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ANDERSON CROW
DETECTIVE
BY GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
Author of "Brewster's Millions," "Truxton King," "Sherry," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY_
_JOHN T. McCUTCHEON_
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1920
COPYRIGHT, 1918, 1919, 1920
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.
VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY
BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK
[Illustration: _Three seconds later the two youngsters had the ear of
Anderson Crow_]
CONTENTS
A NIGHT TO BE REMEMBERED
"YOU ARE INVITED TO BE PRESENT"
THE PERFECT END OF A DAY
THE BEST MAN WINS
VICIOUS LUCIUS
THE VEILED LADY AND THE SHADOW
THE ASTONISHING ACTS OF ANNA
NO QUESTIONS ANSWERED
SHADES OF THE GARDEN OF EDEN!
JAKE MILLER HANGS HIMSELF
ILLUSTRATIONS
Three seconds later the two youngsters had the ear of Anderson Crow
"Wha--what was that you said?" gasped her husband, flopping back in the
seat
Then, a hundred feet ahead, his lights fell upon the dauntless,
abandoned flivver
Words failed Mr. Crow
The Rev. Mr. Maltby, pastor of the Congregational Church, happened to be
passing the town hall
Several heartbroken gentlemen threatened to shoot themselves
"The celebrated Anderson Crow?" asked the man with the glasses
The Marshal started off in the direction of the "shanty"
"I--I surrender! I give in!" he yelled
Something terrible must have happened or Marshal Crow wouldn't be
summoned in any such imperative manner as this
In the centre of this group was the new candidate for town marshal
Harry Squires stepped to the front of the platform
When they appeared on the street together
He altered his course, and as she passed him, the flat of the spade
landed with impelling force
Eight or ten people were congregated in front of the Fry house
The veiled lady made her daily excursions in the big high-powered car
Yanking open the screen-door, he plunged headlong into the softly
lighted veranda
He was surrounded by conquerors
Over him stood two men with pistols levelled at the white, terrified
face
"Hold on, Mort!" called out Mr. Crow. "Don't monkey with that trunk"
His wife was now standing guard over it on the porch of the Grand View
Hotel
These smiling, complacent women formed the Death Watch that was to
witness the swift, inevitable finish of the Sunlight Bar
At the trial he was shamelessly complimentary about Mrs. Nixon's pie
"I am going to reveal to you the true facts in the case of our late
lamented friend, Jake Miller"
ANDERSON CROW, DETECTIVE
A NIGHT TO BE REMEMBERED
Two events of great importance took place in Tinkletown on the night of
May 6, 1918. The first, occurring at half-past ten o'clock, was of
sufficient consequence to rouse the entire population out of
bed--thereby creating a situation, almost unique, which allowed every
one in town to participate in all the thrills of the second. When the
history of Tinkletown is written,--and it is said to be well under way
at the hands of that estimable authoress, Miss Sue Becker, some fifty
years a resident of the town and the great-granddaughter of one of its
founders,--when this history is written, the night of May 6, 1918, will
assert itself with something of the same insistence that causes the
world to refresh its memory occasionally by looking into the
encyclopedia to determine the exact date of the Fall of the Bastile. The
fire-bell atop the town hall heralded the first event, and two small
boys gave notice of the second.
Smock's grain-elevator, on the outskirts of the town, was in flames, and
with a high wind blowing from the west, the Congregational and Baptist
churches, the high school, Pratt's photograph gallery and the two
motion-picture houses were threatened with destruction. As Anderson
Crow, now deputy marshal of the town, declared the instant he arrived at
the scene of the conflagration, nothing but the most heroic and
indefatigable efforts on the part of the volunteer fire-department could
save the town--only he put it in this way: "We'll have another Chicago
fire here, sure as you're born, unless it rains or the wind changes
mighty all-fired sudden; so we got to fight hard, boys."
Mr. Crow, also deputy superintendent of the fire-department, was late in
getting to the engine-house back of the town hall--so late that the
hand-engine and hose-reel, manned by volunteers who had waited as long
as advisable, were belabouring the fire with water some time before he
reached the engine-house. This irritated Mr. Crow considerably. He was
out of breath when he got to the elevator, or some one would have heard
from him. Another cause of annoyance was the fact that his rubber coat
and helmet went with the hose-reel and were by this time adorning the
person of an energetic fire-fighter who had no official right to them.
After a diligent search Mr. Crow located his regalia and commanded the
wearer, one Patrick Murphy, to hand 'em over at once. What Patrick
Murphy, a recent arrival at Tinkletown, said in response to this demand
was lost in the roar of the flames; so Anderson put his hand to his ear
and shouted:
"What say?"
Patrick repeated his remark with great vigour, and Mr. Crow, apparently
catching no more than the final word in the sentence, moved hastily
away, but not before agreeing with Mr. Murphy that it _was_ as hot as
the place he mentioned.
Ed Higgins, the feed-store man, was in charge of the fire-fighters, who
were industriously throwing a single stream of water from the
fire-cistern into the vast and towering conflagration. It was like
tossing a pint of water into the Atlantic Ocean.
"Got her under control?" roared Anderson, bristling up to Ed.
"Sure!" shouted Ed. "She's workin' beautiful. Just look at that stream.
You--"
"I mean the fire," bellowed Anderson.
"Oh, I thought you meant the engine. I don't think we'll get the fire
under contral till the derned warehouse is burned down. Gee whiz, Chief,
where you been? We waited as long as we could for you, and then--"
"Don't blame me," was Anderson's answer. "I'd ha' been the first man at
the engine-house if I hadn't waited nigh onto half an hour trying to get
the chief of the fire-department out of bed and dressed. I argued--"
"What's the matter with you? Ain't you chief of the fire-department? Are
you crazy or what?"
"Ain't you got any brains, Ed Higgins? My wife's been chief ever since
she was elected marshal last month, an' you know it. That's what we get
fer lettin' the women vote an' have a hand in the affairs of the nation.
She just wouldn't get up--so I had to come off without her. Where's my
trumpet? We got to get this fire under control, or the whole town will
go. Gosh, if it'd only rain! Looked a little like rain this evenin'--an'
this wind may be bringin' up a storm or--"
"Here's your trumpet, Mr. Crow," screeched a small boy, bursting through
the crowd.
Half of the inhabitants of Tinkletown stood outside of the rim of heat
and watched the fire, while the other half, in all stages of deshabille,
remained in their front yards training the garden hose on the roofs and
sides of their houses and yelling to every speeding passer-by to
telephone to the commissioner of water-works to turn on more pressure.
Among his other offices, Mr. Crow was commissioner of water-works,
having held over in that office because the board of selectmen forgot to
appoint any one else in his place after the last election. And while a
great many citizens carried the complaint of the garden-hose handlers to
the commissioner, it is doubtful if he heard them above the combined
sound of his own voice and the roar of the flames.
Possessed of his trumpet, the redoubtable Mr. Crow took his stand beside
the old hand-pumping "fire-engine" and gave orders right and left in a
valiant but thoroughly cracked voice.
"Now, we'll git her out," panted Alf Reesling, the town drunkard,
speaking to Father Maloney, the Catholic priest, who was taking a turn
with him at the pumping apparatus. "Ed.'s all right, but it takes
Anderson to handle a fire as she ought to be handled."
Father Maloney, perspiring copiously and breathing with great
difficulty, grunted without conviction.
"Leetle more elbow-grease there, men!" shouted Anderson, directing his
command to the futile pumpers. "We got to get water up to that
second-story winder. More steam, boys--more steam!"
"Aw, what's the use?" growled Bill Jackson, letting go of the pump to
wipe his dripping forehead. "We couldn't put her out with Niagary Falls
in flood-time."
"Bring your hose over here, men--lively, now!" called out the leader.
"Every second counts. Lively! Git out o' the way, Purt Throcker! Consarn
you fool boys! Can't you keep back where you belong? Right over here,
men! That's the ticket! Now, shoot her into that winder. Hey! One of you
boys bust in that winder glass with a rock. All of you! See if you c'n
hit her!"
A fusillade of stones left the hands of a score of small boys and
clattered against the walls of the doomed warehouse, some of them coming
as near as ten feet to the objective, two of them being so wide of the
mark that simultaneous ejaculations of surprise and pain issued from the
lips of Miss Spratt and Professor Smith, both of the high school.
The heat was intense, blistering. Reluctantly the crowd, awed and
fascinated by the greatest blaze it had ever seen,--not even excepting
the burning of Eliphalet Loop's straw-ricks in 1897,--edged farther and
farther away, pursued by the relentless heat-waves. The fire-fighters
withdrew in good order, obeying the instinct of self-preservation
somewhat in advance of the command of their superior, who, indeed, had
anticipated such a man[oe]uvre by taking a position from which he could
_lead_ the retreat. By the time the fire was at its height, "lighting
the way clear to heaven," according to Miss Sue Becker, who had to
borrow Marshal Crow's pencil and a piece of paper from Mort Fryback so
that she could jot down the beautiful thought before it perished in the
"turmoil of frightfulness!"
"More elbow-grease, men!" roared Anderson, "She'll get ahead of us if we
let up for a second! Pump! Pump!"
And pump they did, notwithstanding the fact that the stream of water
from the nozzle in the hands of Ed Higgins and Petey Cicotte was now
falling short of the building by some twenty or thirty feet.
"Serves old man Smock right!" declared Anderson in wrath, addressing the
town clerk and two selectmen who by virtue of office retained
advantageous positions in the front rank of spectators "If he'd done as
I told him an' paid fer havin' water-mains extended as fer out as his
warehouse, we could have saved it fer him. It looks to me now as if
she's bound to go. Where's Harry?"
Harry Squires, the reporter for The _Banner_, notebook in hand, came up
at that instant.
"Looks pretty serious, doesn't it, Chief?" he remarked.
"The fire-company deserves all the credit, Harry," said Anderson
magnanimously. "I want you to put it in the paper, just that way, as
comin' from me. If it hadn't been for the loyal, heroic efforts of the
finest fire-department Tinkletown has ever had, the--Hey! Pull that hose
back here, you derned fools! Do you want to get it scorched an' ruined
so's it won't be fit fer anything agin? Fetch that engine over here
across the road too! Do you hear me?" Turning again to the reporter, he
resumed: "Yes sir, if it hadn't been fer them boys, there wouldn't have
been a blessed thing saved, Harry."
Harry Squires squinted narrowly. "I can't say that anything _has_ been
saved, Chief. Just mention something, please."
Anderson looked at him in amazement. "Why, ain't you got any eyes?
Hain't they saved the engine and every foot of hose the town owns?"
"They could have saved that much by staying at home in bed," said Mr.
Squires dryly. "I've just seen Mr. Smock. He says there were fifty
thousand bushels of wheat in the bins, waiting for cars to take it down
to New York. Every bushel of it was going abroad for the Allies. Does
that put any sort of an idea into your nut, Anderson?"
"What?"
"Into your bean, I should say. Or, in other words, hair-pasture."
"He means head, Mr. Crow," explained Miss Sue Becker.
"Well, why don't he say head--that's what I'd like to know."
"Do you deduce anything from the fact that the grain was to go to the
Allies, Anderson?" inquired Harry.
The harassed marshal scratched his head, but said: "Absolutely!"
"Well, what do you deduce, Mr. Hawkshaw?"
"I deduce, you derned jay, that old man Smock won't be able to deliver
it. Move back, will you? You're right in my way, an'--"
"I suppose you know that the Germans are still fighting the Allies,
don't you? Fighting 'em here as well as over in France? Now does _that_
help you any?"
Mr. Crow's jaw fell--but only for a second. He tightened it up almost
immediately and with commendable dignity.
"My sakes alive, Harry Squires, you don't suppose I'm tellin' my real
suspicions to any newspaper reporter, do you? How do I know you ain't a
spy? Still, dog-gone you, if it will set your mind at rest, I'll say
this much: I have positive proof that Smock's warehouse was set on fire
by agents of the German gover'ment. That's one of the reasons I was a
little late in gettin' to the fire. Now, don't try to pump me any more,
'cause I can't tell you anything that would jeopardize the interests of
justice. Hey! Where in thunder are you fellers goin' with that hose an'
engine?"
The firemen were on a dead run.
"We're goin' a couple of hundred yards down the road, so's we won't be
killed when that front wall caves in," shouted Ed Higgins, without
pausing. "Better come along, Anderson. She's beginning to bulge
something awful."
Anderson Crow arose to the occasion.
"Lively now!" he barked through the trumpet. "Get that hose and engine
back to a safe place! Can't you see the wall's about ready to fall?
Everybody fall back! Women and children first! Women first, remember!"
Down the road fled the crowd, looking over its collective shoulders, so
to speak--followed by the venerable fire apparatus and the still more
venerable commander-in-chief.
Harry Squires, in his two-column account of the fire in the _Banner_,
dilated upon the fact that the women failed to retain the advantage so
gallantly extended by the men. For the matter of about ten or fifteen
yards they _were_ first; after which, being handicapped by petticoats,
they fell ingloriously behind. Some of the older ones--maliciously, he
feared--impeded the progress of their protectors by neglecting to get
out of the way in time, with the result that at least two men were
severely bruised by falling over them--the case of Uncle Dad Simms being
a particularly sad one. He collided head-on with the portly Mrs. Loop,
and failing to budge her, suffered the temporary loss of a full set of
teeth and nearly twenty minutes of consciousness. Mr. Squires went on to
say that the only thing that saved Mr. Simms from being run over and
killed by the fire-engine was the fact that the latter was about a block
and a half ahead of him when the accident occurred.
Sparks soared high and far on the smoke-laden wind, scurrying townward
across the barren quarry-lands. The vast canopy was red with the glow of
flying embers and fire-lit clouds. Below, in the dusty road, swarmed the
long procession of citizens. Grim, stark hemlocks gleamed in the weird,
uncanny light that turned the green of their foliage and the black of
their trunks into the colour of the rose on the side facing the fire,
but left them dark and forbidding on the other. The telegraph-poles
beyond the burning warehouse lining the railroad spur that ventured down
from the main line some miles away and terminated at Smock's, loomed up
like lofty gibbets in the ghastly light. Three quarters of a mile from
the scene of the conflagration lay the homes of the people who lived on
the rim of Tinkletown, and there also were the two churches and the
motion-picture houses.
"We got to save them picture-houses," panted Anderson, and then in hasty
apology,--"and the churches, too."
"You got to save my studio first," bawled Elmer K. Pratt, the
photographer, trying to keep pace with him in the congested line.
"Halt!" commanded the chief, not because tactics called for such an
action but because he was beginning to feel that he couldn't keep up
with the engine.
The cavalcade eased down to a walk and finally came to a halt. Every eye
was riveted on the burning structure which now stood out alone in all
its grandeur beyond the quarries and gravel-pits. Every one waited in
breathless suspense for the collapse of the towering walls.
A shrill, boyish voice broke out above the subdued, awe-struck chatter
of the crowd.
"Where's Mr. Crow? Mr. Crow! Where are you?"
"Sh!" hissed Alf Reesling, glowering upon the excited boy, who had just
come up at full speed from the direction of the town. "Don't you make so
much noise! The walls are going to cave in, an'--"
"Where's Mr. Crow?" panted the boy, a lad of twelve. His eyes appeared
starting from his head. A second boy joined him, and he was trembling so
violently that he could not speak at all. All he could do was to point
at the lank figure of the old town marshal, some distance back in the
crowd.
Three seconds later the two youngsters had the ear of Anderson Crow, and
between them they poured it full of news of the most extraordinary
character. The crowd, forgetting the imminent crash of the warehouse
wall, pressed eagerly forward.
"Wait a second--wait a second!" roared Anderson. "One at a time now.
Don't both of you talk at oncet. You, Bud--you tell it. You keep still,
Roswell Hatch. Take your time, Bud!"
"Lemme tell it, Mr. Crow," begged Roswell. "I knowed it first. It ain't
fair for Bud to--"
"But I got here first," protested Bud, and there might have been
something more sanguinary than mere words if Marshal Crow had not
interfered.
"None o' that, now! What's the matter, Bud?"
"Somethin' turrible has happened, Mr. Crow--somethin' awfully turrible,"
wheezed the boy.
"If you derned little scalawags have run all the way from town to tell
me that Smock's warehouse is on fire, you'd--"
"Oh, gee, that ain't nothin'!" gulped Bud. "Wait till you hear what I
know."
"I can't wait all night. I got to save Mr. Pratt's studio, an'--"
"Well, you know them two tramps you put in the lock-up yesterday
afternoon?" cried Bud.
"Desperit characters, both of 'em. I figgered they was up to some
devilment an--"
"Well, they ain't in any more; they're out. Ros an' me seen the whole
business. We wuz--"
"Geminy crickets! What's this? A jail-break? Out of the way, everybody!
Two desperit villains are loose in town, an--"
"Hold on, Mr. Crow," cried the other lad, seizing his opportunity.
"There's more'n two. Three or four more fellers from the outside come up
an' busted in the door an' _let_ 'em out. Then they all run down the
street to where the new bank is. Me an' Bud seen some of 'em climb into
one of the winders of the bank, an' nen we struck out to find you, Mr.
Crow. We thought maybe you'd like to know what--"
The rest of Roswell's narrative was lost in the hullabaloo of command
and action. The fickle populace turned its back on the burning warehouse
and swept down the lane in quest of new excitement. The tottering wall
came down with a crash, but its fall was unwitnessed except by those
infirm old ladies and gentlemen who had lagged so far behind in the
first rush for safety that they were still in ignorance of the latest
calamity. It was a pity, wrote Miss Sue Becker in her diary, that the
gods crowded so much into a single night when there were "three hundred
and sixty-four more perfectly good nights available."
The story of the two boys proved not only to be true, but also woefully
lacking in exaggeration. The jail-delivery and the looting of the First
National Bank of Tinkletown turned out to be but two in a long and
fairly complete list of disasters.
Investigation revealed an astonishing thoroughness and impartiality on
the part of the bandits. The safe in Brubaker's drugstore was missing,
with something like nineteen dollars in cash; Lamson's store had been
entered, and the cash-register rifled; Fryback's hardware-store,
Higgins' feed-store and Rush Applegate's tailor-shop were visited, and,
as Harry Squires said in the _Banner_, "contents noted." Two brand-new
"shoes" and a couple of inner tubes were missing from Gillespie's
Universal Garage, and Ed Higgins' dog was slain in cold blood by the
"remorseless ravagers."
* * * * *
Nobody went to sleep that night. Everybody joined in the search for the
robbers. Citizens hurried home after the first alarm and did their part
by looking under every bed in their houses, after which the more
venturesome visited garrets, cellars and woodsheds.
Anderson Crow, after organizing a large posse and commandeering several
automobiles, suddenly remembered that he had left his silver watch and a
wallet containing eleven dollars under his pillow. He drove home as
rapidly as possible in John Blosser's 1903 Pope-Toledo and was
considerably aggravated to find his wife sound asleep. He awoke her with
some rudeness.
"Wake up, Eva! Consarn it, don't you know the town's full of highwaymen?
It'd be just like you to sleep here like a log and let 'em come in an'
nip my watch an' purse right out o' your own bed. I wouldn't 'a' been a
bit surprised to find 'em gone--an' you chloryformed and gagged. I--"
"Burglars, did you say?" cried his wife, sitting up in bed and staring
at him in alarm.
"Dozens of 'em," he declared, pocketing his watch and wallet. "Get up
and help me search the house. Where's my revolver?"
"Oh, Lordy, Anderson! Your--your revolver? You're not going to shoot it
off, are you?"
"I certainly am--if the derned thing's loaded. Where's it at?"
She sank back with a sigh of relief. "Thank heavens, I just remembered
that Milt Cupples borrowed it last winter to--"
"Borrowed my revolver?" roared Anderson. "Why--"
"To loan to a friend of his'n who was going down to New York on
business."
"An' he never brought it back?"
"He never did."
Anderson's opinion of Milt Cupples was smothered in a violent chorus of
automobile horns. Mrs. Crow promptly covered her head with the
bed-clothes and let out a muffled shriek.
"It's only the posse," he shouted, pulling the covers from her face.
"Don't be scairt, Evy. Where's your courage? Remember who you are.
Rememb--"
"I'm only a poor, weak woman--"
"I know that," he agreed, "but that ain't all. You are marshal o'
Tinkletown, an' if you're goin' to cover up your head every time a horn
toots, you'll--"
"Oh, go on away and leave me alone, Anderson," she cried. "I don't want
to be marshal. I never did. I resign now--do you hear me? I resign this
instant. I was a fool to let the women elect me--and the women were
worse fools for voting for me. That's what comes of letting women vote.
We had a good, well-trained marshal--because that's what you are,
Anderson. And--"
The door flew open. Alf Reesling burst into the room, followed by both
of Anderson Crow's daughters.
"Come on, Anderson!" shouted Alf, gasping with excitement. "Good even',
Mrs. Crow. Howdy do? Hurry up, Ander--"
"We tried to keep him out, Ma," broke in Caroline Crow, glaring at Alf.
"We told him you were in bed, but he--"
"Well, gosh a'mighty," cried Alf in exasperation, "we can't wait all
night. We got track o' them fellers, but if we got to set around out
here till mornin' just because your ma's in bed, I--I--well, that's all
I got to say." He turned to Anderson for support, and catching the look
in his eye, bawled: "No, I ain't been drinkin', Anderson Crow! I'm as
sober as a--"
"Get out of my bedroom this minute, Alf Reesling," cried Mrs. Crow.
"I'll tell your wife how you're behavin' if you--"
"Go ahead an' tell her," snorted Alf, goaded beyond endurance. "She
ain't had a good laugh since the time Anderson had his pocket picked up
at Boggs City, fair-week. Go ahead an'--"
"Come on, Alf--lively now," broke in Mr. Crow hastily. "We got to be on
the jump. Gosh, listen to them dogs! Never heard so much barkin' in all
my life."
Out of the house rushed the two men. Anderson immediately began issuing
orders.
"Ed Higgins, you take a squad o' men and go back to the fire. We got our
hands full tonight. Now, all you fellers as has got pistols an' shotguns
go home an' get 'em at oncet. Come back here as quick as you can
an'--what say, Harry?"
He turned to the reporter.
"I said the first thing to do is to shoot about thirty or forty of these
infernal dogs."
"We can't afford to waste ca'tridges, Harry Squires," said Anderson
severely. "We got to tackle a desperate gang 'fore we're through."
"Where is your daughter Caroline, Mr. Crow?" inquired the reporter
irrelevantly.
"She's in the house tryin' to quiet her ma. A drunk man bust into her
room a little while ago an'--"
"Well, tell her to get on the job at once. She's chief telephone
operator down at the exchange, and she ought to be there now sending out
warnings to every town within twenty miles of--"
"Carrie! Car-ree!" shouted Anderson, racing up the path. "How many times
have I got to tell you to 'tend to that telephonin'? Go down to the
office this minute an' call up Boggs City an'--"
"I'm not the _night_ operator," snapped Caroline, appearing in the
window. "What's the matter with Jane Swiggers and Lucy Cummings? They're
supposed to be on duty all night."
"Don't sass back! Do as I tell you. Telephone every town in the county
to be on the lookout fer an automobile with two tires and a couple of
inner tubes--"
"Two _new_ tires, Caroline," amended Harry Squires.
"And carrying a tin safe with George W. Brubaker's name on it in red
letters. Say that a complete description of the robbers will follow. Is
your ma still in bed?"
"Yes, she is."
"Well, you tell her I'll be home soon as I capture them desperadoes." He
was moving toward the front gate. Caroline's paraphrase pursued him and
left a sting:
"What is home without a father!"
Followed now a lengthy and at times acrimonious argument as to the
further operations of the marshal's posse.
"We're losing valuable time," protested Harry Squires at the end of a
half-hour's fertile discussion. _Fertile_ is here employed instead of
_futile_, for never was there a more extensive crop of ideas raised by
human agency.
"We can't do anything till we find out which way the derned rascals
went, can we?" said Mr. Crow bitingly. "We got to find somebody that
seen 'em start off in that automobile. We--"
"Stuff and nonsense!" cried Harry. "We've got to split up into parties
and follow every road out of Tinkletown."
"How in thunder do you expect me to lead five or six different posses?"
demanded Anderson.
"Yes, an' what in thunder would we do if we caught up with 'em
unexpected-like if we didn't have Anderson with us?" said Alf Reesling,
loyal to the core. "In the first place, we wouldn't have any legal right
to capture 'em, and in the second place we couldn't do it anyhow."
By this time there were a dozen shotguns on the scene, to say nothing of
a most impressive collection of antiquated revolvers, "Flobert" rifles,
Civil War muskets and baseball bats.
"I move we move," was the laconic but excellent speech of Mr. Henry
Plumb. He already had his forefinger on the trigger of his
"single-barrel."
"Second the motion," cried out Ed Higgins loudly.
"I thought I told you to go an' 'tend to that fire, Ed Higgins," said
Anderson, in some surprise.
An extremely noisy dog-fight put an end to the discussion for the time
being, and it was too late to renew it after Situate Jones' mongrel Pete
had finished with Otto Schultz's dachshund Bismarck. So vociferous was
the chorus put up by the other dogs that no one noticed the approach of
an automobile, coming down the Boggs City pike. The car passed at full
speed. Three dogs failed to get out of the way in time, and as a result,
the list of casualties was increased to four, including Ed Higgins'
previously mentioned black and tan.
The speeding car, a big one loaded with men, was a hundred yards away
and going like the wind before the startled group regained its senses.
"There they go!" yelled Harry Squires.
"Exceedin' the speed limit, dog-gone 'em!" roared Anderson. "They ought
to be locked up fer ten days an' fined--"
"Come on, men!" shouted Harry. "After 'em! That's the gang! They've been
headed off at Boggs City--or something like that."
"Did anybody ketch the number of that car?" shouted Anderson. "I c'n
trace 'em by their license number if--"
The rest of the speech was lost in the rush to enter the waiting
automobiles, and the shouting that ensued. Then followed a period of
frantic cranking, after which came the hasty backing and turning of
cars, the tooting of horns and the panic of gears.
Loaded to the "gunnels," the half-dozen machines finally got under way,
and off they went into the night, chortling with an excitement all their
own.
A lone figure remained standing in front of Anderson Crow's gate--a
tall, lank figure without coat or hat, one suspender supporting a pair
of blue trousers, the other hanging limp and useless. He wore a red
undershirt and carried in his left hand the trumpet of a fire-fighting
chieftain.
"Well, I'll be dog-goned!" issued from his lips as the last of the cars
rattled away. Then he started off bravely on foot in the wake of the
noisy cavalcade. "Now, all of 'em are breakin' the speed laws; an' it's
goin' to cost 'em somethin', consarn 'em, when I yank 'em up 'fore
Justice Robb tomorrow, sure as my name's Anderson Crow."
Presently he heard a car approaching from behind. It was very dark in
the outskirts of the town, and the lonely highway that reached down into
the valley was a thing of the imagination rather than of the vision.
Profiting by the catastrophes that attended the passing of the big
touring-car Anderson hastily leaped to the side of the road. A couple of
small headlights veered around a curve in the road and came down the
slight grade, followed naturally and somewhat haltingly by an automobile
whose timorous brakes were half set. There was a single occupant.
Anderson levelled his trumpet at the driver and shouted:
"Halt!"
"Oh-h!" came in a shrill, agitated voice from the car, but the machine
gave no sign of halting.
"Hey! Halt, I say!"
"I--I don't know how!" moaned the voice. "How do you stop it?"
"Good gracious sakes alive! Is--is it _you_, Eva?"
"Oh, Anderson! Thank goodness! I thought you was a highwayman. Oh,
dear--oh, dear! Ain't there any way to stop this thing?"
"Shut off the power, an' it'll stop when you start up the grade."
Anderson was trotting along behind, tugging at one of the mud-guards.
"How do you shut it off?"
"The same way you turned it on."
"Goodness, what a fool way to do things!"
The little car came to a stop on the rise of the grade, and Anderson
side-stepped just in time to avoid being bumped into as it started back
again, released.
"It's Deacon Rank's car," explained Mrs. Crow in response to a series of
bewildered, rapid-fire questions from her husband. "He offered to sell
it to me for fifty dollars, and I've been learnin' how to run it for two
whole days--out in Peters' Mill lane."
"How does it happen I never knowed anything about this, Eva?" demanded
he, regaining in some measure his tone of authority.
"I wanted to surprise you."
"Well, by gosh, you have!"
"Deacon Rank's been giving me lessons every afternoon. I know how to
start it and steer it, goin' slow-like--but of course I've got a lot to
learn."
"Well, you just turn that car around an' skedaddle for home, Eva Crow,"
was his command. "What business have you got runnin' around the country
like this in the dead o' night, all alone--"
"Ain't I the Marshal of Tinkletown?" she broke in crossly. "What right
have all you men to be going off without me in this--"
"The only official thing you've done, madam, since you got to be
marshal, was to resign while you was in bed not more'n an hour ago. I
accepted your resignation, so now you go home as quick as that blamed
old rattletrap will take you."
"Besides, I saw the ornery fools go off an' leave you behind, Anderson,
and that made me mad. I run over to Deacon Rank's and got the car. Now,
you hop right in, and I'll take you wherever you want to go. Get in, I
say. I hereby officially withdraw my resignation. I'm still marshal of
this town, and if you don't do as I tell you, I'll discharge you as
deputy."
So Anderson got up beside her and pulled desperately at his
chin-whiskers, no doubt to assist the words that were struggling to
escape from his compressed lips.
After considerable back-firing, the decrepit machine began to climb the
grade. Presently Mr. Crow found his voice.
"Didn't I tell you to turn around, Eva?"
"Don't talk to me when I'm driving," said she, gripping the wheel
tightly with the fingers of death.
"You turn the car around immediately, woman. I'm your husband, an' I
order you to do as I tell ye!"
"I'll turn it around when I get good and ready," said she in a strained
voice. "Can't you see there ain't room enough to turn around in this
road?"
"Well, it don't get any wider."
"Besides, I don't know how to turn it around," she confessed.
"Why, you just back her, same as anybody else does, an' then reverse
her, an'--"
"You old goose, how can I back her when she keeps on going for'ard?"
Anderson was silent for a moment.
"Well, if I may be so bold as to ask, madam, where are you going?" he
asked, with deep sarcasm in his voice.
"You leave it to me, Anderson Crow. I know what I am doing."
They went on for about a quarter of a mile before she spoke again.
"There's only one way to turn around, and I'm taking it. How far is it
to Fisher's lane?"
"You can't turn her around in Fisher's lane, Eva. It's all a good-sized
dog c'n do to turn around in that road."
"I asked you how far is it?"
"'Bout a mile an' a half."
"I ain't going to turn around in Fisher's lane, Anderson. I'm going to
foller it straight to the Britton toll-road, and then I'm going to turn
into that and head for Tinkletown. That's how I'm going to turn this
plagued car around."
"Well, of all the--why, geminently, Eva, it's--it's nigh onto nine mile.
You shorely can't be such a fool as to--"
"I'm going to turn this car around if it takes twenty miles," she said
firmly.
There was another long, intense silence.
"I wonder if the boys have got that fire out yet?" mumbled Anderson.
"Course, there ain't no use worryin' about them robbers. They got away.
If I'd been along with that posse, we'd 'a' had 'em sure by this time,
but--oh, well, there ain't no use cryin' over spilt milk."
In due time they came to Fisher's lane. Mrs. Crow made a very sharp but
triumphant turn, and the second leg of the course was before them. Half
an hour later the valiant machine sneaked out of the narrow byway into
the Britton pike and pointed its nose homeward.
"Let her out a little, Eva," said Anderson, taking a long breath. "It's
four mile to town, an'--"
"Oh, goodness!" squeaked the driver, giving the wheel a perilous twist.
"Look! There comes a car behind us. Help! They'll run into us!
They'll--"
"Pull off to the side of the road--no, this side! Gosh! Hurry up, Eva.
They're comin' like greased lightnin'! Look out! Not too fer over!
There's a ditch alongside--"
The remainder of the sentence was lost in the wild shriek of a siren,
shriek after shriek succeeding each other as a big car, with
far-reaching acetylene lamps, roared down upon them. Like a mighty
whirlwind it swept by them, careening perilously on the sloping edge of
the road. Suddenly the grinding of brakes assailed the ears of the
thanksgiving Crows, and to their astonishment the big machine came to a
standstill a hundred yards or more down the road. Mrs. Crow promptly
"put on" the accelerator, and but for a vehement warning from her
husband would have gone full tilt into the rear end of the mighty
stranger. She managed to stop the little car when its faithful nose was
not more than two yards from the little red light ahead.
"Hey, Ford!" called out a man who had arisen in the tonneau of the big
car and was looking back at them.
"Hey, yourself!" responded Anderson.
"Is this the road to Albany?"
"No, it ain't."
"We've lost our way. Where does this road take us?"
"Into the city of Tinkletown."
Three or four voices in the car were guilty of saying things in the
presence of a lady.
"Well, where in hell are we?" demanded the spokesman.
"You ain't in hell yet, but you will be pretty soon if you keep up that
reckless driving, lemme tell you that."
"Where do we get the Albany road?" called out another voice from the
car.
"The quickest way is to go into Tinkletown an' take the first turn to
the left after--"
"But we don't want to go to Tinkletown, you damned old hayseed. We--"
"Shut up, Joe!" cried one of the men. "He's excited, Mister. His wife's
sick, and we're trying to get him home before she--before she croaks."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," cried Mrs. Crow before Anderson could speak. She
also kicked him violently on the ankle-bone. "The quickest way to get to
the Albany road," she went on, "is by cuttin' through back of Cole's
sawmill an' crossin' the river at Goose's Ferry. That's about seven
miles from here. Take the first lane to your left, half a mile further
on."
"Much obliged, ma'am."
"You're entirely welcome," said she, this time poking her elbow into
Anderson's ribs. He grunted.
"Is the road pretty good all the way?"
"It's a good dirt road."
"We're in a great hurry, ma'am. Is it safe to hit it up a little on the
dirt-road? His wife specially wanted to see him before she died."
"Perfectly safe, as long as you keep _in_ it."
"Nightie!" called the spokesman, and the big car leaped forward as if
suddenly unchained.
"Well, of all the--" began Anderson wrathfully.
"Get out and crank this car, Anderson," she broke in excitedly.
"You know as well as I do that that dirt road ends at Heffner's farm. It
don't go nowheres near the river. What ails you, Eva Crow? That poor
feller's wife--"
"Crank, I tell you!"
He got out and cranked the car, grumbling all the while. As he got back
in the seat beside her, he exploded:
"An' what's more, there's that soldiers' camp at Green Ridge. They won't
be allowed to go through it without a pass. There must be a thousand men
there. They're marchin' to some'eres in America, the feller told me this
mornin' when he come in at Jackson's to get some smokin' terbaccer. Camp
at Green Ridge fer two days, he says, an' then--Hey! Don't drive so
blamed reckless, Eva! Can't you get her under control? Put on your
brakes, woman! She'll--"
"Hush up, Anderson. You let me alone."
The little old car was sailing along at a speed that caused every joint
to rattle with joy unconfined. To Anderson's amazement, and to a certain
extent consternation, Mrs. Crow swung into the dirt-road over which the
big car was now whizzing a mile or so ahead.
"Here! Where you going?" barked Anderson, arising from the seat.
"There's going to be hell to pay before you know it, Anderson Crow,"
said she, her voice high and squeaky.
"Wha-what was that you said?" gasped her husband, flopping back in the
seat. He couldn't believe his ears.
[Illustration: _"Wha--what was that you said?" gasped her husband,
flopping back in the seat_]
"I learned that from my predecessor in office," she replied somewhat
guiltily. "I've heard you say it a million times."
"But I ain't no woman. I--"
"Set still! Do you want to fall out and break your neck?"
And Anderson sat still, dazed and helpless in the direful presence of a
woman who, to his utter horror, had gone violently insane. He began
silently but urgently to pray that the gasoline would give out, when he
would find himself in a position to reason with her, gently or forcibly
as the situation demanded. He broke into a profuse and chilly
perspiration. His wife crazy! His wife of forty years! His old comrade!
He was aroused from these horrifying, sickening reflections by a hoarse
but imperative word coming from nowhere out of the darkness of the road
ahead.
"Halt!"
Mrs. Crow put on the brakes.
"Who goes there?"
"Friends!" faltered Mrs. Crow.
"The marshal of Tinkletown," added Anderson, vastly relieved by her
singularly intelligent answer.
"Advance and give the countersign!"
"All right. What is it?" inquired Mrs. Crow.
A couple of non-commissioned officers joined the sentry at this moment.
They were but half dressed.
"What the devil's the meaning of all this?" exclaimed one of them,
planting himself beside the car and flashing a light in Mrs. Crow's
face. "Don't you hayseeds know any better than to bust into a military
camp--"
His companion interrupted him. "Keep your shirt on, Bill. Didn't I hear
the man say he was the marshal of Tinkletown?"
"No, sir, you didn't! I said _we_ are the marshal of Tinkletown. I--"
"All right, all right. Do you happen to be chasin' a gang of
joy-riders?"
"We do--we are!" cried Mrs. Crow.
"They zipped through this camp like a rifle-shot about ten minutes ago.
They've raised a lovely row. Officer of the day bawlin' everybody out,
and--Here, hold on!"
"We've just got to catch them men," pleaded Mrs. Crow.
"One of 'em's got a sick wife," added Anderson, "an' we've got to tell
him he's on the wrong road."
"Well, you just sit right where you are," spoke the top sergeant.
"They'll be back this way in a few minutes. This road ends about a mile
above here, and they'll have to come back. The sentries say they went
through here so fast they couldn't see anything but wind."
"Are you going to stop them?" cried Mrs. Crow eagerly.
"We sure are," said the other non-com. "See that bunch of men forming
over there? Well, they've got real guns and real bullets, and they're
mad, Mrs. Marshal. You can't blame 'em."
Off at one side of the road a little distance away a company of soldiers
was lining up. The sharp command of an officer rang out.
"Thank goodness!" cried Mrs. Crow.
"Look here, Eva," said Anderson nervously. "I guess you'd better pull
off to one side of the road, just in case them soldiers don't stop 'em.
We're right smack in their way, an' gosh only knows where we'd land if
they smashed into us. It'd take a week to find us, we'd be so scattered
about."
"Don't be uneasy," said the top sergeant. "They'll stop, all right, all
right."
"Let me whisper something to you, Mr. Officer," said Mrs. Crow. "It's
very important."
He obligingly held up an ear, and she leaned down and spoke rapidly,
earnestly into it.
"You don't say so!" he cried out. "Excuse _me_!" And off he dashed,
calling out to his companion to follow.
A minute later the most extraordinary activity affected the group of
soldiers over the way. Commands were now issued in lowered tones, and
men marched rapidly away, dividing into squads.
"What did you say to that feller?" demanded Anderson.
"I told him who those men are, Anderson Crow."
"You couldn't. They're perfect strangers. If they wasn't, how'd they
happen to miss the road?"
"They are the very men I'm looking for," said she. "They're the
robbers,--and the men who set fire to Smock's warehouse, I'll bet
you--and everything else!"
"Jumpin' Jehoshaphat!"
An officer rushed up.
"Turn that flivver around in the middle of the road and jump out quick.
That will stop them. Let 'em smash it up if necessary. It isn't worth
more than ten dollars."
While a half-dozen men were dragging the car into position as a
barricade, Mrs. Crow exclaimed to her husband:
"That old skinflint! He said it was cheap at fifty dollars. Thank
goodness, I--"
But Anderson was hustling her out of the car. In the distance the
headlights of the bandits' car burst into view as it swung around a bend
in the road.
Soldiers everywhere! They seemed to have sprung out of the ground. On
came the big car, thundering into the trap. Bugle-calls sounded; a
couple of guns blazed into the air as the car flew past the outposts,
lights flared suddenly in the path of bewildered occupants, and loud
imperative commands rang out on the air.
Into the gantlet of guns the big car rushed. The man at the wheel bent
low and took the reckless chance of getting through.
Then, a hundred feet ahead, his lights fell upon the dauntless abandoned
flivver. He jerked frantically at the brakes.
[Illustration: _Then, a hundred feet ahead, his lights fell upon the
dauntless, abandoned flivver_]
"Halt!" shouted Anderson Crow from the top of the roadside bank.
"Surrender in the name of the Law!"
He spoke just in time.
Crash! They halted!
Deacon Rank's little car died a glorious, spectacular death. (Harry
Squires, in his account, placed it all alone in the list of
"unidentified dead.")
Three minutes after the collision, brawny soldiers were bending over the
stretched-out figures of five unconscious men.
Mr. and Mrs. Crow stood on the edge of the group, awe-struck and silent.
"They're coming around, all right," said some one at Anderson's elbow.
"He was slowing down when they struck. But there's no hope for the poor
old flivver."
Anderson found his voice--a quavering, uncertain voice--and exclaimed:
"Stand aside, men! I am the marshal of Tinkletown, an' them scoundrels
are my prisoners."
His progress was barred by a couple of soldiers. An officer approached.
"Easy, Mr. Marshal--easy, now. This is our affair, you know. I guess
you'd better come with me to the colonel. Don't be alarmed. They shan't
escape."
"They're mighty desperit characters--" began Anderson.
"Step this way, please," said the other shortly.
* * * * *
It was four o'clock in the morning when Mr. and Mrs. Crow were deposited
at their front door by the colonel's automobile. The robbers, under
heavy guard, remained in the camp, pending action on the part of the
civic authorities. They were very much alive and kicking when Anderson
left them, after a pompous harangue on the futility of crime in that
neck of the woods.
"Yes, sir, Colonel," he said, turning to the camp commander, "a crook
ain't got any more chance than a snowball in--you know--when he tries to
pull the wool over my eyes. I've been ketchin' thieves and bandits an'
the Lord knows what-all for forty years er more, an' so forth. I want to
thank you, sir, an' your brave soldier boys--an' the United States
Government also--fer the assistance you have given me tonight. I doubt
very much whether I could 'a' took 'em single-handed--handicapped as I
was by havin' a woman along. An' when you git over to France with these
brave troops of yours, I c'n tell you one thing: the Kaiser'll know it,
you bet! Never mind about the old car. It's seen its best days. An' it
ain't mine, anyhow. I'll be out here bright and early tomorrow morning
with my posse, an' we'll take them fellers off'm your hands. If you'll
excuse me now, I guess I'll be movin' along to'ards home. I've still got
a fire to put out, an' a lot of other things to do besides. I've got to
let the bank know I have recovered their money an' left it in good
hands, an' I've got to send a posse out to see if they c'n locate George
Brubaker's safe along the road anywheres. An' what's more, I've got to
repair the jail, and officially notify Deacon Rank he's had an accident
to his car."
Mrs. Crow had little to say until she was snugly in bed. Her husband was
getting into his official garments.
"I think you're foolish to go out again, Anderson," she said. "It's not
daylight yet. There won't be anybody around, this time of day, to listen
to how you captured those robbers,--and--"
"Don't you believe it," said he. "I bet you fifty cents you are the only
person in Tinkletown that's in bed at this minute. They're all _afraid_
to go to bed, Eva, an' you can't blame 'em. Nobody knows I've got them
desperadoes bound hand and foot and guarded by a whole regiment of U. S.
troops, specially deputized for the occasion."
"YOU ARE INVITED TO BE PRESENT"
Anderson Crow sat on the porch of the post-office, ruminating over the
epidemic that had assailed Tinkletown with singular virulence, and, in a
sense, enthusiasm. Not that there was anything sinister or loathsome
about the plague. Far from it, he reflected, because it had broken out
so soon after his bitter comments on the prolonged absence of the
slightest symptom, or indication that a case was even remotely probable.
And here he was, holding in his hand four fresh and unmistakable signs
that the contagion was spreading. In short, he had just received and
opened four envelopes addressed to Mr. and Mrs. A. Crow, and each
contained an invitation to a wedding.
Alf Reesling, commonly known as the town drunkard, sat on the top step,
whittling.
"No law against gittin' married, is there, constable?" he inquired.