the crime was discovered, and every one was talking about it, Mr. Rossington, the banker, told that much to a crowd at the hotel."
"Had she any particular friend in Rodeo?"
"Only Farnsworth, who came to the town at intervals and put up at the hotel. When he was in town he generally spent an hour or two at her house in the afternoon or evening, and then faded away as mysteriously as he came."
"Did he appear to be in love with her?"
"All I know about that is what I have heard since Miss Mowbray's death."
"There has been gossip, then?"
"Not what you would call gossip, exactly. Only folks who had seen them riding and driving together a few times seemed to think that, while she was very much in love with him, he never made any fuss over her."
"How long have you known Farnsworth?"
"About three years. Ever since he has been traveling through this part of Arizona."
"Don't you know that he is a very undemonstrative man, and that if he really cared for any one he is not the sort to exhibit it?"
"Yes, I reckon Fancy is a cold sort of a proposition."
"How have you got him sized up?"
"I'd hardly know how to tell it. He's some of a mystery to me, and he ain't never let no one as I know of snuggle beneath his jacket."
"But, as an officer, you must have kept some sort of tab on him."
"Sure. I know Fancy as well as most. I always looked upon him as a crook, and a very dangerous man with a gun."
"Has he ever been convicted of a crime?"
"Ain't never been able to land him. Generally he gets away by some slick trick, just as he did to-night, or he bluffs off the fellows who go after him with his guns."
"Has any crime ever been fastened on him so positively that there was no doubt that he committed it?"
"Can't say there was; but that don't cut no ice, for he's been in several killings where no gun got busy but his, an' we've been able to track him right up to crimes, but there we lose him. He's too slick to get caught."
"Something like the murder of Miss Mowbray? He is seen leaving the vicinity of the murder, and is immediately suspected of the crime, although probably fifty other men in the town were near the house or on the road before the murder was discovered, eh?"
"That's true enough. I passed the house myself on my way home, just before midnight."
"Why don't you arrest yourself as a suspect? But how was the murder discovered?"
"Some one passing saw a flame at the corner of the house, and, looking through a window, saw that the house was afire. He gave the alarm, and the blaze, which was in a corner of the library, was put out before much damage was done."
"Then the body was discovered, I suppose?"
"Yes; a fireman found it in the bedroom on the floor."
"In what condition?"
"She was dressed for bed, and around her neck a cord was tied so tightly, in a peculiar slipknot, that she could not breathe, and her face was black and her tongue protruding."
"Simply strangled to death, eh?"
"That's about it, I reckon."
"What became of the two Japanese?"
"Disappeared."
"Where are the ingots of gold?"
"Gone."
"What became of the cord by which she was strangled?"
"I have it."
"How does it happen that you have it?"
"At the alarm of fire I left my home and ran to the scene. As I entered the house by the front door, one of the firemen came running out of the bedroom, crying that he had found a dead woman. I ran into the room, and saw Miss Mowbray lying on her face on the floor, at the foot of the bed."
"She was dead then, I suppose?"
"I thought so. I placed my hand on her bare shoulder, and it was cold."
"She had been dead several hours, then?"
"Two or three hours, perhaps, but maybe less, for the room in which she lay was cold, there being no fire in it or in the adjoining rooms."
"What did you do when you found that she was dead?"
"I turned the body over, and saw by the discoloration of her face and the protruding tongue that she had been strangled. Then I discovered the cord, which was sunken deeply into the flesh of her throat, and so hidden that I would not have discovered it had I not seen the end of it."
"What did you do with it?"
"In the hope that she might not be dead, and that something might be done to revive her, I managed, with great difficulty, to get the cord untied and off her neck."
"What authority did you have for that? I suppose you know that it is the coroner's duty to do things of that sort?"
"Yes; but, besides being a deputy marshal, I am also deputy coroner."
"I see. What did you do with the cord?"
"I don't remember. Oh, yes. I think I put it in my pocket. Yes, here it is."
"Let me see it. Why, this is very peculiar. Do you know what sort of a cord this is?"
"I don't. I never saw one like it before."
"I have. Notice its thickness, and how closely it is woven, and that it is strong as a piece of wire."
"Yes, I noticed that when I found it. What sort of cord is it?"
"Japanese."
"Japanese, eh?"
"Yes, and a very rare sort of Japanese cord, too, fortunately."
"Why fortunately?"
"This is the cord that is used by the Japanese and East Indian secret societies known as the Thugs or Thuggees."
"How do you know?"
"I have seen cords like this before in the Orient, where they were used by Japanese murderers."
The cord passed from hand to hand as the major and the boys examined it with curiosity and some degree of horror, while Stella positively refused to handle it, or even look at it.
"Tell me more about Miss Mowbray's servants," said Ted, again taking up his line of interrogation. "What were the names of the two Japanese?"
"The man was called Ban Joy, but generally was known as Joy."
"Was he pretty well known in the town?"
"No, he was uncommunicative, and spoke very little English. The only persons who had much to do with him were the storekeepers of whom he bought supplies for the house."
"And the woman?"
"Her name was Itsu San, I believe. I only saw her once, and that was in the yard back of the house. She appeared young, and was very pretty for a Jap, I guess. She is the first Jap woman I ever saw."
"What were her duties?"
"She was Miss Mowbray's maid, while Joy was the cook."
"And you say they are gone?"
"Yes. I saw Joy about eight o'clock, but when I searched the house after the discovery of the body they were not there, and I could find nothing that belonged to them."
"What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to hit Farnsworth's trail, and I won't leave it till I run him down and send him to the gallows."
"I don't think you will."
"I won't, eh? Why shouldn't I?"
"Because Farnsworth did not murder Miss Mowbray."
"Then who did?"
"I don't know; probably the Japanese, but I'm not too sure of that. I believe you will pick up a surprise at the end of the string you are following. At any rate, me for Farnsworth, and I give you fair warning that I'm going to help him all I can until I am persuaded of his guilt."
"That's a fine way for a deputy United States marshal to talk."
"A better way than you are talking, for it is as much our duty to protect men from injustice as it is to bring them to justice."
"That's enough of you for me then. I'll say good night. Come on, boys."
The four deputy United States marshals marched in single file from the house, mounted their horses, and rode away into the west just as the sun poked its head above the eastern horizon.
Ted was brooding over the appearance of Farnsworth, and the startling events which followed, and particularly the crime at Rodeo, of which the young fellow had fallen under suspicion.
Ted believed that Farnsworth was innocent of the crime.
But his flight from the town, and the question he had put to Ted when they met in the road, as to whether Ted had heard the news from Rodeo, were enough to convict him in the mind of any person prone to suspicion.
But Ted looked at matters of this sort differently than most people. In the first place, his experience had taught him that actions which seemed most suspicious often proved most innocent.
That Farnsworth knew of the murder of Helen Mowbray before he quitted Rodeo his question to Ted left no doubt, and the shadow of suspicion under which he had lived was reason enough for him to leave the town before its discovery. He knew the dangerous temper of the people, and that it would take very little to arouse them against him, and precipitate them into a lynching, with himself as the central figure.
Ted had heard that Fancy Farnsworth was the worst man in Arizona, and that he had the most ungovernable temper, the quickest eye, and swiftest "draw" of a gun in the Territory.
He was a gambler against whom nobody seemed to be able to cope, for he invariably won. It had been said that he was not a straight gambler, but those who said it did so only once, as they were incapable of saying it twice, for by that time they had been shot full of holes by the card sharper.
Why it was that Farnsworth always escaped punishment at the hands of the authorities no one knew, except that they lacked the nerve to force prosecution against him, and that he invariably had a good excuse for killing a man; at least, one that made good in that rough country, where every man was of a size because all carried revolvers.
But even while Ted believed that Farnsworth was innocent of the murder of Miss Mowbray, he felt that some day he and the dashing young fellow would meet on the battlefield as enemies.
But it was the strange resemblance between him and Major Caruthers that affected Ted more than anything else, and he often wondered that the major had not noticed it himself.
Major Caruthers found Ted on the veranda turning these things over in his mind after breakfast. Coming to his side, the old gentleman threw his arm around Ted's shoulder and said:
"Ted, I'm rather worried about that young chap Dickson, or Farnsworth, whichever he is. I was greatly attracted to him, and intended to invite him to stay with us several days, when those deputy marshals entered and accused him of a crime that horrifies me. Somehow, I feel that he is guilty, although I want to believe in his innocence, as you so bravely advocated when we all were too cowardly to do so. But if he was innocent, why did he not stay and face his accusers, and go back to Rodeo with the marshals and prove himself innocent?"
"He never would have got as far as Rodeo," said Ted quietly.
"Why not? He was under arrest and in the guard and custody of four deputy marshals, officers of the United States."
"They would have prevailed no more than if they had been dummies, which I strongly suspect they were."
"Um, how is that?"
"They were sent out from Rodeo as marshals, but the mob that would have met Farnsworth at the outskirts of the town, to hang him, was the real boss. Those marshals would no more dare defy that mob than they would fly. In the first place, they were not of the real stuff, as was proved by their conduct when they entered your house and saw Farnsworth in the middle of the floor and dared not go to him."
"Well, I'm glad he got away, but I am sorry he had to steal your pony to do it."
"That's all right about the pony. I'm betting I'll get it back one of these days. And, besides, there was nothing else for him to do."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the major. "That was the neatest thing I ever saw, the way he got into that saddle and deliberately put that pony at the window."
"It sure was nervy," said Ted, with a reminiscent smile.
"Wasn't it the most dramatic thing you ever saw? I can see it yet. Farnsworth dodging those deputies and their bullets, and before any one knew what his plan was, leaping upon the pony and jumping through the glass. By Jove, it was fine. I never was so excited in my life."
"It certainly was very dramatic. Almost like a thing one would see in the theater."
"Yes, but a lot more exciting, because it was the real thing. By the way, Ted, there was something about that young fellow that I cannot explain to myself. I was quite strangely affected when he took me by the hand. And every time I looked at him it gave me a feeling as if he was somehow mixed up in my life, or would be in the future."
"That is strange. I wonder who he is. His name is not Dickson, nor is it Farnsworth. Of course, there is a mystery behind him somewhere, and he has a name which he is concealing. Suppose we take a look through his effects. He had a saddlebag in which there may be something by which we can identify him."
"Very well. I don't believe it would be unfair to him to do so. You know, we might be able to help him if we know his real name and address."
They went into the room which had been assigned to Farnsworth, but which he had had no opportunity to occupy.
In one corner they found his saddle, a very ornamental and expensive piece of horse furniture, trimmed with silver and made of the most expensive leather.
Beside it lay a bag which could be fastened to the cantle of the saddle.
It fastened with a snap lock, which was easily opened, and then Ted, at a nod from the major, began to turn out its contents.
First came a pair of silver-mounted hairbrushes and several toilet articles, showing that even in the desert young Farnsworth did not neglect his personal appearance. There were some clean shirts and handkerchiefs, and in the bottom of the bag another leather case.
"If he has anything by which he may be identified, it is in here," said Ted. "But this is locked. Shall I force it?"
"I believe you'd better," answered the major.
"I don't care much about doing it," said Ted, "but as it is to help him I suppose I might as well."
The major nodded, and with the blade of his knife Ted soon had the bag open.
The first thing he came to was a photograph of a beautiful woman, at which he looked intently for a few moments.
It seemed to him that he had seen her, or some one very like her, somewhere before.
Then he passed it over to the major, and reached his hand into the bag once more.
Suddenly he was interrupted by a startled cry, in which there was a tone of pain and surprise, from the major.
Looking up, he saw that the major was as white as a sheet, and that his hand trembled violently.
"What is it?" Ted asked, striding to the major's side.
But Major Caruthers was too shaken by emotion to reply at once.
He continued to stare at the picture with devouring eyes, his face alternately flushing and paling. He was gasping as if he would speak, but the words would not come.
"Do you know her?" asked Ted gently.
The major nodded his head for reply.
"What else do you find?" he managed to ask finally.
Ted emptied the contents of the bag upon the bed.
Among them was a package of old letters carefully tied.
"Look at those letters," commanded the major hoarsely.
Ted untied the string, and took one letter from the pack and opened it. It had been opened and folded so many times that it was with difficulty that Ted could open it now without having it fall to pieces.
"You read it before I do," said the major, who was suffering from a great, nervous strain, and showed it in his face and trembling hand.
Ted spread it on the bed and bent over it.
In the upper left-hand corner was a faded crest of a tower, over which was a coronet.
"My dear, wandering boy," the letter began, "I do not know where you are, or if you are well and alive, or are in trouble, for I have not heard from you for many months. I am sending this at random into that great America in the hope that it may reach you some day to tell you that your mother is constantly thinking of you. Your brother Jack is still in India with his regiment, but will soon retire and come home. Your sister Helen and her husband are I know not where. Mowbray turned out very badly, as your father believed he would, and he had to run from his creditors, and the enemies he had made through his dishonest practices. I don't know where they are, but it is my belief that they have gone to America. I wonder if you will ever run across them? If you do, tell Helen to leave the beast and come home, and both her father and I will forgive, and she can take her place here as if she had never met him. And this leads me to tell you that your father has greatly changed since you left us, and has even said that he was sorry for his harshness, and wished you had stayed with us. We are very lonely with all of our children away from us. Come back to your mother, and all will be different."
There were many expressions of mother love in the letter, which was signed and dated from The Towers, Huntingdon, several years before.
After reading the letter Ted passed it to the major without comment, and walked to the window, that he might not be a witness to his emotion.
He was now very sure that by the strangest of circumstances Major Caruthers had come across a bit of personal history, and that it was giving him a heart-tearing experience.
In a moment he heard the sound of a sob behind him, followed by others, which, however, subsided gradually, and he heard his name called.
Ted came to where the major sat on the side of the bed, holding the photograph in his hand.
"It is the picture of my sister," he said quietly, for he was now the master of his emotions.
"Then Farnsworth is your brother," said Ted.
"Yes, my brother, poor chap," answered the major, gulping down a sob.
"It is strange, very strange," muttered Ted, almost to himself. "I felt sure you were related, there was such a strong resemblance between you."
"I didn't notice it. Why didn't you speak of it?"
"Farnsworth knew that you were his brother, and I have no doubt he would have made himself known to you had he not been compelled to flee before the deputy marshals. I know that he was deeply affected at meeting you, and saw that he hesitated to make himself known."
"I didn't know him. I had not seen Fred since he was a little boy, when I went into the service. Then he went away to school, and I to India. I am much older than he, so we did not meet. When I returned to England from India he had disappeared on account of a foolish row with our father. Our only sister, Helen, had married a scamp against the wishes of the family, and had left England also. Shortly after that both our parents died, and I came to America with the intention of finding both my sister and brother, and this is how it has turned out."
Tears were coursing down the major's pale cheeks.
"Don't you see how it is?" he asked, holding out the photograph to Ted.
Suddenly it dawned upon Ted, and he took the photograph and gazed at it eagerly.
It was Helen Mowbray, the sister of the major and of Farnsworth, or Fred Caruthers, to give him his real name—the woman who had been strangled to death in her house at Rodeo.
This was a shock indeed.
The complications which had arisen in these few hours were sufficient to shatter the strongest nerves, and Ted himself trembled a little at the possibilities unfolded by this unforeseen and unexpected knowledge, while it entirely unnerved the major, and left him as weak as a child.
What was to be done? It was not likely that Fred Caruthers could be found at once. That he knew that it was his sister who had been murdered, and that he was charged with the crime, would be sufficient to spur him on and on, his brain and heart filled with horror. And that he had just found his brother, who might have given him all the moral support he needed at such a time, only to be driven from him by the fear of mob law, which he knew would give him no chance whatever for his life, was an additional sting.
The major sat on the edge of the bed with drooping head, holding in one hand the letter from his dead mother, and in the other the photograph of his murdered sister.
He was too dazed with the suddenness of the shock with which the revelation had come to him to stir.
Ted saw that he must be roused from this immediately.
"Come," he said, placing his hand gently, on the major's shoulder, "we must do something at once."
"What can we do?" asked the major, in a stifled voice.
"In the first place, we must ride to Rodeo with all speed. Do not forget that your sister lies there dead, and that it is your duty to care for her."
"Of course. I had forgotten. All the ghosts of the past crowded in upon me until I forgot my duty to the dead. We will go at once. Will you take charge of things? I am not able yet to do so."
"Certainly. Leave it all to me."
Ted left the major with his relics of the dead and the revelations of the present to compose himself, while he went out to make arrangements for the ride to Rodeo.
Ted knew the difficulties and prejudices they would meet when they got to Rodeo, and feared that before the unpleasant details attending the burial of the dead woman were finished they might clash with the authorities or the townspeople.
Therefore, he decided that they should go well able to defend their rights, and, calling the boys together, he told them as briefly as possible the story of the major and his newly found brother and sister, as the reader knows it.
"Now, fellows, we must help the major straighten out this tangle, bury the dead, defend the innocent, and punish the guilty," he said gravely. "Arm yourselves and saddle, ready to take the road to Rodeo as quickly as you can."
The broncho boys galloped into the town of Rodeo early in the afternoon, having put their horses to full speed, only stopping now and then to give them a blow.
Ted had done his best to restore the major to whatever cheerfulness was possible under the circumstances, and the sturdy Englishman had regained his courage and forcefulness.
As they were riding up the main street, Ted in the lead, flanked by Stella and Major Caruthers, they saw one of the deputy marshals who had so unceremoniously entered the ranch house at Bubbly Well to arrest Farnsworth look hard at them, then set off on a run down a side street.
"That fellow has gone to give warning of our approach," said Ted.
"Well, let him. What difference does it make to us?" asked the major.
"It may mean something to us before we get through here," said Ted.
"I imagine they will be suspicious of us," said Stella. "At least, they know that we are not their friends, since we went to such trouble to defend their favorite victim."
"True," said the major. "But we are strong enough to meet them, and we feel that we have the right on our side."
"What shall we do first?" said Ted, deferring to the major's wishes in the matter.
"Who has charge of the body of my sister, do you suppose?" he asked.
"Probably the coroner."
"Very well, let's look him up at once. That, of course, will be my first care."
It did not take them long to find the coroner, who told them that the deputy marshals had taken possession of the house, the property, and the remains of the dead woman, to be held for the appearance of some friend of hers, who had notified them to do so.
"Who is this friend?" asked the major stiffly.
"I'm sure I don't know. You'll have to see the deputy marshals. The inquest has been held, and I have nothing more to do with the affair."
"Now for the deputy marshals," said the major, who had recovered possession of himself, and was now all decision.
They went immediately to the chief deputy, who was also deputy coroner, and whose name, they learned, was Jack Burk.
But they could not find him, neither were any of his men to be found, although Ted was convinced that he was in town.
"There is only one thing to do," said Ted.
"What is that?" asked the major.
"Go to the house, and take possession of it yourself."
"But suppose we find it in the hands of the authorities?"
"That makes no difference to me. The remains of your sister belong to you, and you have the first right to her and her possessions."
"But her husband? I do not know where he is, or whether he is dead or alive."
"As long as he is not here, it is up to you, major, to assume whatever authority is necessary."
"Perhaps you are right. But we cannot gain our point without some show of force."
"I know it, and have come prepared for it. The broncho boys will back you to the limit. Do whatever you think best, major, and you will find the boys and myself right behind you."
"Then we will go to the house," said the major firmly.
In a few minutes Ted and the major dismounted before a handsome house on the outskirts of the town. It was surrounded by a high stone wall, and the gate, which was of iron, was locked.
Ted shook the gate vigorously, and called out for admittance.
Presently the door of the house was opened a crack, and a voice demanded to know what was wanted.
"Come and unlock the gate," demanded Ted.
After a moment's hesitation the door slammed, and there was silence.
"Evidently whoever is in charge of the house does not intend to open to us," said Ted, "and I suppose this will have to be the first act of aggression on our part. Shall I smash our way in?"
"By all means," responded the major. "I don't propose to stay out here and cool my heels in front of my sister's house at the behest of a stranger."
"That's enough for me."
Ted picked up a big stone from the road, and with a vigorous blow or two shattered the massive iron lock, and the gate swung open.
Ted and the major entered the garden in front of the house and walked up the path.
As they were about to ascend the steps to the veranda they were stopped by a voice.
"Halt! What do you want?"
"We want entrance to the house," said the major.
"You can't get in without an order from Deputy Marshal Burk," said the voice behind the door.
"The deuce I can't!" growled the major, whose fighting blood was coming up at this opposition. "Do you know who I am?"
"No, and it don't make no difference who you are. Them's my orders from the chief."
"I am the brother of Miss Mowbray."
A silence followed this.
"Can't help it," said the voice again. "I can't let you in."
"Open that door instantly, or we'll break it in."
"If you try that you'll be sorry. I warn you, I am armed, and have orders to shoot."
"Shoot, and be jiggered!" shouted the major, who was thoroughly angry by this time, for he was not used to having his orders disobeyed.
"I will if you attempt to break into this house. If you get an order I'll let you in. Without an order you get in only after I am down and out."
"Stay here, major. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Ted Strong was angry also at the delay, and at once suspected that Burk, the deputy marshal, had some sinister reason for putting the house in charge of one of his men, but he could not imagine what it was unless his purpose was not honest.
Ted's experience had taught him that all men in authority as deputy United States marshals were not honest, and that they often used their office to graft.
He had no faith in Burk, whose looks and actions he had distrusted at their first meeting. If Burk knew that the broncho boys were in town it would be sufficient excuse for him to annoy and impede their movements all he could.
No doubt Burk knew that they would come to Rodeo in the interests of Farnsworth, but he did not believe that the deputy marshal knew anything of the newly discovered relationship between Major Caruthers, the dead woman, and the so-called Farnsworth.
What, then, was his reason for holding the house and the remains of the murdered woman against all comers?
There were two inferences: Loot of the woman's house, unprotected by friends and relatives, and the awaiting of the woman's husband.
Ted had thought out these two possibilities thoroughly. He had no doubt that there were many valuables in the house, for the woman was reputed rich, secretive, and probably kept her personal property about her. From what the major had said the husband, Mowbray, evidently had been cast off by Helen Mowbray on account of his rascalities, and, being a bird of prey, would swoop down upon her property as soon as he learned of her death.
Could it be that Burk was holding the house awaiting Mowbray's arrival?
With these thoughts running through his mind Ted had gone around to the back of the house to find, if possible, something with which to smash in the door.
In a shed he found a sledge, and returned to where the major was still arguing with the guard inside.
"Open or we'll break in the door," called Ted, in a stern voice.
"Take the advice of a fool, and leave the door alone," answered the guard.
"Then, for the last time, will you open?"
"No."
Ted swung the sledge and brought it down with all his strength on the lock of the door.
There followed a crash, and the door flew open suddenly.
Then came another crash; this time from a revolver, and a ball whistled past Ted, penetrating the brim of his hat and burying itself in the door casing.
But it was not repeated, for before the guard could wink twice a tan-colored figure shot through the opening, and he fell to the floor with a smash that shook the house, and looked up to find a stalwart youth astride of him, slowly shutting off his wind with strong and inexorable fingers.
Then he was relieved of his revolver, and before he could indicate that he was willing to surrender he found himself trussed like a fowl, with his arms behind his back, and the hall full of young fellows.
"Why didn't you let me know that you had brought a regiment with you?" he said sullenly. "Maybe I'd have let you in."
"You had your chance to open, and was a fool not to take it," said Ted.
"I believe you."
The major had left the party and walked into a room on the left, and in a moment they heard sobs issuing from it. He had found the remains of his sister, and, at a signal from Ted, the boys hustled the deputy marshal into the back part of the house and retired, leaving the major alone with his dead sister.
In a few minutes Ted heard his name called, and went into the room where the major was standing beside a bed, on which was a form covered with a sheet.
"We must get ready to remove her to my house," said the major, in a hushed voice.
"Leave it to me," said Ted. "I will take charge of everything."
"And I want you to help me search the house, for I intend to remove all the valuables she left to Bubbly Well until such time as the courts can handle her property. I don't propose that it shall fall into alien hands."
In the room at the foot of the bed was a small steel safe, which Ted found was fastened with a combination lock. He knelt before it with his ear to the lock, turning the handle of the combination, listening to the click of the tumblers, while the major searched the drawers of the handsome dressing case and other articles of furniture in the room.
Everywhere were evidences that Helen Mowbray had been very wealthy.
On top of the dressing case were sets of gold and silver toilet articles, and ornaments, boxes, and bottles handsomely chased in silver and gold, and set with jewels.
In one of the drawers the major found a bunch of keys, probably to open other drawers in the console and other articles of furniture.
"I have it, major," said Ted quietly, as he flung open the door of the safe.
"See what is in it, Ted," said the major.
In the bottom of the safe lay a pile of gold ingots representing a value of many thousands of dollars. A drawer was filled with bank notes of large denomination. Other drawers were crowded full of the stocks of mines and other enterprises.
"Whew!" said Ted, as he revealed the dead woman's possessions. "Did you know she was so rich?"
"I had no idea of it," answered the major. "Helen was always a capable woman, and when she left England my father gave her her patrimony outright, that he might never be compelled to see or communicate with her husband again, and this looks as if she had increased it many times."
"This would have made fine plunder for the thieving fellows who had taken possession of the place if fate, in the hands of your younger brother, had not turned up to put you in command."
"What else do you find?"
"Here is a package addressed 'To be sent to The Towers, Huntingdon, England, to Robert Caruthers, Esquire, or Major John Stairs Caruthers, upon my death, unopened.'"
"Give it to me," said the major huskily, thrusting the package into his pocket.
"And here's a bank book," said Ted. "It bears the name of the Bank of London."
He handed it to the major, who put it also into his pocket.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"That is all."
"Then take this bunch of keys and examine the contents of the drawers."
The first drawer of the console which Ted unlocked and opened was full of jewels, rich and beautiful, a fortune in themselves.
"Poor girl," said the major, in a low voice. "Why did she risk murder by keeping such a fortune about her?"
"Probably she didn't want some particular person to know that she was so rich," suggested Ted.
Drawer after drawer revealed other valuables, such as priceless laces and articles of gold and silver.
"We must get all this away as soon as possible, and guard it carefully," said the major.
"Yes, it is a great temptation, I sup——"
As Ted was speaking he chanced to look up.
Framed in the window was a face.
But as Ted met the blazing eyes in the face it vanished, and he ran into the hall and out onto the veranda, but could see no one in the garden.
At that moment, however, he was brought back into the house with a jump by the sudden slamming of the back door of the house and a cry of warning from Bud, followed by shouts from the other boys. Then a shot outside, and a crash of glass.
The house was being besieged.
He heard a rush in the garden, and turned to see several men race around the corner of the house toward the front door.
They had almost reached it when he slammed it in their faces, putting his shoulder to it, and calling for help.
In the lead of the besiegers he recognized the face he had seen at the window.
As he was still holding the door against those who were striving to push it in from without there was a shot through one of the panels, and Strong sank to the floor insensible.