trouble. Down the road I met up with these fellers in a big automobile.
They stopped me an' said I couldn't go up the hill. Just then up comes
another car full of men. They all seemed to be acquainted. I told 'em I
was a deputy marshal an' was goin' up the hill to help you arrest a
feller named Bonyparte. Well, by jinks, you oughter heard 'em! They
cussed, and said the derned ole fool would spile everything. Then, 'fore
you could say Joe, they piled into one o' the cars an' sailed up the
hill. I didn't get up here till after they'd hauled you an' your
prisoners out o' that hole, but I give 'em the laugh just the same. You
captured the two ringleaders. By gosh, I'm glad you're alive, Andy. I
bet the Kaiser'll hate you fer this."
"The--the what?"
"Ole Kaiser Bill. Say, you was down there quite a little spell, an' they
won't let me go down. What does a wireless plant look like, Anderson?"
* * * * *
That evening Marshal Crow sat on the porch in front of Lamson's store,
smoking a fine cigar, presented to him by Harry Squires, reporter for
the _Banner_. He had a large audience. Indeed, he was obliged to raise
his voice considerably in order to reach the outer rim.
He had been called a hero, a fearless officer, and a lot of other
pleasant things, by the astonished United States marshals, and he had
been given to understand that he would hear from Washington before long.
Mr. Bacon (Kurt von Poppenblitz) and Mr. Bonaparte (Conrad Bloom) had
also called him something, but he didn't mind. His erstwhile partners,
with their four or five henchmen, were now well on their way to limbo,
and Mr. Crow was regaling his hearers with the story. During the first
recital (this being either the ninth or tenth), Alf Reesling had been
obliged to prompt him--a circumstance readily explainable when one stops
to consider the effect of the murderous blow Mr. Crow had received.
"'Course," said Anderson, "they _did_ fool me at first. But I wasn't
long gittin' onto 'em. I used to sneak up there and investigate ever'
now an' ag'in. Finally I got onto the fact that they was German spies--I
got positive proof of it. I can't tell you just what it is, 'cause it's
government business. Then I finds out they got a wireless plant all in
order, an' ready to relay messages to the coast o' Maine, from some'eres
out west. So today, I goes over to Justice Robb's and gits a warrant for
intoxication. That was to make it legal fer me to bust into their shanty
if necessary. Course, the drunk charge was only a blind, as I told the
U. S. marshal. I went right straight to that underground den o' their'n,
an' afore they knowed what was up, I leaped down on 'em. Fust thing I
done was to put the big and dangerous one horse de combat. He was the
one I was worried about. I knocked him flat an' then went after t'other
one. He let on like he was surrenderin'. He fooled me, I admit--'cause I
don't know anything 'bout wireless machinery. All of a sudden he give me
a wireless shock--out o' nowhere, you might say--an' well, by cracky, I
thought it was all over. 'Course, I realize now it was foolish o' me to
try to go up there an' take them two desperadoes single-handed, but
I--What's that, Bud?"
"Mrs. Crow sent me to tell you if you didn't come home to supper this
minute, you wouldn't git any," called out a boy from the outskirts of
the crowd.
"That's the second wireless shock you've had today, Anderson," said
Harry Squires, drily, and slowly closed one eye.
THE BEST MAN WINS!
ANDERSON CROW MEETS HIS WATERLOO AND HIS MARNE
For sixteen consecutive years Anderson Crow had been the Marshal of
Tinkletown. A hiatus of two years separated this period of service from
another which, according to persons of apparently infallible memory, ran
through an unbroken stretch of twenty-two years. Uncle Gid Luce stoutly
maintained--and with some authority--that anybody who said twenty-two
years was either mistaken or lying. He knew for a positive fact that it
was only twenty-one for the simple reason that at the beginning of the
Crow dynasty a full year elapsed before Anderson could be convinced that
he actually had been victorious at the polls over his venerable
predecessor, ex-marshal Bunker, who had served uninterruptedly for
something like thirty years before him.
It took the wisest men in town nearly a year to persuade the incredulous
Mr. Bunker that he had been defeated, and also to prove to Mr. Crow that
he had been elected. Neither one of 'em would believe it.
It was the consensus of opinion, however, that Anderson Crow had
served, all told, thirty-eight years, the aforesaid hiatus being the
result of a decision on his part to permanently abandon public life in
order to carry on his work as a private detective. Mr. Ed. Higgins held
the office for two years and then retired, claiming that there wasn't
any sense in Tinkletown having _two_ marshals and only paying for one.
And, as the salary and perquisites were too meagre to warrant a
division, and the duties of office barely sufficient to keep _one_ man
awake, he arrived at the only conclusion possible: it was only fair that
he should split even with Anderson.
After thinking it over for some time, he decided that about the best way
to solve the problem was for him to take the pay and allow Anderson to
do the work,--an arrangement that was eminently satisfactory to the
entire population of Tinkletown.
Elections were held biennially. Every two years, in the spring, as
provided by statute, the voters of Tinkletown--unless otherwise
engaged--ambled up to the polling place in the rear of Hawkins's
Undertaking Emporium and voted not only for Anderson Crow, but for a
town clerk, a justice of the peace, and three selectmen. No one ever
thought of voting for any one except Mr. Crow. Once, and only once, was
there an opposition candidate for the office of Town Marshal. It is on
record that he did not receive a solitary vote.
Republicans and Democrats voted for Anderson with persistent fidelity,
and while there were notable contests for the other offices at nearly
every election, no one bothered himself about the marshal-ship.
The regular election was drawing near. Marshal Crow was mildly
concerned,--not about himself, but on account of the tremendous battle
that was to be waged for the office of town clerk. Henry Wimpelmeyer,
the proprietor of the tanyard, had come out for the office, and was
spending money freely. The incumbent, Ezra Pounder, had had a good deal
of sickness in his family during the winter, and was in no position to
be bountiful.
Moreover, Ezra was further handicapped by the fact that nearly every
voter in Tinkletown owed money to Henry Wimpelmeyer. Inasmuch as it was
just the other way round with Ezra, it may be seen that his adversary
possessed a sickening advantage. Mr. Wimpelmeyer could afford to slap
every one on the back and jingle his pocketful of change in the most
reckless fashion. He did not have to dodge any one on the street, not
he.
Anderson Crow was a strong Pounder man. He was worried. Henry
Wimpelmeyer had openly stated that if he were elected he would be
pleased to show his gratitude to his friends by cancelling every
obligation due him!
He was planning to run on what was to be called the People's ticket.
Ezra was an Anderson Crow republican. Tinkletown itself was largely
republican. The democrats never had a chance to hold office except when
there was a democratic president at Washington. Then one of them got the
post-office, and almost immediately began to show signs of turning
republican so that he could be reasonably certain of reappointment at
the end of his four years.
Anderson Crow lay awake nights trying to evolve a plan by which Henry
Wimpelmeyer's astonishing methods could be overcome. That frank and
unchallenged promise to cancel all debts was absolutely certain to
defeat Ezra. So far as the marshal knew, no one owed Henry more than
five dollars--in most cases it was even less--but when you sat down and
figured up just how much Henry would ever realize in hard cash on these
accounts, even if he waited a hundred years, it was easy to see that the
election wasn't going to cost him a dollar.
For example, Alf Reesling had owed him a dollar and thirty-five cents
for nearly seven years. Alf admitted that the obligation worried him a
great deal, and it was pretty nearly certain that he would jump at the
chance to be relieved. Other items: Henry Plumb, two dollars and a
quarter; Harvey Shortfork, ninety cents; Ben Pickett, a
dollar-seventy-five; Rush Applegate, three-twenty; Lum Gillespie,
one-fifteen,--and so on, including Ezra Pounder himself, who owed the
staggering sum of eleven dollars and eighty-two cents. There was, after
all, some consolation in the thought that Ezra would be benefited to
that extent by his own defeat.
Naturally, Mr. Crow gave no thought to his own candidacy. No one was
running against him, and apparently no one ever would. Therefore, Mr.
Crow was in a position to devote his apprehensions exclusively to the
rest of the ticket, and to Ezra Pounder in particular.
He could think of but one way to forestall Mr. Wimpelmeyer, and that was
by digging down into his own pocket and paying in cash every single cent
that the electorate of Tinkletown owed "the dad-burned Shylark!" He even
went so far as to ascertain--almost to a dollar--just how much it would
take to save the honour of Tinkletown, finding, after an investigation,
that $276.82 would square up everything, and leave Henry high and dry
with nothing but the German vote to depend upon. There were exactly
twenty-two eligible voters in town with German names, and seven of them
professed to be Swiss the instant the United States went into the war.
Mr. Crow was making profound calculation on the back of an envelope when
Alf Reesling, the town drunkard, came scuttling excitedly around the
corner from the _Banner_ office.
"Gee whiz!" gasped Alf, "I been lookin' all over fer you, Anderson."
"Say, can't you see I'm busy? Now, I got to begin all over ag'in. Move
on, now--"
"Have you heard the latest?" gulped Alf, grabbing him by the arm.
"What ails you, Alf? Wait a minute! No, by gosh, it's more like onions.
For a second I thought you'd--"
"I'm as sober as ever," interrupted Alf hotly.
"That's what you been sayin' fer twenty years," said Anderson.
"Well, ain't I?"
"I don't know what you do when I'm not watchin' you."
"Well, all I got to say is I never felt more like takin' a drink. An'
you'll feel like it, too, when you hear the latest. Maybe you'll drop
dead er somethin'. Serve you right, too, by jiminy, the way you keep
insinyating about--"
"Go on an' tell me. Don't talk all day. Just _tell_ me. That's all
you're called on to do."
"Well," sputtered Alf. "Some one's come out ag'in you fer marshal. I
seen the item they're printin' over at the _Banner_ office. Seen the
name an' everything."
Anderson blinked two or three times, reached for his whiskers and missed
them, and then roared:
"You must be crazy, Alf! By thunder, I hate to do it, but I'll have to
put you in a safe--"
"You just wait an' see if I'm--"
"--safe place where you can't harm nobody. You oughtn't to be runnin'
round at large like this. Here! Leggo my arm! What the dickens are you
tryin' to--"
"Come on! I'll _show_ you!" exclaimed Alf. "I'll take you right around
to the _Banner_ office an'--say, didn't you know the People's Party
nominated a full ticket las' night over at Odd Fellers' Hall?"
Anderson submitted himself to be led--or rather dragged--around the
corner into Sickle Street.
Several business men aroused from mid-morning lassitude allowed their
chairs to come down with a thump upon divers mercantile porches, and
fell in behind the two principal citizens of Tinkletown. Something
terrible must have happened or Marshal Crow wouldn't be summoned in any
such imperative manner as this.
[Illustration: _Something terrible must have happened or Marshal Crow
wouldn't be summoned in any such imperative manner as this_]
"What's up, Anderson?" called out Mort Fryback, the hardware dealer,
wavering on one leg while he reached frantically behind him for his
crutch. Mort was always looking for excitement. He hadn't had any to
speak of since the day he created the greatest furor the town had
experienced in years by losing one of his legs under an extremely heavy
kitchen stove.
"Is there a fire?" shouted Mr. Brubaker, the druggist, half a block
away.
* * * * *
Mr. Jones, proprietor of the _Banner_ Job Printing office, obligingly
produced the "galley-proof" of the account of the People's Convention,
prepared by his "city editor," Harry Squires, for the ensuing issue of
the weekly. Mr. Squires himself emerged from the press-room, and
sarcastically offered his condolences to Anderson Crow.
"Well, here's a pretty howdy-do, Anderson," he said, elevating his
eye-shade to a position that established a green halo over a perfectly
pink pate.
"Howdy-do," responded Anderson, with unaccustomed politeness. He was
staring hard at the dirty strip of paper which he held to the light.
"Didn't I _tell_ you?" exclaimed Alf Reesling triumphantly. "There she
is, right before your eyes."
Mr. Reesling employed the proper gender in making this assertion. "She"
was right before the eyes of every one who cared to look. Anderson
slowly read off the "ticket." His voice cracked deplorably as he
pronounced the last of the six names that smote him where he had never
been smitten before.
Clerk--Henry Wimpelmeyer
Justice of the Peace--William Kiser
Selectman, First District--Otto Schultz
Selectman, Second District--Conrad Blank
Selectman, Third District--Christopher Columbus Callahan
Marshal--Minnie Stitzenberg.
A long silence followed the last syllable in Minnie's name, broken at
last by Marshal Crow, who turned upon Harry Squires and demanded:
"What do you mean, Harry Squires, by belittlin' a woman's name in your
paper like this? She c'n sue for libel. You got no right to make fun of
a respectable, hard-workin' woman, even though she did make a derned
fool of herself gittin' up that pertition to have me removed from
office."
"Well, that's what she's still trying to do," said Harry.
"What say?"
"I say she's still trying to remove you from office. She's going to get
your hide, Anderson, for arresting her when she tried to make that
Suffrage speech in front of the town hall last fall."
"I had a right to arrest her. She was obstructin' the public
thoroughfare."
"That's all right, but she said she had as much right to block the
street as you had. You made speeches all over the place."
"Yes, but I made 'em in good American English, an' she spoke half the
time in German. How in thunder was I to know what she was sayin'? She
might 'a' been sayin' somethin' ag'in the United States Government, fer
all I knew."
"Well, anyhow, she's going to get your scalp for it, if it's in woman's
power to do it."
"I'm ag'in any female citizen of this here town that subscribes to a
German paper printed in New York City an' refuses to read the _Banner_,"
declared Anderson loudly--and with all the astuteness of the experienced
politician. "An' what's more," pursued Anderson scornfully, "I'm ag'in
that whole ticket. There's only one American on it, an' he was a
Democrat up to las' Sunday. Besides, it's ag'in the law to nominate
Minnie Stitzenberg."
"Why?" demanded Harry Squires.
"Ain't she a woman?"
"Certainly she is."
"Well, ain't _that_ ag'in the law? A woman ain't got no right to run for
nothin'," said Anderson. "She ain't--"
"She ain't, eh? Didn't you walk up to the polls last fall and vote to
give her the right?" demanded Harry. "Didn't every dog-goned man in this
town except Bill Wynkoop vote for suffrage? Well, then, what are you
kicking about? She's got as much right to run for marshal as you have,
old Sport, and if what she says is true, every blessed woman in
Tinkletown is going to vote for her."
Marshal Crow sat down, a queer, dazed look in his eyes.
"By gosh, I--I never thought they'd act like this," he murmured.
Every man in the group was asking the same question in the back of his
startled brain: "Has _my_ wife gone an' got mixed up in this scheme of
Minnie's without sayin' anything to me?" Visions of feminine supremacy
filled the mental eye of a suddenly perturbed constituency. The
realization flashed through every mind that if the women of Tinkletown
stuck solidly together, there wasn't the ghost of a chance for the sex
that had been in the saddle since the world began. An unwitting, or
perhaps a designing, Providence had populated Tinkletown with at least
twenty more women than men!
* * * * *
Alf Reesling was the first to speak. He addressed the complacent Mr.
Squires:
"I know one woman that ain't goin' to vote for Minnie Stitzenberg," said
he, somewhat fiercely.
"What are you going to do?" inquired Harry mildly. "Kill her?"
"Nothin' as triflin' as that," said Alf. "I'm goin' to tell my wife if
she votes for Minnie I'll pack up and leave her."
"Minnie's sure of _one_ vote, all right," was Harry's comment.
Fully ten minutes were required to convince the marshal that Minnie
Stitzenberg was a bona fide candidate.
Anderson finally arose, drew himself to his full height, lifted his
chin, and faced the group with something truly martial in his eye.
"Feller citizens," he began solemnly, "the time has come for us men to
stand together. We got to pertect our rights. We got to let the women
know that they can't come between us. For the last million years we have
been supportin' an' pertectin' and puttin' up with all sorts of women,
an' we got to give 'em to understand that this is no time for them to
git it into their heads they can support and pertect us. Everybody,
includin' the women, knows there's a great war goin' on over in Europe.
Us men are fightin' that war. We're bleedin' an' dyin' an' bein'
captured by the orneriest villains outside o' hell--as the feller says.
I'm not sayin' the women ain't doin' their part, mind you. They're doin'
noble, an' you couldn't git me to say a thing ag'in women _as_ women.
They're a derned sight better'n we are. That's jest the point. We got to
_keep_ 'em better'n we are, an' what's more to the point, we don't want
'em to find out they're better'n we are. Just as soon as they git to be
as overbearin' an' as incontrollable as we are, then there's goin' to be
thunder to pay. I'm willin' to work, an' fight, an' die fer my wife an'
my daughters, but I'm derned if I like the idee of them workin' an'
fightin' ag'in _me_. I'm willin' the women should vote. But they
oughtn't to run out an' vote ag'in the men the first chance they git.
When this war's over an' there ain't no able-bodied men left to run
things, then you bet the women will be derned glad we fixed things so's
_they_ won't never have to worry about goin' to war with the
ding-blasted ravishers over in Germany. If the time ever comes--an' it
may, if they keep killin' us off over there--when the women have to run
this here government, they'll find it's a man-sized job, an' that we
took care of it mighty well up to the time we got all shot to pieces
preservin' humanity, an' civilization, an' all the women an' children
the Germans didn't git a chance to butcher because we wouldn't let 'em.
Now, I'm ready any time to knuckle under to a man that's better'n I am.
But I'm dog-goned if I'm willin' to admit that Minnie Stitzenberg's that
man! Yes, sir, gentlemen, we men have got to stand together!"
"'Sh!" hissed Mort Fryback, jerking his head in the direction of Main
Street. With one accord the men on the porch turned to look.
Miss Minnie Stitzenberg had come into view on the opposite side of the
street, and was striding manfully in their direction. The Higgins dog
trotted proudly, confidently, a few feet ahead of her. She waved a
friendly hand and called out, in a genial but ludicrous effort to mimic
the lordly Mr. Crow:
"Move on there, now. Don't loiter."
A little later, the agitated town marshal, flanked by the town drunkard
and the one-legged Mr. Fryback, viewed with no little dismay a group of
women congregated in front of Parr's drygoods store. In the centre of
this group was the new candidate for town marshal. Alf Reesling stopped
short and said something under his breath. His wife was one of Miss
Stitzenberg's most attentive listeners.
[Illustration: _In the centre of this group was the new candidate for
town marshal_]
Marshal Crow was not disheartened. He knew that Minnie Stitzenberg could
not defeat him at the polls. The thing that rankled was the fact that a
woman had been selected to run against him. It was an offence to his
dignity. The leaders of the People's Party made it quite plain that they
did not consider him of sufficient importance to justify anything so
dignified as masculine opposition!
On the day of the Republican Convention, which was to be held in the
town hall in the evening, Anderson went in despair and humility to Harry
Squires, the reporter.
"Harry," he said, "I been thinkin' it over. I can't run ag'in a woman.
It goes ag'in the grain. If I beat her, I'd never be able to look
anybody in the face, an' if she beats me--why, by gosh, I couldn't even
look myself in the face. So I'm goin' to decline the nomination
tonight."
He was rather pathetic, and Harry Squires was touched. He had a great
fondness for the old marshal, notwithstanding his habit of poking fun at
him and ridiculing him in the _Banner_. He laid his hand on the old
man's arm and there was genuine warmth in his voice as he spoke to him.
"Anderson, we can't allow you to withdraw. It would be the vilest thing
the people of this town could do if they turned you out of office after
all these years of faithful service. We--"
"Can't be helped, Harry," said Anderson firmly. "I won't run ag'in a
woman, so that's the end of it."
Harry looked cautiously around, and then, leaning a little closer, said:
"I know something that would put Minnie in the soup, clean over her
head. All I've got to do is to tell what I know about--"
"Hold on, Harry," broke in the marshal sternly. "Is it somethin' ag'in
her character?"
"It's something that would prevent every man, woman and child in
Tinkletown from voting for her," said Harry.
"Somethin' scand'lous?" demanded Anderson, perking up instantly.
"Decidedly. A word from me and--"
"Wait a second. Is--is there a man in the case?"
"A _man_?" cried Harry. "Bless your soul, Anderson, there are fifty men
in it."
Anderson fell back a step or two. For a moment or two he was speechless.
"Sakes alive! _Fifty?_ For goodness' sake, Harry, are you sure?"
"Not exactly. It may be sixty," amended Harry. "We could easily find out
just how many--"
"Never mind! Never mind!" cried Anderson, recovering himself. "If it's
as bad as all that, we just got to keep still about it. I wouldn't allow
you to throw mud at her if she's been carryin' on with only _one_ man,
but if there's fifty or--But, gosh a' mighty, Harry, it ain't possible.
A woman as homely as Minnie--why, dog-gone it, a woman as homely as she
is simply couldn't be bad no matter how much she wanted to. It ain't
human nature. She--"
"Hold your horses, Anderson," broke in Harry, after a perplexed stare.
"I guess you're jumping at conclusions. I didn't say--"
"There ain't going to be no scandal in this campaign. If Minnie
Stitzenberg--German or no German--has been--"
"It isn't the kind of scandal you think it is," protested Harry. "What
I'm trying to tell you is that it was Minnie Stitzenberg who got that
guy up here from New York two years ago to sell stock in the Salt Water
Gold Company, and stung fifty or sixty of our wisest citizens to the
extent of thirty dollars apiece. I happen to know that Minnie got five
dollars for every sucker that was landed. That guy was her cousin and
she gave him a list of the easiest marks in town. If I remember
correctly, you were one of them, Anderson. She got something like two
hundred dollars for giving him the proper steer, and that's what I meant
when I said there were fifty or sixty men in the case."
"Well, I'll be ding-blasted!"
"And do you know what she did with her ill-gotten gains?"
Anderson could only shake his head.
"She went up to Boggs City and took singing lessons. Now you know the
worst."
The marshal found his voice. "An' it went on for nearly six months,
too--people had to keep their windows shut so's they couldn't hear her
yellin' as if somebody was tryin' to murder her. An' when I went to her
an' respectfully requested her to quit disturbin' the peace, she--do you
know what she said to me?"
"I've got a sneaking idea."
"Well, you're wrong. She said I was a finicky old jackass." The memory
of it brought an apoplectic red to his face.
"And being a gentleman, you couldn't deny it," said Harry soberly.
"What's that?"
"I mean, you couldn't call her a liar. What did you say?"
"I looked her right in the eyes an' I said I'd been neutral up to that
minute, but from then on I'd be derned if I'd try any longer. By gosh, I
guess she knowed what I meant all right."