BOB AND THE ELEPHANT
For the moment it looked as if Bob and Frank would be crushed under the
ponderous feet of the elephant. The beast was thoroughly enraged over
the way in which the smashed camera had been pointed at him. Possibly
he had never had his picture taken, and he did not understand it.
Perhaps he took the instrument for some new machine of destruction.
He trumpeted loudly as he came near to the two, and this noise
attracted the attention of the keepers, who had gone ahead to see what
had caused the delay on the road.
“Ho, ho!” shouted one of the men. “Ho, there, Jonco!”
But Jonco would not listen. He had now reached the spot where Bob and
Frank had stood, and was continuing after the two, who were scurrying
across the open field, which was close at hand.
The keepers at once started after the elephant, only one remaining
behind to keep the remainder of the herd in check.
“By Jove! I believe he means business!” gasped Frank.
“The best thing we can do is to get out of the way,” returned Bob.
They soon reached the end of the open field. Beyond were a mass of
brush and a number of small trees.
Frank dived into the brush and disappeared from sight. Bob was not so
fortunate, and the elephant continued after the youth, as if bent upon
venting his rage before giving up the chase.
At length Bob came to a clump of small trees, and darted among them.
They were so close together that he knew the beast could not get
between them, and for the moment he thought himself safe, although the
position was far from a pleasant one.
But when the elephant reached the trees, he at once threw his weight
against the foremost, and they went down with a crash, as if they had
been so many pipe-stems.
One of the falling trees struck Bob, and he was knocked flat on his
back. Before he could rise the elephant was upon him.
Bob did his best to scramble out of the way, but before he could do so
the beast caught him by the coat and hoisted the youth in the air.
By this time the keepers were close at hand. Each was armed with a
sharp steel, and they began to prod the elephant whenever they got the
chance.
He trumpeted at a great rate, but did not let go his hold upon Bob,
until the youth, under a sudden inspiration, hit him in the eye with
his fist.
This blow surprised the elephant more than it hurt him. But his
surprise made him uncurl his trunk and loosen his grip, and Bob lost no
time in leaping to a safe distance.
Then the keepers surrounded the beast, and swiftly and skilfully
chained his two right feet together and otherwise bound him; and the
danger was over.
Frank rushed from the brush to where Bob stood, pale as a sheet.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, anxiously.
“No; but I don’t want to go through any such experience again,”
returned Bob. “That’s the first and last time I shall try to photograph
an elephant.”
“The camera is teetotally smashed,” went on Frank.
“Serves you right,” growled the head keeper. “If you hadn’t pointed the
thing at Jonco he would have been as quiet as a kitten. He don’t take
to strange things.”
Frank was about to say something concerning the damages, and who was to
stand them, but he changed his mind, for he knew the keeper was more
than half right.
It was not long before the circus moved on again. Jonco still acted
somewhat wildly, but the keepers kept him well in hand.
“This ends the camera trip,” said Frank, as the last of the equipage
passed out of sight around a bend in the road. “The camera is good for
kindling wood, and nothing else.”
“It is partly my fault,” said Bob. “What was the machine worth?”
“It cost me seventy dollars. But it was not your fault, Bob, so don’t
worry. I have another at home, even better than this.”
“Perhaps the lens isn’t injured.”
They made a hunt, and found the lens crushed in the soft dirt. There
was a tiny scratch upon it, but this, Frank thought, could be remedied.
Without further delay they struck out for Stampton, which they expected
to reach by the middle of the afternoon.
At twelve o’clock they found themselves near a moss-covered cottage, in
the door-way of which an old man sat smoking. Frank hailed him.
“What are the chances of our getting dinner here, friend, if we pay for
it?”
“The chances is mighty good,” returned the old man. “Mary!”
A middle-aged woman came to the door.
“What is it, pop?”
[Illustration: AND THEN WITH ANOTHER ROAR THE ELEPHANT MADE FOR BOB AND
FRANK.]
“These yere young men want dinner.”
“Oh!”
“Cost both of ye twenty cents apiece,” went on the old man.
“That’s fair enough,” said Frank. “Can we have it soon?”
“I will have it ready in quarter of an hour,” said the woman.
“That is time enough.”
The woman disappeared, and Frank and Bob sat down on a bench to rest.
They entered into conversation with the old man, and it was not long
before the talk drifted around to the Wright robbery, of which the old
man had just heard.
“They ain’t cotch them fellers yet, I hear,” he said. “It’s great pity.”
“That’s true. But perhaps they’ll be caught soon,” said Frank.
“Do yeou know I have an idee I saw them chaps?”
“Tell us of it,” put in Bob, eagerly.
“It wuz last night. I have rheumatics, an’ can’t sleep very well. I got
up about eleven o’clock ter rub some liniment on my leg, when I heard
talking goin’ on back by the barn. I listened fer a minit, an’ then
hollered out to fin’ out who wuz there.”
“Well, did you see them?”
“Yes. They didn’t answer nuthin’, but made tracks fer the road, and
got out o’ sight jess ez quick ez they could.”
“Did you look at the place where they had been?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t see nuthin’.”
“Have you any objections to our looking?”
“O’ course not. Go ahead--or, hold up, I’ll show ye where I seed them.”
The old man led the way to the spot. A carriage shed hid it from the
house.
Both of the boys looked around carefully, striving to find some clew
which might prove that the men had been the robbers.
While they were looking the old man plied them with questions. He was
surprised to learn of the part Bob had played in the first chase.
“I shouldn’t think yeou would want ter meet ’em again,” he laughed.
“That’s just where you are mistaken. I shall not be satisfied until
those rascals are run down.”
“I have an idee they went to Stampton,” said the old man.
Bob shook his head.
“No; the police are watching out for them there. They have passed
around Stampton and gone to some other place.”
“What place?”
“There is no telling. They might go to Dartinville or Burnham’s Ridge,
or else strike out directly for the river.”
“Most likely they struck out for the river,” said Frank. “That is if
the men were really the robbers. They might have been tramps.”
“I don’t think so,” said the old man. “Tramps don’t move away so
lively-like ez these fellers did.”
All laughed at this point, the old man loudest of all.
Presently, before Bob had completed his search, the woman came out
to announce dinner. She looked at Bob sharply a number of times, and
seemed on the point of asking some question, but changed her mind and
remained silent.
“Well, there doesn’t seem to be any use in searching farther,” said
Frank. “Perhaps they only stopped here to talk over their plans.”
“But what did they do with their booty?” questioned Bob. “They either
have it with them, or else they hid it somewhere.”
“It isn’t likely they would hide it around here.”
“Thet’s so,” said the old man.
“Did you see if any of them carried a bundle?” asked Bob.
“I dunno but what one of ’em did. But it wuz too dark to be certain on
it.”
There was a second of silence, broken by the woman.
“I am afraid dinner will be spoiled, if you wait any longer,” she said.
“Well, we’ll give it up,” said Frank, as he turned toward the house.
“No, we won’t,” shouted Bob. “Look here!”
He had picked up something from among the straw and dirt.
“What’s that?” cried Frank.
“A spoon, and it’s one of Mrs. Wright’s.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s just like the one she showed me. It has the same letter D
on it.”
“Yes, she was a Dalmer afore she got married,” put in the old man.
“Perhaps there are more of them,” put in the woman.
All began a stricter search than ever. But although they went over
every inch of the ground nothing more was found.
“I have an idea they merely looked over their booty,” said Bob. “They
were anxious to find out what they had got and couldn’t wait any
longer.”
“Or else they had a row among themselves, and started to divide up,”
suggested Frank.
“Well, one thing is certain,” concluded Bob. “The men were Casco,
Barker, and Grogan.”
They were soon inside the house, and making away with the well-cooked
food the woman had prepared for them. The meal over, they were on the
point of leaving when the woman touched Bob on the arm.
“Haven’t I seen you before?” she said.
“Perhaps. I used to work for Joel Carrow.”
“I don’t know the man. I must be mistaken, but I fancied I had met you
some years ago, when you were a small boy.”
“I used to live with old Peter Thompson before I went to work for
Carrow.”
“Then that is where we met. I used to work for Thompson.”
“You did? How long?”
“From the time his wife died until you were about seven or eight years
old.”
Bob was immediately interested. Here was somebody who might know
something concerning the past. He motioned to the woman, and the two
walked to one side, Frank refraining from following, knowing Bob would
rather be alone.
“May I ask your name?” went on Bob.
“Mary Ridley.”
“Were you related to Thompson?”
“Very distantly, yes.”
“Do you remember when he brought me to the place?”
“He did not bring you.”
“No?”
“No; a man in a carriage brought you.”
“Who was that man?”
Mary Ridley shook her head.
“You did not know?”
“No. I asked Peter, but he would not say, and evaded the question.”
“Did you ever hear where I came from?” and Bob’s heart beat quickly at
this direct question.
“I can’t answer that truthfully. Once Peter said you came from a
Brooklyn orphan asylum, then he said you were the son of an old friend
who had lived in Batavia, and another time he got angry and said he had
a good mind to send you back to Buffalo, where you belonged.”
Bob mused for a moment. It was more than likely that the man had spoken
the truth when angry, and that Buffalo was the place from which he had
been brought.
“Did you hear the name of the man who brought me to Thompson’s?”
“I heard Peter call him Bill.”
Bob started. Could the man have been Bill Barker, the robber?
Such would not be very strange. Barker had said he knew something
concerning Bob’s early history. Of course, he must have told an untruth
about the boy’s father being a thief, but still Bob was inclined to
believe that Barker knew a good deal.
“Did this Bill ever come back?”
“Oh, yes, he used to come about every three months at first. But
during the last year he came only once. Then Peter and him had a big
row, and that ended it.”
“What was the row about?”
“Something about money. I didn’t make it out. But I heard Peter say
that if it wasn’t that he had become attached to you, he would have
sent you back.”
“Back where?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t you ever learned anything about yourself?”
“Not a word.” Bob swallowed a curious lump that had come up in his
throat. “But I am trying hard to get on the track. I know one thing,
and since you have told me so much I’ll tell you it. The Bill Barker,
who is one of the robbers we are after, was, to my way of thinking, the
man who brought me to Peter Thompson’s house.”
“Gracious! How did you learn that?”
“By certain things I heard him say. That is why I am anxious these
robbers should be caught.”
“I see.”
“You don’t know anything further, do you?”
“No. I left Peter’s, you know, and then mother and my only sister died,
and I was all upset. But I thought I knew your face. Let me hear from
you, if you ever learn anything.”
“I certainly shall. By the way, do you think you would remember this
Bill, if you should ever see him again?”
“I can’t say. He always came at night, and was pretty well muffled up.”
“Evidently he didn’t wish to be seen,” mused Bob. “That shows his work
was underhanded.”
A little later Bob and Frank left. The young man noticed that the youth
was unusually silent on the road, but he asked no questions until the
outskirts of Stampton were reached, and then he did not touch the
subject nearest to Bob’s heart.
“What do you intend to do in Stampton, now we have arrived?”
“I hardly know,” said Bob. “I must find some boarding-place I suppose,
and then I’ll hunt for a job among the photographers.”
“Don’t you think we had better report to the police about that spoon
first?”
“Of course.”
They soon met a policeman, who directed them to the station-house. They
found the chief in charge, and quickly related what they had learned.
“Certainly an important clew,” said the chief. “I will send a man to
follow it up without delay.”
“And I’ll leave the spoon with you to be returned to Mrs. Wright,” said
Bob.
Bob and Frank then separated, as the young man had to send a telegram
to the firm for which he worked. He was having a vacation, but had to
keep in communication in case his services were needed.
Bob had but slight difficulty in finding a suitable boarding-house,
where he obtained a neatly-furnished attic room and good board for
four dollars and a half a week, washing thrown in. He had the landlady
change the fifty-dollar bill, and paid for a week in advance.
“That breaks the fifty,” thought the youth. “But I think I had better
learn more about the photographing business before I buy that camera.”
It was now too late to look for a situation, and Bob started out to
hunt up Frank, who said he would stop at the American Hotel.
Bob had not been to a large city for some time, and the many sights to
be seen pleased him greatly. He often hesitated to gaze into a shop
window, and, when he reached a photographic outfit establishment, he
stopped for a long time.
“Very fine views, Maverick,” he heard one gentleman say to another, as
both emerged from the door-way.
“That’s true, Fallon. I wish we had as good a lot. It would help our
excursion tours wonderfully.”
The two men passed down the street. Bob gazed after them.
“One of them must be Grace Maverick’s father,” he said to himself. “I
wonder where they live? I would like to take a look around, even if I
didn’t go in.”
For Bob thought a country boy like himself had no business in one of
those fine brownstone mansions, even if he had been invited to call.
Bob continued to look at the things displayed in the show window until
he had noted them all. He made up his mind that there was more to the
art of photography than he had dreamed.
“But I’ll master it, see if I don’t,” he muttered, as he turned away
and resumed his walk. “I won’t be a nobody any longer.”
Bob had scarcely gone a dozen steps when he saw a familiar-looking
figure approaching. The man was Slippery Paul Bidwell, the sneak-thief.