THE ACCUSATION.
“Well, things seem to be moving right along, Hugh,” Billy Worth remarked
several days later, as he and the assistant scout master stood on the
main street in front of the window where there was a fine display of
sporting goods that always attracted the attention of every passing boy.
“Yes, it’s wonderful what a change has come over the whole town,” the
other scout remarked. “It seems as though the scouts must have given
everybody the fever, because it’s going on all around. Even the Italian
district has been stirred, for the mayor has offered a splendid prize to
the family that has the neatest dooryard on the first of the month. Such
a scrubbing and raking and gathering of rubbish never was seen before.
Poor old Barney Heath says he’s earned his salary three times over, and
that if this thing gets to be a settled habit he must be paid by the
load and not by the month under contract. He’ll soon be going to the
poorhouse, he vows. But it looks glorious to me, Billy.”
“My folks say we deserve a heap of credit for taking the bull by the
horns,” Billy observed, with a grin of pride on his freckled face. “But
the women all think it was the way that gang carried on in the mayor’s
front yard that gave him all the backbone he’s shown since. Nothing like
bringing things home to a man if you want to stir him up.”
“Touch his pocket and you’ll get a response, my father says,” Hugh
replied. “I wish I’d been there when he came out of his house that fine
Sunday morning and discovered what a mess they’d made of his place! But
somehow nobody seems to have been able to get any trace of those who did
it. They made sure to leave nothing behind to tell who they were, and
have been lying low ever since. I’m rather thinking they’re a bit
frightened themselves at their boldness.”
“Huh! I don’t believe anything could scare that Lige Corbley,” grunted
Billy; “and speaking of him, there he comes along the street right now
with his little lame brother, Benjy. Say, what a queer mixture that boy
is, Hugh! Watch him helping Benjy along just as carefully as you would
do it yourself! I never could make out what that Lige was made of.”
“And that’s the very reason I told you once that I didn’t think he could
be all bad,” said the other in a low tone, for the object of their
conversation was now approaching them. “Any fellow who could act like
that toward a poor little chap with a twisted leg must have a decent
streak in him. And if ever Lige is going to change his ways, you mark my
words it’s bound to come about through that same brotherly affection he
feels for Benjy. It may never happen, and then again how do we know?
Stranger things than that have come to pass.”
A crowd of boys coming along the street stopped to gape in at the window
of the sporting goods store, making comments about the football and
hockey paraphernalia displayed there in tempting fashion.
Several men and women were also looking in at the gorgeous window of the
adjoining jewelry establishment, so that for the time being there was
quite a gathering at that one spot.
Lige Corbley, leaving his crippled brother to feast his eyes with the
sights in both windows, which he did not often have a chance to survey,
passed into the store that displayed fishing tackle and all manner of
men’s goods evidently bent on making some small purchase.
In doing this he came in contact with the two scouts, and their eyes
met. Lige stared Hugh straight in the face, and what seemed to be a
smile of defiance came across his dark countenance. It was as though he
had heard what had happened to Whistling Smith, and had been assured
that his identity was known to the scouts who had appeared on the scene
while he and his pals were defying the mayor by wrecking his well-kept
lawn and shrubbery.
Billy turned and looked at his chum after Lige had gone into the store.
“What do you think of that now, Hugh?” he asked. “Did you ever see a
fellow throw down the gauntlet like he did? Dares us to accuse him, and
wants to know how we could prove it! For three cents I’d like to ask you
to take the challenge up. We could give him a heap of trouble, I reckon.
And everybody believes that it was his gang that made the ruin at the
mayor’s place, even if nothing’s been done about it.”
Hugh, however, shook his head in the negative.
“Things are going along too well right now, Billy, to change them,” he
said. “We might be able to prove what we claimed, and then again, how do
we know? All we’ve got to go on is the word of Whistling Smith, and he
would have to turn informer. Better let it drop and wait to see how
things turn out. Lige and his crowd builded better than they knew when
they paid that visit to the mayor’s place. It was the beginning of the
end.”
Billy did not seem to be wholly convinced, for he shook his head and
frowned as he stood there on the outskirts of the crowd.
“Well, if you knew Lige as well as I do, Hugh, you’d understand that
such a little thing as that isn’t going to faze him any. I wouldn’t be a
bit surprised if he’s getting up some other prank right now and means to
spring it on the town some dark night. The snake is scotched, not
killed. The more you stir up a fellow like him the worse you make
things.”
“Wait and see, Billy; don’t be in so much of a hurry,” the other scout
replied. “When I worked side by side with Lige putting out that fire in
his aunt’s house, I saw him at his best. And when he shook hands with me
and as much as admitted that scouts _could_ be halfway decent, I saw
something in his eyes that’s been haunting me ever since. And I say once
more, lots of queer things have happened in this world and will again.
One of them may be seeing that same Lige Corbley in the khaki uniform of
a scout some fine day.”
At that, Billy snorted his disbelief. He lacked the faith in human
nature that Hugh seemed to possess. Perhaps this came from his not being
able to read beneath the surface, while his chum made it a practice to
look deeper than the outward appearance of things.
Whatever Billy may have been about to remark was lost, because just at
that minute there was a sudden commotion inside the jewelry
establishment. Loud cries arose and through the door a man came
springing as though in a great hurry to get away.
He pushed through the crowd, jostling several people as he went. At the
same moment Mr. Garrison, the clerk in the store, was seen in the
doorway, white of face and evidently so excited that he almost
strangled.
All he could say, in a weak sort of voice, was the one word:
“Thief!”
The stranger pushed his way through those gathered in front of the
window, not being at all gentle in his manner of handling any who
interfered with his progress. It happened that the cripple Benjy was
directly in his path, so that he came near knocking the little fellow
down; and then, as though discovering how helpless the boy was, he threw
his arms around him, apparently to keep him from falling.
Before any one could interfere, the thief, who must have had all his
plans arranged beforehand, jumped into a buggy that was standing in
front of the store, plucked the whip from its socket, and laying it on
the back of the astonished animal between the shafts went whirling down
the road in a cloud of dust.
Several people hurried around to police headquarters to inform the force
that their services were needed and that neighboring towns should be
notified of the daring robbery, that the man might be apprehended should
he appear.
Others gathered about the door of the jewelry store, all tremendously
interested and asking many questions as to what had happened.
The proprietor came hurrying out, for he had been in a rear room at the
time of the raid. The dazed clerk was getting his senses back by
degrees, though there were evidences that he did not as yet grasp the
full meaning of the matter. He appeared to be laboring under the
impression that there were a number implicated in the robbery, and that
the man who fled had perhaps managed to pass some of his plunder to
others standing near by. This was the habit with such clever rascals, he
had read.
“What’s that boy got in his hand?” the clerk cried suddenly, pointing
straight toward little Benjy Corbley, who was holding something and
staring at it with a look of wonder on his thin face. “Why, don’t you
see, sir, what I said is the truth? That’s one of the gold watches that
were taken. The thief must have confederates in this crowd. If you
search every one here you may find other things!”
It was a most ridiculous accusation. The man would possibly never have
dreamed of making it, only that he had just experienced a terrible shock
and was hardly yet in his right senses.
He jumped down from the stoop and snatched the article out of the hand
of Benjy, who of course made no resistance.
“Where did you get this gold watch, you young imp?” demanded the clerk
harshly, as he took hold of the cripple’s jacket and tried to frighten
him with a savage look.
Benjy tried to answer but apparently his tongue stuck to the roof of his
mouth, for he could not make any intelligent sound.
“I saw him pull it out of his pocket!” announced another boy standing
near.
“Turn your pockets inside out at once,” commanded the clerk, who, it can
very easily be seen, was a small-minded man, only anxious just then to
turn the attention of his employer from his own lack of due caution to
some other cause of blame.
Mechanically, the crippled boy started to do as he was told, but nothing
developed through the process. He disclosed a top, several marbles, a
broken-bladed knife, some string, a few buttons and a five cent piece,
but no more precious watches or jewelry of any kind seemed forthcoming,
greatly to the disappointment of the hopeful clerk.
Just then Lige Corbley, who had been the first one to run for the
police, strange to say, came hurrying back, followed by the Chief
himself, while a couple more officers were seen hastily buckling on
their belts as they ran toward the spot.
“Hello! what’s the matter with you, Benjy?” they heard Lige say, as he
pushed his way through the gathering crowd, using his elbows without any
regard for other people’s ribs.
The appearance of his older brother seemed to make a change in the
stunned condition of the cripple. He immediately began to cry, which
caused Lige to glare around like an aroused lion, evidently searching
for the guilty culprit who had hurt the smaller lad while he was away.
“Who hit you, Benjy? Just point him out to me, won’t you?” he asked, as
he threw a protecting hand across the shoulders of his brother. And at
that moment even the presence of the big Chief would possibly not have
prevented Lige from trying to visit summary vengeance on the wretch who
could stoop to strike a cripple, had Benjy but raised a hand and pointed
an accusing finger.
The clerk faced Lige just then. He still held the gold watch in his hand
and was in a humor to accuse any one of being an accomplice who dared
put in a good word for Benjy.
“Here’s what he had in his pocket, if you want to know,” he snarled, as
he dangled the glittering object before Lige’s eyes. “That thief handed
it to him as he made off, to keep for him. It’s an old trick, and might
have been successful if I hadn’t happened to know all about it. Your
brother, small as he is, must be an accomplice in this robbery. And who
knows but what you’re in the game, too, Lige Corbley? Your reputation
isn’t any too good in this town, let me tell you!”