“I wish somebody would tell me!” exclaimed Jack Barnes, with a perplexed frown. “The beastly jays shot at us and all that. You’d think I was an outlaw. And they blazed away at Marjory, too, hang them!”
Marjory, too excited to act like a blushing bride, took up the story and told all that had happened. George Crosby became so interested that he forgot to keep guard.
“This is a funny mess!” he exclaimed. “There’s something wrong—”
“Hey, you!” came a shout from the outside.
“There they are!” cried Marjory, flying to her husband’s side. “What are we to do?”
“You mean, what are they to do? We’re married, and they can’t get around that, you know. Let ’em come!” cried the groom exultantly. “You don’t regret it, do you, sweetheart?” quite anxiously. She smiled up into his eyes, and he felt very secure.
“What do you fellows want?” demanded Crosby from the window. Anderson Crow was standing on the river bank like a true Napoleon, flanked by three trusty riflemen.
“Who air you?” asked Anderson in return. He was panting heavily, and his legs trembled.
“None of your business! Get off these grounds at once; they’re private!”
“None o’ your sass, now, young man; I’m an officer of the law, an’ a detective to boot! We sha’n’t stand any nonsense. The place is surrounded and he can’t escape! Where is he?”
“That’s for you to find out if you’re such a good detective! This is David Bracken’s place, and you can find him at his home on the hilltop yonder!”
“Ask him what we’ve done, George,” whispered Barnes.
“We ain’t after Mr. Bracken, young feller, but you know what we do want! He’s in there—you’re shielding him—we won’t parley much longer! Send him out!” said Anderson Crow.
“If you come a foot nearer you’ll get shot into the middle of kingdom come!” shouted Crosby defiantly.
The inmates gasped, for there was not a firearm on the place.
“Be careful!” warned the Reverend “Jimmy” nervously.
“Goin’ to resist, eh? Well, we’ll get him; don’t you worry; an’ that ornery female o’ hisn’, too!”
“Did you hear that?” exclaimed Jack Barnes. “Let me get at the old rat.” He was making for the door when the two women obstructed the way. Both were frantic with fear.
“But he called you a female!” roared he.
“Well, I am!” she wailed miserably.
“Who is it you want?” asked Crosby from the window.
“That’s all right,” roared Anderson Crow; “purduce him at once!”
“Is this the fellow?” and Crosby dragged the Reverend “Jimmy” into view. There was a moment’s inspection of the cadaverous face, and then the sleuths shook their heads.
“Not on your life!” said Mr. Crow. “But he’s in there—Ike Smalley seen him an’ his paramount go up the steps from the landin’! ’Twon’t do no good to hide him, young feller; he’s—”
“Well, let me tell you something. You are too late—they’re married!” cried Crosby triumphantly.
“I don’t give a cuss if they’re married and have sixteen children!” shouted the exasperated Crow, his badge fairly dancing. “He’s got to surrender!”
“Oh, he does, eh?”
“Yes, sir-ee-o-bob; he’s got to give up, dead or alive! Trot him out lively, now!”
“I don’t mind telling you that Mr. Barnes is here; but I’d like to know why you’re hunting him down like a wild beast, shooting at him and Miss—I mean Mrs. Barnes. It’s an outrage!”
“Oh, we ain’t the on’y people that can kill and slaughter! She’s just as bad as he is, for that matter—an’ so are you and that other lantern-jawed outlaw in there.” The Reverend “Jimmy” gasped and turned a fiery red.
“Did he call me a—say!” and he pushed Crosby aside. “I’d have you to understand that I’m a minister of the gospel—I am the Reverend James Bracken, of—”
A roar of laughter greeted his attempt to explain; and there were a few remarks so uncomplimentary that the man of cloth sank back in sheer hopelessness.
“Well, I’ll give them reason to think that I’m something of a desperado,” grated the Reverend “Jimmy,” squaring his shoulders. “If they attempt to put foot inside my uncle’s house I’ll—I’ll smash a few heads.”
“Bravo!” cried Mrs. Crosby. She was his cousin, and up to that time had had small regard for her mild-mannered relative.
“He can preach the funeral!” shouted Ike Smalley. By this time there were a dozen men on the bank below.
“I give you fair warning,” cried Anderson Crow impressively. “We’re goin’ to surround the house, an’ we’ll take that rascal if we have to shoot the boards into sawdust!”
“But what has he done, except to get married?” called Crosby as the posse began to spread out.
“Do you s’pose I’m fool enough to tell you if you don’t know?” said Anderson Crow. “Just as like as not you’d be claimin’ the thousand dollars reward if you knowed it had been offered! Spread out, boys, an’ we’ll show ’em dern quick!”
There was dead silence inside the house for a full minute. Every eye was wide and every mouth was open in surprise and consternation.
“A thousand dollars reward!” gasped Jack Barnes. “Then, good Lord, I must have done something!”
“What have you been doing, Jack Barnes?” cried his bride, aghast.
“I must have robbed a train,” said he dejectedly.
“Well, this is serious, after all,” said Crosby. “It’s not an eloper they’re after, but a desperado.”
“A kidnaper, perhaps,” suggested his wife.
“What are we to do?” demanded Jack Barnes.
“First, old man, what have you actually done?” asked the Reverend “Jimmy.”
“Nothing that’s worth a thousand dollars, I’m dead sure,” said Barnes positively. “By George, Marjory, this is a nice mess I’ve led you into!”
“It’s all right, Jack; I’m happier than I ever was before in my life. We ran away to get married, and I’ll go to jail with you if they’ll take me.”
“This is no time for kissing,” objected Crosby sourly. “We must find out what it all means. Leave it to me.”
It was getting dark in the room, and the shadows were heavy on the hills. While the remaining members of the besieged party sat silent and depressed upon the casks and boxes, Crosby stood at the window calling to the enemy.
“Is he ready to surrender?” thundered Anderson Crow from the shadows.
Then followed a brief and entirely unsatisfactory dialogue between the two spokesmen. Anderson Crow was firm in his decision that the fugitive did not have to be told what he had done; and George Crosby was equally insistent that he had to be told before he could decide whether he was guilty or innocent.
“We’ll starve him out!” said Anderson Crow.
“But there are ladies here, my good man; you won’t subject them to such treatment!”
“You’re all of a kind—we’re going to take the whole bunch!”
“What do you think will happen to you if you are mistaken in your man?”
“We’re not mistaken, dang ye!”
“He could sue you for every dollar you possess. I know, for I’m a lawyer!”
“Now, I’m sure you’re in the job with him. I s’pose you’ll try to work in the insanity dodge! It’s a nest of thieves and robbers! Say, I’ll give you five minutes to surrender; if you don’t, we’ll set fire to the derned shanty!”
“Look here, boys,” said Jack Barnes suddenly, “I’ve done nothing and am not afraid to be arrested. I’m going to give myself up.” Of course there was a storm of protest and a flow of tears, but the culprit was firm. “Tell the old fossil that if he’ll guarantee safety to me I’ll give up!”
Anderson was almost too quick in promising protection.
“Ask him if he will surrender and make a confessio
n to me—I am Anderson Crow, sir!” was the marshal’s tactful suggestion.
“He’ll do both, Mr. Crow!” replied Crosby.
“We’ve got to take the whole bunch of you, young man. You’re all guilty of conspiracy, the whole caboodle!”
“But the ladies, you darned old Rube—they can’t—”
“Looky here, young feller, you can’t dictate to me. I’ll have you to—”
“We’ll all go!” cried Mrs. Crosby warmly.
“To the very end!” added the new Mrs. Barnes.
“What will your father say?” demanded the groom.
“He’ll disown me anyway, dear, so what’s the difference?”
“It’s rather annoying for a minister—” began the Reverend “Jimmy,” putting on his hat.
“We’ll beg off for you!” cried Mrs. Crosby ironically.
“But I’m going to jail, too,” finished he grimly.
“All right,” called Crosby from the window; “here we come!”
And forth marched the desperate quintet, three strapping young men and two very pretty and nervous young women. They were met by Anderson Crow and a dozen armed men from Tinkletown, every one of them shaking in his boots. The irrepressible Mrs. Crosby said “Boo!” suddenly, and half the posse jumped as though some one had thrown a bomb at them.
“Now, I demand an explanation of this outrage,” said Jack Barnes savagely. “What do you mean by shooting at me and my—my wife and arresting us, and all that?”
“You’ll find out soon enough when you’re strung up fer it,” snarled Anderson Crow. “An’ you’ll please hand over that money I paid fer the hoss and buggy. I’ll learn you how to sell stolen property to me.”
“Oh, I’m a horse-thief, am I? This is rich. And they’ll string me up, eh? Next thing you’ll be accusing me of killing that farmer up near Boggs City.”
“Well, by gosh! you’re a cool one!” ejaculated Anderson Crow. “I s’pose you’re goin’ ter try the insanity dodge.”
“It’s lucky for me that they caught him,” said Barnes as the herd of prisoners moved off toward the string of boats tied to Mr. Bracken’s wharf.
“Come off!” exclaimed Squires, the reporter, scornfully. “We’re onto you, all right, all right.”
“What! Do you think I’m the man who—well, holy mackerel! Say, you gravestones, don’t you ever hear any news out here? Wake up! They caught the murderer at Billsport, not more than five miles from your jay burg. I was driving through the town when they brought him in. That’s what made me late, dear,” turning to Marjory.
“Yes, and I’ll bet my soul that here comes some one with the news,” cried George Crosby, who had heard nothing of the tragedy until this instant.
A rowboat containing three men was making for the landing. Somehow, Anderson Crow and his posse felt the ground sinking beneath them. Not a man uttered a sound until one of the newcomers called out from the boat:
“Is Anderson Crow there?”
“Yes, sir; what is it?” demanded Crow in a wobbly voice.
“Your wife wants to know when in thunder you’re comin’ home.” By this time the skiff was bumping against the landing.
“You tell her to go to Halifax!” retorted Anderson Crow. “Is that all you want?”
“They nabbed that murderer up to Billsport long ’bout ’leven o’clock,” said Alf Reesling, the town drunkard. “We thought we’d row down and tell you so’s you wouldn’t be huntin’ all night for the feller who—hello, you got him, eh?”
“Are you fellers lyin’?” cried poor Anderson Crow.
“Not on your life. We knowed about the captcher over in town just about half an hour after you started ’cross the river this afternoon.”
“You—four hours ago? You—you—” sputtered the marshal. “An’ why didn’t you let us know afore this?”
“There was a game o’ baseball in Hasty’s lot, an’—” began one of the newcomers sheepishly.
“Well, I’ll be gosh-whizzled!” gasped Anderson Crow, sitting down suddenly.
* * * *
An hour and a half later Mr. and Mrs. John Ethelbert Barnes were driven up to Judge Brewster’s country place in Mr. David Bracken’s brake. They were accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. George Crosby, and were carrying out the plans as outlined in the original programme.
“Where’s papa?” Marjory tremulously inquired of the footman in the hallway.
“He’s waitin’ for you in the library, miss—I should say Mrs. Barnes,” replied the man, a trace of excitement in his face.
“Mrs. Barnes!” exclaimed four voices at once.
“Who told you, William?” cried Marjory, leaning upon Jack for support.
“A Mr. Anderson Crow was here not half an hour ago, ma’am, to assure Mr. Brewster as to how his new son-in-law was in nowise connected with the murder up the way. He said as how he had personally investigated the case, miss—ma’am, and Mr. Brewster could rely on his word for it, Mr. Jack was not the man. He told him as how you was married at the boathouse.”
“Yes—and then?” cried Marjory eagerly.
“Mr. Brewster said that Mr. Jack wasn’t born to be hanged, and for me to have an extry plate laid at the table for him tonight,” concluded William with an expressive grin.
CHAPTER V
The Babe on the Doorstep
It was midnight in Tinkletown, many months after the events mentioned in the foregoing chapters, and a blizzard was raging. The February wind rasped through the bare trees, shrieked around the corners of lightless houses and whipped its way through the scurrying snow with all the rage of a lion. The snow, on account of the bitter cold in the air, did not fly in big flakes, but whizzed like tiny bullets, cutting the flesh of men and beasts like the sting of wasps. It was a good night to be indoors over a roaring fire or in bed between extra blankets. No one, unless commanded by emergency, had the temerity to be abroad that night.
The Crow family snoozed comfortably in spite of the calliope shrieks of the wind. The home of the town marshal was blanketed in peace and the wind had no terrors for its occupants. They slept the sleep of the toasted. The windows may have rattled a bit, perhaps, and the shutters may have banged a trifle too remorselessly, but the Crows were not to be disturbed.
The big, old-fashioned clock in the hall downstairs was striking twelve when Anderson Crow awoke with a start. He was amazed, for to awake in the middle of the night was an unheard-of proceeding for him. He caught the clang of the last five strokes from the clock, however, and was comforting himself with the belief that it was five o’clock, after all, when his wife stirred nervously.
“Are you awake, Anderson?” she asked softly.
“Yes, Eva, and it’s about time to get up. It jest struck five. Doggone, it’s been blowin’ cats and dogs outside, ain’t it?” he yawned.
“Five? It’s twelve-now, don’t tell me you counted the strokes, because I did myself. Ain’t it queer we should both git awake at this unearthly hour?”
“Well,” murmured he sleepily now that it was not five o’clock, “it’s a mighty good hour to go back to sleep ag’in, I reckon.”
“I thought I heard a noise outside,” she persisted.
“I don’t blame you,” he said, chuckling. “It’s been out there all night.”
“I mean something besides the wind. Sounded like some one walkin’ on the front porch.”
“Now, look here, Eva, you ain’t goin’ to git me out there in this blizzard—in my stockin’ feet—lookin’ fer robbers—”
“Just the same, Anderson, I’m sure I heard some one. Mebby it’s some poor creature freezin’ an’ in distress. If I was you, I’d go and look out there. Please do.”
“Doggone, Eva, if you was me you’d be asleep instid of huntin’ up trouble on a night like this. They ain’t nothin’ down there an’ you—but, by cracky! mebby you’re right. Supposin’ there is some poor cuss out there huntin’ a place to sleep. I’ll go and look;” and Mr. Crow, the most tender-hearted man
in the world, crawled shiveringly but quickly from the warm bed. In his stocking feet—Anderson slept in his socks on those bitter nights—he made his way down the front stairs, grumbling but determined. Mrs. Crow followed close behind, anxious to verify the claim that routed him from his nest.
“It may be a robber,” she chattered, as he pulled aside a front window curtain. Anderson drew back hastily.
“Well, why in thunder didn’t you say so before?” he gasped. “Doggone, Eva, that’s no way to do! He might ’a’ fired through the winder at me.”
“But he’s in the house by this time, if it was a robber,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t stand out on the porch all night.”
“That’s right,” he whispered in reply. “You’re a good deducer, after all. I wish I had my dark lantern. Thunderation!” He stubbed his toe against the sewing machine. There is nothing that hurts more than unintentional contact with a sewing machine. “Why in sixty don’t you light a light, Eva? How can I—”
“Listen!” she whispered shrilly. “Hear that? Anderson, there’s some one walkin’ on the porch!”
“’y gosh!” faltered he. “Sure as Christmas! You wait here, Eva, till I go upstairs an’ put on my badge and I’ll—”
“I’ll do nothing of the kind. You don’t ketch me stayin’ down here alone,” and she grabbed the back of his nightshirt as he started for the stairs.
“Sho! What air you afeerd of? I’ll get my revolver, too. I never did see such a coward’y calf as—”
Just then there was a tremendous pounding on the front door, followed by the creaking of footsteps on the frozen porch, a clatter down the steps, and then the same old howling of the wind. The Crows jumped almost out of their scanty garments, and then settled down as if frozen to the spot. It was a full minute before Anderson found his voice—in advance of Mrs. Crow at that, which was more than marvellous.
“What was that?” he chattered.
“A knock!” she gasped.
“Some neighbour’s sick.”
“Old Mrs. Luce. Oh, goodness, how my heart’s going!”
“Why don’t you open the door, Eva?”
“Why don’t you? It’s your place.”
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