THE MYSTERIOUS PIN
“That man has got a mighty good horse,” was Ben’s comment, as he sped
down the street.
On the former occasion, when Ben had seen the man in Woodville, the
horse had sprinted up at a touch. Now the animal trotted along at a
still better pace.
“I can never overtake him on foot,” thought our hero, “I mustn’t lose
sight of this man till I find out who he is and where he lives.”
The gig was rapidly outdistancing Ben. As it rounded a corner out of
sight, the lad was wrought up to an intense pitch of desperation.
Then a wild impulse sent him to the curb where a horse attached to
a light buggy was standing. Ben made a reckless decision and acted
promptly on its suggestions.
The horse was not hitched. Ben reached the buggy seat in a spring and
seized lines and whip with a vigorous:
“Get up!”
A yell of startled dismay rang out behind him. Ben fancied that it
came from the owner of the horse, probably observing the theft of his
rig as he came out from some store where he had been trading. Ben
never looked back. He paid no attention to other shouts at the rear.
“There he goes,” said Ben, as he turned the corner. The gig was
two squares in advance. It turned into a new street, and our hero
followed. There were other turns, and finally the gig was halted in
front of a store. Its driver drew up to the curb, sprang out of the
gig and disappeared inside the establishment.
Ben drove slowly past the place. He observed that it was a store
given over to the sale of second-hand tools. Its windows were so
smoked, and grimed, and choked up with so much miscellaneous plunder,
that he could not see the inside of the place.
“I’ve housed my man,” uttered Ben with satisfaction. “He may not live
here, but he certainly is known here. That is enough for the present.
Now to return this rig.”
It suddenly occurred to Ben that he had acted on a decidedly reckless
impulse. He realized that it might lead to serious results. He
somewhat anxiously urged up the horse.
“I must get back to the place I started from and make an
explanation,” he decided.
“Whoa!” came the stern mandate, as Ben turned into the street where
he had appropriated the rig.
A police officer had suddenly run out into the street, and halting in
front of the horse, waved his arms strenuously. The animal paused and
reared, and Ben was nearly thrown from his seat.
“Looking for you,” remarked the officer, gazing sternly at Ben.
“Horse thief, eh?”
“Oh, dear no!” smiled Ben.
“You stole this rig.”
“No, I only took it—in fact, borrowed it for a few minutes.”
“That don’t go down,” observed the officer.
“Why you find me getting back to the place where I found the rig,
quick as I can, don’t you?” challenged Ben.
The officer got up into the seat and ordered Ben to drive to the
police station. Ben was annoyed, and a trifle anxious. They had not
proceeded more than two squares, however, when they met the seeming
owner of the rig coming towards them.
“I’ve got him,” announced the officer.
“See you have,” nodded the man brusquely, looking over the horse.
“You’re a fine young jailbird, aren’t you?” he hailed Ben.
“I am not what you think, mister,” declared the boy quietly. “My name
is Ben Hardy, I live at Woodville, and everybody knows I am an honest
boy.”
“You haven’t shown it at Auburndale,” observed the officer.
“Let me explain, please,” said Ben to the owner of the rig. “There
is a man I have been looking for these past ten days. I ran across
him here driving a fast horse. The only way I could follow him was by
borrowing your rig.”
The owner of the vehicle looked Ben over critically. Our hero did not
flinch from his penetrating glance.
“I came back soon as I could, as you see,” proceeded Ben. “Now then,
what’s your bill?”
“My bill?” repeated the man in a surprised way.
“Certainly. I’ve put you out and had the use of your rig.”
“I guess he’s a pretty good boy. He seems to be telling the truth,”
here remarked the officer.
“Then I shan’t charge him a cent.”
“And don’t try any more such tricks,” advised the officer. “You may
not get off so easy the next time.”
“You’re gentlemen, both of you,” declared Ben, glad enough that he
had escaped delay and embarrassment.
Our hero debated for sometime as to his wisest course of progress.
His father was in no special hurry for the screws. The trail of the
man he had traced to the second-hand shop was fresh. Ben felt sure
that the man in the gig knew a good deal that might be of value to
his father in his dealings with Saxton.
“I’ll take another look at that store, anyhow,” concluded Ben, and a
brisk walk soon brought him into its vicinity.
“The gig is gone, so the driver is probably not in the place,” he
decided.
Ben walked slowly past the store. He glanced in at the open door. A
rough looking, poorly dressed man was sorting over some tools. Ben
saw no one else in the place.
“I’ll make a bold break,” he reflected, and entered the store.
“What do you want?” demanded the apparent proprietor of the place,
turning around at the sound of intruding footsteps.
“Why, I was looking for some one, mister.”
“Well, who is it?”
“A man drove up here in a gig about half an hour ago. I want to see
him.”
“What about?”
“Business.”
“What kind of business?” persisted the man.
“I’ll tell him. If you will give me his address, I will be very much
obliged to you.”
The man shook his head strenuously. He regarded Ben as though he
considered him an enemy and a spy.
“That won’t wash,” he said, “and you had better get out of here.
People who have any business with the man you are talking about, know
just where to find him, without coming snooking around here the way
you do.”
Ben backed away. The man looked positively menacing now as he glared
at his visitor. Ben was shrewd enough that this place was one
operated under tactics of caution and evasiveness.
“Hello!” he exclaimed suddenly, and came to a staring standstill.
“Hello, what?” demanded the man suspiciously, edging between Ben and
the door.
“Oh, nothing,” said Ben, recovering himself.
“Yes, there was.”
Ben moved from foot to foot, sizing up the situation. The cause of
his sharp ejaculation was the discovery on his part of an odd looking
pin or badge on the lapel of the man’s coat.
It was an exact counterpart of the one Ben had found in the work shed
at home. Our hero reflected rapidly. Then, without attracting the
attention of the man to what he was doing, he turned sideways. He got
the pin out of his pocket and managed to attach it to his coat. Then
he faced the man.
“Aha!” exclaimed the second-hand dealer, fixing his eyes on the pin.