A BIG HAUL.
When I awoke next morning, I was surprised to find my erratic
body-servant not in attendance.
Carnes, for convenience, and because of lack of modern hotel
accommodations, occupied a cot in my room, which was the largest in the
house, and sufficiently airy to serve for two. Usually, he was anything
but a model serving man in the matter of rising and attending to duty,
for, invariably, I was out of bed an hour before him, and had made my
toilet to the music of his nasal organ, long before he broke his morning
nap.
This morning, however, Carnes was not snoring peacefully on his cot
underneath the open north window, and I arose and made a hasty toilet,
feeling sure that something unusual had called him from his bed this
early.
Wondering much, I descended to the office, where an animated buzz warned
me that something new and startling was under discussion.
Usually at that hour this sanctum was untenanted, save for the youth
who served as a combination of porter and clerk, and perhaps a stray
boarder or two, but this morning a motley crowd filled the room. Not a
noisy, blustering crowd, but a gathering of startled, perplexed, angry
looking men, each seeming hopeful of hearing something, rather than
desirous of saying much.
Jim Long, the idle, every-where-present Jim, stood near the outer door,
looking as stolid and imperturbable as usual, and smoking, as a matter
of course.
I made my way to him at once.
"What is it, Long," I asked, in a low tone; "something new, or--"
"Nothin' _new_, by any means," interrupted Jim, sublimely indifferent to
the misfortune of his neighbors. "Nothin' new at all, Cap'n; the Trafton
Bandits have been at it again, that's all."
[Illustration: "Nothin' new at all, Cap'n; the Trafton Bandits have been
at it again that's all."--page 140.]
"Trafton Bandits! you mean--"
"Thieves! Robbers! Ku Klux! They've made another big haul."
"Last night?"
"Last night, Cap'n."
"Of what sort?"
Jim chuckled wickedly.
"The right sort to git money out of. Hopper's two-forty's, that was in
trainin' for the races. Meacham's matched sorrels. 'Squire Brookhouse's
bay Morgans."
"What! six blooded horses at one haul!"
"Eggszactly."
Jim's coolness was aggravating; I turned away from him, and mingled
with the group about the clerk's desk.
"Meacham'll suicide; he refused a fancy price for them sorrels not two
weeks ago."
"Wonder what old Brookhouse will do about it?"
"There'll be some tall rewards offered."
"Much good that'll do. We don't get back stolen horses so easy in this
county."
"It'll break Hopper up; he had bet his pile on the two-forty's, and bid
fair to win."
"One of 'em was goin' to trot against Arch Brookhouse's mare, Polly, an'
they had big bets up. Shouldn't wonder if Arch was glad to be let out so
easy. Polly never could outgo that gray four-year-old."
"Think not?"
"Brookhouse has telegraphed to his lawyers already, to send on a couple
of detectives."
"Bully for Brookhouse."
"Don't yell till yer out of the woods. Detectives ain't so much more'n
common folks. I don't go much on 'em myself. What we want is vigilants."
"Pooh! neither detectives nor vigilants can't cure Trafton."
These and like remarks greeted my ears in quick succession, and
furnished me mental occupation. I lingered for half an hour among the
eager, excited gossippers, and then betook myself to the dining-room and
partook of my morning meal in solitude. With my food for the body, I had
also food for thought.
Here, indeed, was work for the detective. I longed for the instant
presence of Carnes, that we might discuss the situation, and I felt no
little annoyance at the thought of the two detectives who might come in
upon us at the bidding of 'Squire Brookhouse.
Carnes was in the office when I again entered it, and giving him a sign
to follow me, I went up to my room. It was situated in a wing of the
building most remote from the office, and the hum of many voices did not
penetrate so far.
The stillness seemed more marked by contrast with the din I had just
left, as I sat waiting.
Presently Carnes came in, alert, quick of movement, and having merged
the talkative Irishman in the active, cautious detective.
"This looks like business;" he began, dragging a chair forward, and
seating himself close to me. "I chanced to wake up a little after
sunrise, and heard some men talking outside, near my window. They were
going through the lane, and I only caught the words: "Yes, sir; stolen
last night; six of them." Somehow the tone, quite as much as the words,
convinced me that something was wrong. I got up and hurried out,
thinking it hardly worth while to disturb you until I had learned more
of the fellow's meaning. Well, sir, it's a fact; six valuable pieces of
horseflesh have been taken from under our very noses."
"Have you got any particulars?"
"Well, yes, as much as is known, I think. Hopper, as you remember, lives
on the hill just at the edge of the town. His man sleeps in the little
office adjoining the stable. It seems the fellow, having no valuables to
lose, let the window swing open and slept near it. He was chloroformed,
and is under the doctor's care this morning. Meacham's stable is very
near the house, but no one was disturbed by the robbers; they threw his
dog a huge piece of meat that kept his jaws occupied. I heard Arch
Brookhouse talking with a lot of men; he says the Morgans were in a
loose box near the rear door of the stable, and that two men were
sleeping in the room above the front wing. He says they have telegraphed
to the city for detectives."
"Yes, I'm sorry for that, but it's to be expected."
"What shall we do about it?"
"As we are working for our own satisfaction and have little at stake, I
am in favor of keeping quiet until we see who they bring down. If it's
some of our own fellows, or _any one_ that we know to be skillful, we
can then turn in and help them, or retire from the field without making
ourselves known, as we think best. If the fellows are strangers--"
"Then we will try the merits of the case with them," broke in Carnes. "I
tell you, old man, I hate to quit the field now."
"So do I," I acknowledged. "We must manage to know when these new
experts arrive, and until we have found them out, can do little but keep
our eyes and ears open. It won't do to betray too much interest just
yet."
Carnes wheeled about in his chair and turned his eyes toward the street.
"I wish this thing had not happened just yet," he said, moodily. "Last
night our plans were laid so smoothly. I don't see how we can even
follow up this grave-robbing business, until these confounded detectives
have shown their hand."
"Carnes," I replied, solemnly, "do be a philosopher. If ever two
conceited detectives got themselves into a charming muddle, we're those
two, at present. If we don't come out of this escapade covered with
confusion, we shall have cause to be thankful."
My homily had its intended effect. Carnes wheeled upon me with scorn
upon his countenance.
"The mischief fly away wid yer croakin'," he cried. "An' it's lyin' ye
know ye are. Is it covered wid confusion ye'd be afther havin' us, bad
cess to ye? Av we quit this nest we'd be drappin' the natest job two
lads ever tackled. Ye can quit av ye like, but I'm shtayin', avan if the
ould boy himself comes down to look intil the bizness."
By "the ould boy," Carnes meant our Chief, and not, as might be
supposed, his Satanic majesty.
I smiled at the notion of our Chief in the midst of these Trafton
perplexities, and, letting Carnes' tirade remain unanswered, took from
my pocket the before mentioned note book and began a new mental
calculation.
"There goes the ould identical Mephistophiles I used to see in my fairy
book," broke out Carnes from his station by the window, where he had
stood for some moments silently contemplating whatever might present
itself to view in the street below. "Look at 'im now! Av I were an
artist, wouldn't I ax 'im to sit for 'Satan'."
I looked out and saw 'Squire Brookhouse passing on the opposite side of
the street, and looking closer, I decided that Carnes' comparison was
not inapt.
In the days of his youth 'Squire Brookhouse might have been a handsome
man, when his regular features were rounded and colored by twenty-two
Summers, or perhaps more; but he must have grown old while yet young,
for his cadaverous cheeks were the color of most ancient parchment; his
black eyes were set in hollow, dusky caverns; his mouth was sunken, the
thin lips being drawn and colorless. His upper lip was smooth shaven,
but the chin was decorated by a beard, long but thin, and of a peculiar
lifeless black. His eyebrows were long and drooped above the cavernous
eyes. His hair was straight and thin, matching the beard in color, and
he wore it so long that it touched the collar of his coat, the ends
fluttering dismally in the least gust of wind. He was tall, and angular
to emaciation, with narrow, stooping shoulders, and the slow, gliding
gait of an Indian. He was uniformly solemn, it would be a mistake to say
dignified; preternaturally silent, going and coming like a shadow among
his loquacious neighbors; always intent upon his own business and
showing not the least interest in anything that did not in some way
concern himself. Living plainly, dressing shabbily, hoarding his riches,
grinding his tenants, superintending the business of his large
stock-farm, he held himself aloof from society, and had never been seen
within the walls of a church.
And yet this silent, unsocial man was a power in Trafton; his word of
commendation was eagerly sought for; his frown was a thing to be
dreaded; his displeasure to be feared. Whom he would be elected to
office, and whom he would not, came somehow to be disapproved by all
Trafton.
"He has certainly an uncommon _ensemble_," I said, looking out over
Carnes' shoulder, "not a handsome man, to be sure, but one toward whom
you would turn in a crowd to take the second look at. I wonder where Jim
Long would place him in the scale of Trafton weights and measures?"
"Not under the head of the model Traftonite," replied Carnes, still
gazing after the receding figure. "He's guiltless of the small hands and
feet, perfumed locks and 'more frill to the square yard of shirt front'
required by Jim for the making of his model. By-the-by, what the 'Squire
lacks is amply made up by the son. When Jim pictured the model
Traftonite, I think he must have had Arch Brookhouse in his eye."
"I think so, too; a nature such as Jim's would be naturally antagonistic
to any form of dandyism. Young Brookhouse is a fastidious dresser, and,
I should say, a thoroughly good fellow."
"As good fellows go," said Carnes, sententiously. "But dropping the
dandy, tell me what are we going to do with Jim Long?"
"It's a question I've been asking myself," responded I, turning away
from the window, "Jim is not an easy conundrum to solve."
"About as easy as a Chinese puzzle," grumbled Carnes, discontentedly.
"Nevertheless, I tell you, old man, before we get much further on our
way we've got to take his measure."
"I quite agree with you, and the moment the way seems clear, we must do
something more."
"What's that?"
"We must explore that south road, every foot of it, for twenty miles at
least."