WE ORGANIZE.
We had not been long in Trafton before our reputation as thoroughly good
fellows was well established, "each man after his kind."
Carnes entered with zest into the part he had undertaken. He was hail
fellow well met with every old bummer and corner loafer; he made himself
acquainted with all the gossippers and possessed of all the gossip of
the town.
After a little he began to grow somewhat unsteady in his habits, and
under the influence of too much liquor, would occasionally make remarks,
disparaging or otherwise as the occasion warranted, concerning me, and
so it came about that I was believed to be a young man of wealth, the
possessor of an irascible temper, but very generous; the victim of a
woman's falseness;--but here Carnes always assured people that he did
not know "the particulars," and that, if it came to my ears that he had
"mentioned" it, it would cost him his place, etc.
These scraps of private history were always brought forward by, or
drawn out of, him when he was supposed to be "the worse for liquor." In
his "sober" moments he was discreetness itself.
So adroitly did he play his part that, without knowing how it came
about, Trafton had accepted me at Carnes' standard, and I found my way
made smooth, and myself considered a desirable acquisition to Trafton
society.
I became acquainted with the lawyers, the ministers, the county
officials, for Trafton was the county seat. I was soon on a social
footing with the Brookhouses, father and son. I made my bow before the
fair owner of the treasure-ship jewels; and began to feel a genuine
interest in, and liking for, Dr. Bethel, who, according to Jim Long, was
_not_ Trafton style.
Thus fairly launched upon the Trafton tide, and having assured ourselves
that no one entertained a suspicion of our masquerade, we began to look
more diligently about us for fresh information concerning the
depredations that had made the town attractive to us.
Sitting together one night, after Carnes had spent the evening at an
especially objectionable saloon, and I had returned from a small social
gathering whither I had been piloted by one of my new acquaintances, we
began "taking account of stock," as Carnes quaintly put it.
"The question now arises," said Carnes, dropping his Hibernianisms, and
taking them up again as his enthusiasm waxed or waned. "The question is
this: What's in our hand? What do wee's know? What do wee's surmise, and
what have wee's got till find out?"
"Very comprehensively put, old fellow," I laughed, while I referred to
a previously mentioned note book. "First, then, what do we know?"
"Well," replied Carnes, tilting back his chair, "we know more than mony
a poor fellow has known when he set out to work up a knotty case. We
know we are in the field, bedad. We know that horses have been stolen,
houses broken open, robberies great and small committed _here_. We know
they have been well planned and systematic, engineered by a cute head."
Carnes stopped abruptly, and looked over as if he expected me to finish
the summing up.
"Yes," I replied, "we knew all that in the beginning; now for what we
have picked up. First, then, just run your eye over this memorandum; I
made it out to-day, and, like a love letter, it should be destroyed as
soon as read. Here you have, as near as I could get them, the names of
the farmers who have lost horses, harness, buggies, etc. Here is the
average distance of their respective residences from the town, and their
directions. Do you see the drift?"
Carnes rubbed the bridge of his nose; a favorite habit.
"No, be the powers," he ejaculated; "St. Patrick himself couldn't see
the sinse o' that."
"Very good. Now, here is a map of this county. On this map, one by one,
you must locate those farms."
"Bother the location," broke in Carnes, impatiently. "Serve it up in a
nutshell. What's the point?"
"The point, then, is this," drawing the map toward me. "The places where
these robberies have been committed, are all in certain directions.
Look; east, northeast, west, north; scarce one south, southeast, or
southwest. Hence, I conclude that these stolen horses are run into some
rendezvous that is not more than a five hours' ride from the scene of
the theft."
"The dickens ye do!" muttered Carnes, under his breath.
"Again," I resumed, perceiving that Carnes was becoming deeply
interested, and very alert, "the horses, etc., have been stolen from
points ten, twelve, twenty miles, from Trafton; the most distant, so far
as I have found out, is twenty-two miles."
"Ar-m-m-m?" from Carnes.
"Now, then, let us suppose the robbers to be living in this town. They
leave here at nine, ten, or later when the distance is short. They ride
fleet horses. At midnight, let us say, the robbery is committed. The
horses must be off the road, and safe from prying eyes, before morning,
and must remain _perdu_ until the search is over. What, then? The
question is, do the robbers turn them over to confederates, in order to
get safely back to the town under cover of the night; or, is the
hiding-place so near that no change is necessary?"
I paused for a comment, but Carnes sat mute.
"Now, then," I resumed, "I am supposing this lair of horse-thieves to
be _somewhere_ south, or nearly south, of the town, and not more than
thirty miles distant."
"Umph!"
"I suppose it to be south, or nearly south, for obvious reasons. Don't
you see what they are?"
"Niver mind; prache on."
"No horses have been taken from the south road, or from any of the roads
that intersect it from this. I infer that it is used as an avenue of
escape for the marauding bands. Consequently--"
"We must make the acquaintance of that north and south highway," broke
in Carnes.
"Just so; and we must begin a systematic search from this out."
"System's the word," said Carnes, jerking his chair close to the table,
upon which he planted his elbows. "Now, then, let's organize."
[Illustration: "System's the word," said Carnes, jerking his chair close
to the table, upon which he planted his elbows. "Now, then, let's
organize."--page 76.]
It was nearly daybreak before we knocked the ashes from our pipes,
preparatory to closing the consultation, and when we separated to
refresh ourselves with a few hours' sleep, we were so thoroughly
"organized" that had we not found another opportunity for private
consultation during our operations in Trafton, we could still have gone
on with the programme, as we had that night arranged it, without fear of
blunder or misunderstanding.
* * * * *
"You came down upon me so sudden and solemn with your statistics and
all that, last night," said Carnes, the following morning, "that I
entirely forgot to treat you to a beautiful little Trafton vagary I was
saving for your benefit. They _do_ say that the new doctor is suspected
of being a _detective_!"
"What!" I said, in sincere amazement; "Carnes, that's one of Jim Long's
notions."
"Yis, but it isn't," retorted Carnes. "I haven't seen Jim Long this day.
D'ye mind the chap ye seen me in company with last evening early?"
"The loutish chap with red hair and a scarred cheek?"
"That's him; well, his name is Tom Briggs, and he's a very close-mouthed
fellow when he's sober; to-day he was drunk, and he told me in
confidence that _some_ folks looked upon Dr. Bethel as nothing more nor
less than a detective, on the lookout for a big haul and a big reward."
"What is this Briggs?"
"He's a sort of a roust-about for 'Squire Brookhouse, but the 'squire
don't appear to work him very hard."
"Carnes," I said, after a moment of silence between us, "hadn't you
better cultivate Briggs?"
"Like enough I had," he replied, nonchalantly. Then turning slowly
until he faced me squarely "If I were you, I would give a little
attention to _Dr. Bethel_."