Old Silas K. Mears dashed madly down the main street of the little
mountain town, his arms waving excitedly, whiskers blowing back about
his ears. “Robbery! Murder! Thieves!” He was shouting at the top of
his voice.
From stores and houses people poured forth into the early morning
sunlight, babbling questions, calling back and forth, mingling comment
with exclamation. Soon a ring of excited townsfolk barred the progress
of the excited man, and he slowed his gait to a walk and looked wildly
around him.
“Telephone the sheriff!” he said. “We gotta get him out here at once,
an’ we’d better get some man from the city that knows all about such
things. This here ain’t no ordinary job. This is a real crime.”
Pushed inward by the eager newcomers who gathered on the outside of the
noisy circle, those about Mears pressed forward until he was fairly
touching the ring on all sides. Then the men parted, as H. F. Horn,
local justice of the peace and oracle of the law, came waddling his way
through the men.
“Calm down, Mears, calm down an’ tell us about it in a connected way.
Mebbe I’d better have ye come down to the office an’ tell me in private,
because there might be some things that had better be kept secret, so’s
we won’t tip off the crooks.”
That suggestion was greeted by silent opposition on the part of the
crowd. The circle, having opened wide enough to allow the pompous
justice of the peace ingress, walled around him with unyielding
finality, standing on tiptoed hostility, refusing to be balked in its
desire to hear the news.
Judge Horn was not particularly popular, anyway. He had blossomed
out with a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles after a trip to the city,
spectacles that he really didn’t need, since he had gone more than
sixty years without any aid to his vision, and there was more than a
suspicion on the part of the inhabitants of Mesa Flat that the judge
had been merely trying to “high-tone” the boys. Judge Horn waddled
not so much because of his excessive flesh as because of his
ponderous dignity. His face was never seen when it was not puckered
into a portentous and scholarly frown. He delighted to walk down the
main street of the town, a calfskin law book under his arm, a cigar
in his mouth, and his eyes fixed straight ahead in a determined
stare of studied preoccupation.
Silas Mears recognized the authority of the law, regained his breath,
and launched into a disjointed account of his troubles.
“The safe--they got everything--cleaned me out. This here nitroglycerin
stuff blew her all to smithereens and busted everything wide open; ten
thousand dollars an’ murder; yep, Ben Drake, my old clerk, the one that
does the sweepin’ out an’ all that stuff, is lyin’ there with his head
smashed in, an’ his eyes rolled up, and ten thousand dollars gone, an’
lots o’ papers blown here an’ there and everywhere.
“I’m tellin’ you fellows we gotta get busy. We gotta get the sheriff,
an’ I’m goin’ to get this here detective from the city that puts on the
radio talk about guardin’ against crime. I want a regular smart feller
to handle this here crime.”
There came the soft pad of a horse’s hoofs in the dust of the unpaved
street, and “Dad” Anderson drew rein on the outskirts of the milling
circle of humanity.
“Hi, there--you, Mears! What’s the trouble?”
Mears looked up at the sound of the voice, his eyes ranging over the
heads of the spectators to the grim, lined face of the man on horseback,
a face that was seamed with years, bronzed with the sun, and in which
there twinkled a pair of kindly gray eyes.
“Come on down to the store an’ see for yourself,” said Mears. “I ain’t
goin’ to tell this here story more than a dozen times. I’ve been
robbed of ten thousand dollars, and Ben Drake’s been murdered; that’s
all that’s happened. You’re a fine constable, bein’ home asleep, while
these here crooks was dynamitin’ my safe. Me bein’ robbed o’ ten
thousand dollars, an’ you comin’ down after it’s all over to ask what
it’s all about! That’s the trouble with this here town. We got a lot
o’ pensioners on the list o’ peace officers, an’ we ain’t got no real
police protection.”
Dad Anderson’s eyes retained their kindly twinkle. “All worked up, ain’t
yuh, Mears? Guess I’d better git on down there an’ take a look.”
Mears fought his way forward through the crowd. “Don’t go down there an’
start disturbin’ anything, Dad Anderson. I’m going to have a regular
detective from the city come up here an’ take charge o’ this here case,
an’ I don’t want none o’ you local fellers bunglin’ up the clews.”
Dad’s eyes hardened just the faintest bit of a glint. “Say, you’d better
wait with all that line o’ talk until yuh get yore feelin’s calmed down
a mite, Mears. Yuh might say somethin’ yuh didn’t mean.”
The words had no calming effect on the merchant. He flushed and pointed
a bony finger at the constable.
“I mean what I said, an’ I’m sayin’ what I mean. Yore just an old
has-been. What do you know about crime? Nothin’! What safe robber did
yuh ever arrest? Nary one. Yuh don’t know nothin’ more about safe
robberies than I do.”
Dad Anderson smiled, a slow, whimsical smile. “Waal, now, don’t start
gettin’ all het up about it. I aim to keep peace in the town, an’ the
only reason I ain’t arrested no safe robbers durin’ my term o’ office is
because there ain’t been no safe robberies. I’ve done kept peace in the
town by sorta lookin’ after things a bit. An’ as for safe robberies,
there ain’t nothin’ about ’em no different from anything else. Just use
your head a bit an’ keep cool, an’ you can find out all there is to find
out. It’s like trackin’ a steer or breakin’ a hoss. All yuh gotta do is
to keep cool and keep pluggin’.”
Mears sneered. “Oh, is that so? Well, if you had a radio like I have
and heard the way these here modern detectives talk about how safes
is blowed up an’ all about the classifications o’ finger prints an’
suchlike, yuh wouldn’t show yore ignorance in public. This here
business o’ detectin’ safe robbers is a regular business in itself.
I heard ‘Big Bill’ Poindexter himself say so over the radio the
other night. He said it took the best brains in the whole detective
profession--that safe-blowin’ business--an’ he went on an’ told
about how safes got dynamited, an’ how the automobile was makin’ it
possible for crooks to come into the small country towns, where the
authorities didn’t know what was goin’ on in the world. Oh, go ahead
on down there if you’ve got to, but don’t disturb none o’ the clews
none, because I’m goin’ to get Big Bill Poindexter to come up here
on this case. I’m goin’ to dig down an’ pay the money outa my own
pocket. I lost ten thousand dollars, an’ I can’t afford to lose that
outa my business. I’d go into the hands of the board o’ trade if I
couldn’t get that back. I can’t afford to monkey with none of you
fellows that don’t savvy this here safe-blowin’ game. I gotta get
that money back, and I’m goin’ to get the man that can get it back.”
Dad Anderson made no rejoinder, but swung slightly in the saddle. “Come
on, ‘Prince,’” he said softly to the high-strung horse.
The crowd shuffled along in the rear. Judge Horn, trying to maintain
his official dignity by keeping in the vanguard, and at the same time
maintain his strutting gait, found himself laboring under a handicap,
and he turned savagely upon the people who were pressing forward.
“Git back there!” he exclaimed. “You fellows can’t see anything until
after I’ve inspected the premises, anyway. Hold up there, constable. I
ain’t got any horse, and I’ve got first right to git in that place. The
court has got to view the premises before the officers. You’re just an
officer of the court.”
Patiently, deferentially Dad Anderson checked his horse. “I didn’t know
yuh was there, judge. Why didn’t yuh speak sooner? Slow down, boys!
Let’s let the judge get there the same time we do.”
Always patient, never known to lose his temper or to speak an unkind
word, Dad Anderson smiled out on life from his weather-beaten face and
let his gray eyes twinkle forth their friendly message. No amount of
officious authority on the part of Judge Horn could ever lead the
patient constable to expose the old fraud or to question the judicial
prerogatives which were so frequently assumed by the pompous justice.
Always riding his horse, always with a kind word for every one, knowing
the name of every dog and every child in the city, Dad Anderson looked
out upon the world, made due allowances for human weaknesses, and found
that the world was worth saving.