TAKEN
"Lord Huntley then he did speak out--
O, fair mot fa' his body!--
'I here will fight doublet alane
Or ony thing ails Geordie!
"'Whom has he robbed? What has he stole?
Or has he killed ony?
Or what's the crime that he has done
His foes they are so mony?'"
--_Old Ballad._
Hue and cry, hubbub and mystery, swept the Isle of Arcady that morning,
but the most painstaking search and query proved fruitless. It developed
beyond doubt that the football man had not been seen since his one brief
appearance on the ballroom floor. Search was transferred to the
mainland, where, as it neared noon, Lake's perseverance and thoroughness
were rewarded. In Chihuahua suburb, beyond the north wall, Lake noted a
sweat-marked, red-roan horse in the yard of Rosalio Marquez, better
known, by reason of his profession, as Monte.
Straightway the banker reported this possible clue to the sheriff and to
Billy, who was as tireless and determined in the chase as Lake himself.
The other masqueraders had mostly abandoned the chase. He found them on
the bridge of the La Luz sallyport.
"It may be worth looking into," Lake advised the sheriff. "Better send
some one to reconnoiter--some one not known to be connected with your
office. You go, Billy. If you find anything suspicious the sheriff can
'phone to the hospital if he needs me. I'm going over to see how the old
watchman is--ought to have gone before. If he gets well I must do
something handsome for him."
Billy fell in with this request. He had a well-founded confidence in
Lake's luck and attached much more significance to the trifling matter
of the red-roan horse than did the original discoverer--especially since
the discoverer had bethought himself to go to the hospital on an errand
of mercy. Billy now confidently expected early developments. And he
preferred personally to conduct the arrest, so that he might interfere,
if necessary, to prevent any wasting of good cartridges. He did not
expect much trouble, however, providing the affair was conducted
tactfully; reasoning that a dead game sport with a clean conscience and
a light heart would not seriously object to a small arrest. Poor Billy's
own heart was none of the lightest as he went on this loyal service to
his presumably favored rival.
Bicycle-back, he accompanied the sheriff beyond the outworks to the
Mexican quarter. Near the place indicated by the banker Billy left his
wheel and strolled casually round the block. He saw the red-roan steed
and noted the Double Rainbow branded on his thigh.
Monte was leaning in the adobe doorway, rolling a cigarette. Billy knew
him, in a business way.
"Hello, Monte! Good horse you've got there."
"Yais--tha's nice hor-rse," said Monte.
"Want to sell him?"
"Thees ees not my hor-rse," explained Monte. "He ees of a frien'."
"I like his looks," said Billy. "Is your friend here? Or, if he's
downtown, what's his name? I'd like to buy that horse."
"He ees weetheen, but he ees not apparent. He ees
_dormiendo_--ah--yais--esleepin'. He was las' night to the _baile
mascarada_."
Billy nodded. "Yes; I was there myself." He decided to take a risk:
assuming that his calculations were correct, _x_ must equal Bransford.
So he said carelessly: "Let's see, Bransford went as a sailor, didn't
he? _Un marinero?_"
"Oh, no; he was atir-re' lak one--_que cosa_?--what you call thees
theeng?--_un balon para jugar con los pies_? Ah! si, si!--one feetball!
Myself I come soon back. I have no beesness. The bes' people ees all for
the dance," said Monte, with hand turned up and shrugging shoulder.
"So, _media noche_--twelve of the clock, I am here back. I fin' here the
hor-rse of my frien', and one _carta_--letter--that I am not to lock the
door; _porque_ he may come to esleep. So I am mek to r-repose myself.
Later I am ar-rouse when my frien' am to r-retir-re heemself. Ah, _que
hombre_! I am yet to esmile to see heem in thees so r-redeeculous
_vestidos_! He ees ver' gay. Ah! _que_ Jeff! Een all ways thees ees a
man ver' _sufficiente_, cour-rageous, es-trong, formidabble! Yet he ees
keep the _disposicion_, the hear-rt, of a seemple leetle chil'--_un
muchacho_!"
"I'll come again," said Billy, and passed on. He had found out what he
had come for. The absence of concealment dispelled any lingering doubt
of Jeff Buttinski. Yet he could establish no alibi by Monte.
Perhaps Billy White may require here a little explanation. All things
considered, Billy thought Jeff would be better off in jail, with a
friend in the opposite camp working for his interest, than getting
himself foolishly killed by a hasty posse. If we are cynical, we may say
that, being young, Billy was not averse to the role of _deus ex
machina_; perhaps a thought of friendly gratitude was not lacking. Then,
too, adventure for adventure's sake is motive enough--in youth. Or, as a
final self-revelation, we may hint that if Jeff was a rival, so too was
Lake--and one more eligible. Let us not be cynical, however, or
cowardly. Let us say at once shamelessly what we very well know--that
youth is the season for clean honor and high emprise; that boy's love is
best and truest of all; that poor, honest Billy, in his own dogged and
fantastic way, but sought to give true service where he--loved. There,
we have said it; and we are shamed. How old are you, sir? Forty? Fifty?
Most actions are the result of mixed motives, you say? Well, that is a
notable concession--at your age. Let it go at that. Billy, then, acted
from mixed motives.
When Billy brought back his motives--and the sheriff--Monte still held
his negligent attitude in the doorway. He waved a graceful salute.
"I want to see Bransford," said the sheriff.
"He ees esleepin'," said Monte.
"Well, I want to see him anyway!" The sheriff laid a brusk hand on the
gatelatch.
Monte waved his cigarette airily, flicked the ash from the end with a
slender finger, and once more demonstrated that the hand is quicker than
the eye. The portentously steady gun in the hand was the first
intimation to the eye that the hand had moved at all. It was a very
large gun as to caliber, the sheriff noted. As it was pointed directly
at his nose he was favorably situated to observe--looking along the
barrel--that the hammer stood at full cock.
"Per-rhaps you have some papers for heem?" suggested Monte, with gentle
and delicate deference. He still leaned against the doorjamb. "But eef
not eet ees bes' that you do not enter thees my leetle house to
distur-rb my gues'. That would be to commeet a r-rudeness--no?"
The sheriff was a sufficiently brave man, if not precisely a brilliant
one. Yet he showed now intelligence of the highest order. He dropped the
latch.
"You Billy, stop your laughing! Do you know, Mr. Monte, I think you are
quite right?" he observed, with a smiling politeness equal to Monte's
own. "That would be rude, certainly. My mistake. An Englishman's house
is his castle--that sort of thing? If you will excuse me now we will go
and get the papers, as you so kindly pointed out."
They went away, the sheriff, Billy and motives--Billy still laughing
immoderately.
Monte went inside and stirred up his guest with a prodding boot-toe.
"Meester Jeff," he demanded, "what you been a-doin' now?"
Jeff sat up, rumpled his hair, and rubbed his eyes.
"Sleepin'," he said.
"An' before? _Porque_, the sheriff he has been. To mek an arres' of you,
I t'eenk."
"Me?" said Jeff, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I haven't done
anything that I can remember now!"
"Sure? No small leetle cr-rime? Not las' night? Me, I jus' got up. I
have not hear'."
Jeff considered this suggestion carefully. "No. I am sure. Not for
years. Some mistake, I guess. Or maybe he just wanted to see me about
something else. Why didn't he come in?"
"I mek r-reques' of heem that he do not," said Monte.
"I see," Jeff laughed. "Come on; we'll go see him. You don't want to get
into trouble."
They crossed the bridge and met the sheriff just within the
fortifications, returning in a crowded automobile. Jeff held up his
hand. The machine stopped and the posse deployed--except Billy, who
acted as chauffeur.
"You wanted to see me, sheriff--at the hotel?"
"Why, yes, if you don't mind," said the sheriff.
"Good dinner? I ain't had breakfast yet!"
"First-class," said the sheriff cordially. "Won't your friend come too?"
"Ah, senor, you eshame me that I am not so hospitabble, ees eet not?"
purred Monte, as he followed Jeff into the tonneau.
The sheriff reddened and Billy choked.
"Nothing of the sort," said the sheriff hastily, lapsing into
literalness. "You were quite within your rights. For that matter, I
know you were at your own bank, dealing, when the crime was committed. I
am holding you for the present as a possible accessory; and, if not,
then as a material witness. By the way, Monte, would you mind if I sent
some men to look through your place? There is a matter of some thirty
thousand dollars missing. Lake asked us to look for it. I have papers
for it if you care to see them."
"Oh, no, senor!" said Monte. He handed over a key. "_La casa es suyo!_"
"Thank you," said the sheriff, with unmoved gravity. "Anything of yours
you want 'em to bring, Bransford?"
"Why, no," said Jeff cheerfully. "I've got nothing there but my saddle,
my gun and an old football suit that belongs to 'Gene Baird, over on the
West Side; but if you want me to stay long, I wish you'd look after my
horse."
"I too have lef' there my gun that I keep to protec' my leetle house,"
observed Monte. "Tell some one to keep eet for me. I am much attach' to
that gun."
"Why, yes, I have seen that gun, I think," said the sheriff. "They'll
look out for it. All right, Billy!"
The car turned back.
"Oh--you were speaking about Monte being an accessory. I didn't get in
till 'way late last night, and I've been asleep all day," said Jeff
apologetically. "Might I ask before or after exactly what fact Monte
was an accessory?"
"Bank robbery, for one thing."
"Ah!... That would be Lake's bank? Anything else?"
The sheriff was not a patient man and he had borne much; also, he liked
Lars Porsena. Perfection, even in trifles, is rare and wins affection.
He turned on Jeff, with an angry growl.
"Murder!"
"Lake?" murmured Jeff hopefully.
The sheriff continued, ignoring and, indeed, only half sensing the
purport of Jeff's comment:
"At least, the wound may not be mortal."
"That's too bad," said Jeff. He was, if possible, more cheerful than
ever.
The sheriff glared at him. Billy, from the front seat, threw a word of
explanation over his shoulder. "It's not Lake. The watchman."
"Oh, old Lars Porsena? That's different. Not a bad sort, Lars. Maybe
he'll get well. Hope so.... And I shot him? Dear me! When did it
happen?"
"You'll find out soon enough!" said the sheriff grimly. "Your
preliminary's right away."
"Hell, I haven't had breakfast yet!" Jeff protested. "Feed us first or
we won't be tried at all."
* * * * *
Within the jail, while the sheriff spoke with his warder, it occurred to
Billy that, since Jimmy Phillips was not to be seen, he might as well
carry his own friendly message. So he said guardedly:
"Buck up, old man! Keep a stiff upper lip and be careful what you say.
This is only your preliminary trial, remember. Lots of things may happen
before court sets. The devil looks after his own, you know."
Jeff had a good ear for voices, however, and Billy's mustache still kept
more than a hint of Mephistopheles. Jeff slowly surveyed Billy's natty
attire, with a lingering and insulting interest for such evidences of
prosperity as silken hosiery and a rather fervid scarfpin. At last his
eye met Billy's, and Billy was blushing.
"Does he?" drawled Jeff languidly. "Ah!... You own the car, then?"
Poor Billy!
Notwithstanding the ingratitude of this rebuff, Billy sought out Jimmy
Phillips and recounted to him the circumstances of the arrest.
"Oh, naughty, naughty!" said the deputy, caressing his nose. "Lake's
been a cowman on Rainbow. He knew the brand on that horse; he knew Jeff
was chummy with Monte. He knew in all reason that Jeff was in there, and
most likely he knew it all the time. So he sneaks off to see
Lars--after shooting him from ambush, damn him!--and sends you to take
Jeff. Looks like he might be willing for you and Jeff to damage either,
which or both of yourselves, as the case may be."
"It looks so," said Billy.
"Must be a fine girl!" murmured Jimmy absently. "Well, what are you
going to do? It looks pretty plain."
"It looks plain to us--but we haven't got a single tangible thing
against Lake yet. We'd be laughed out of court if we brought an
accusation against him. We'll have to wait and keep our eyes open."
"You're sure Lake did it? There was no rubber nosepiece at Monte's
house. All the rest of the football outfit--but not that. That looks bad
for Jeff."
"On the contrary, that is the strongest link against Lake. I dare say
Buttinski--Mr. Bransford--is eminently capable of bank robbery at odd
moments; but I know approximately where that noseguard was at sharp
midnight--after the watchman was shot." Here Billy swore mentally,
having a very definite guess as to how Jeff might have lost the
noseguard. "Lake, Clarke, Turnbull, Thompson, Alec or myself--one of the
six of us--brought that noseguard to the bank after the robbery, and
only one of the six had a motive--and a key."
"Only one of you had a key," corrected Jimmy cruelly. "But can't Jeff
prove where he was, maybe?"
"He won't."
"I'd sure like to see her," said Jimmy.