Kiddie the Scout

by Leighton, Robert

  Their nearest way to the cabin was past the front of the stables. Rube Carter limped forward in advance of his two companions, searching the ground as he went. Suddenly he came to a halt.

  "Hallo!" he cried. "Come an' look here, Kiddie. What d'you make of this?"

  He was staring down at the marks of a horse's shoes, mingled with the impressions of a man's hob-nailed boots.

  "Looks like the tracks of your big horse Regent, don't it?" he questioned. "An' the bootmarks are the same's the one near the canoe."

  Kiddie did not wait to make conjectures. He strode quickly towards the stables. Before he reached the building he saw that the stable door was open. He went within. His favourite English hunter, Regent, was not there. Its stall was empty.

  "Stolen!" he exclaimed. "Rube—Isa, d'ye see? Regent's been stolen!"

  "Then we'll sure catch him, whoever he is," said Rube. "He won't ride many miles without Regent bein' seen an' recognized by somebody that knows that hoss is yours."

  "Any suspicion who it is?" asked the sheriff.

  "What's your own idea, Isa?" Kiddie inquired.

  "Well," returned Isa, "seems ter me thar was more'n one of 'em at this yer job. I'm tryin' t' identify th' owner of them boots. I've got a notion; but I ain't goin' ter jump at no rash conclusions this time. Come an' have a look at that broken winder."

  Rube had gone back to the footprints, and was intently examining them when Kiddie went up to him.

  "Well," queried Kiddie, always interested in Rube's investigations, whatever they happened to be.

  "This is where he mounted," said Rube. "Here's where he stood when he was fastening the cinch of the saddle. Nick ain't such a clever criminal as I thought. I wonder at him leavin' his bootprints scattered about like this. Why didn't he mount from the grass?"

  "He was certainly careless," agreed Kiddie. "Looks as if he'd been in a precious hurry to get away with the boodle. You're sure, I suppose, that it was Nick Undrell who wore boots like those that made these marks?"

  "What makes me certain," said Rube, "is the missin' nail. I noticed it that day when we were bringin' along your outfit from Laramie. You've got to remember, too, that Nick's bin seen prowlin' around on your property here."

  "Go ahead, then, Rube," urged Kiddie. "Follow up your clues, and don't waste time."

  Kiddie himself did not appear to take much active interest in tracking the criminal. He knew that a large quantity of his most valuable possessions had been stolen, but he still considered the killing of his dog the most serious injury that had been done to him, and while Isa and Rube made their way towards the cabin, he again went back to where Sheila lay dead.

  When he rejoined his two companions they were still searching for tracks outside the cabin.

  "Thar wasn't more'n one of 'em at it," Rube told him. "If there'd bin a second, he'd sure have left some sort of clue; but we've found only the one set of bootprints."

  "Have you looked near the window?" Kiddie asked.

  "Not yet; I'm goin' there right now," replied Rube. "Keep Isa Blagg back, or he'll only get trampin' out the signs with them heavy boots of his. Just let me go alone—see?"

  "Right," said Kiddie; "go ahead."

  Rube found an empty packing-case against the boards under the window. He mounted on top of it, and examined the window sash and the broken pane of glass, by means of which the catch of the window had been opened. There were finger-marks on the glass, but these did not help him, since he did not yet know what kind of marks Nick Undrell's fingers might have left. What engaged his especial attention was one of the sharp points of splintered glass. He jumped down, and went back to where Kiddie and the sheriff waited.

  "Either of you happen ter recollect what kind of a vest or shirt Nick Undrell wears?" he inquired. "Red, ain't it?"

  Kiddie shook his head.

  "Never saw Nick with red shirt-sleeves," he responded.

  "Nor I," added the sheriff. "If you'd said yaller now——"

  "Yes," resumed Kiddie; "yellow with black stripes, like a wasp, or an English football player."

  "Come along o' me," said Rube.

  And he led them both to the window, and pointed up at the broken glass.

  "Yes," began Kiddie, "he broke that pane, shoved in his hand, and moved the hasp, then opened the lower sash, and went bodily in."

  "All that's as plain as sunlight," said Rube. "But look at that sharp point of glass. Thar's a thread of wool caught on it—yellow wool."

  "Ah!" exclaimed Isa Blagg. "Nick Undrell for a certainty!"

  "That's how I figure it out," Rube agreed.

  "Queer!" mused Kiddie, thrusting a finger and thumb into one of his smaller pockets. "I found a thread of the same yellow wool caught in one of poor Sheila's claws—the middle claw of the left fore foot."

  "Dog got at him pretty close," conjectured Isa. "Guess Nick was right up agin her when he fired."

  "The hair ain't singed any round about the bullet hole," added Rube.

  "That's an important point," nodded Kiddie, turning and leading the way round to the front door of the cabin.

  Rube Carter, following close behind him, sniffed, as Kiddie had done, on entering the living-room.

  "Ugh," grunted Rube, "somebody bin havin' a smoke in here lately. Smells like a cigar, don't it, Kiddie? 'Tain't pipe tobacco smoke—eh?"

  "No," said Kiddie, sniffing like a spaniel after partridge. "It's more like the aroma of one of my Egyptian cigarettes." He glanced up at a shelf. "They're gone, I see."

  Rube also looked up at the shelf. He knew where Kiddie kept his stock of cigarettes. He knew also that besides the cigarettes there had been several parcels of pipe tobacco. He observed now that while the cigarettes had been taken, the tobacco remained on the shelf untouched. This fact puzzled him.

  Kiddie had already gone into the farther room—his workroom—with Isa Blagg. Isa had taken out his pocket-book and pencil.

  "If you'll sing out the things that are missin', Kiddie, I'll make a list of 'em," he said.

  "But I can't tell you right off," objected Kiddie. "There's my gold watch and chain, worth fifty guineas, a gold cigarette-case studded with brilliants, five diamond rings, three diamond scarfpins, about five hundred pounds in English and American bank-notes—a whole heap of things are missin', but I'm not goin' ter worry about 'em now. The list can wait."

  "But you want t' catch an' punish the thief, don't you?" urged Isa.

  "I want to catch and punish the low-down skunk who murdered my deerhound," declared Kiddie, his eyes flashing in the vehemence of his anger.

  "Kiddie," said Rube, now entering the room, "I'm some puzzled."

  "What about, Rube?" asked Kiddie. "What's your problem?"

  "It's this," answered Rube, scratching the back of his ear. "Allowin' that Nick Undrell entered by the broken winder an' carried off the valuables you've just bin figurin' up, why, when he went into th' other room, did he take the cigarettes an' leave the tobacco?"

  "That's a very interestin' proposition which has already occurred to me," said Kiddie.

  "You see," pursued Rube, "Nick ain't a cigarette smoker. He looks on a cigarette as a childish plaything. He smokes strong tobacco, the same as we found in his pipe. Then why did he take the cigarettes an' leave the tobacco?"

  "Dunno," said Kiddie, "unless it was with the idea of leavin' a false clue—a blind. If he had taken the tobacco, I, who know his contempt for cigarettes, might the more readily have identified him."

  "Thar's a lot in that notion," Rube acknowledged; "but it's just a bit too cute fer a man like Nick. The galoot that would scatter his footprints around an' leave his pipe in the canoe ain't clever enough ter lay a false trail. Seems to me it's more likely Nick didn't see the tobacco. He was hustlin' to get away with the loot."

  "Everything else clear?" Kiddie asked.

  "Yes," answered Rube. "I've got the whole thing straightened out."

  "Good," nodded Kiddie; "then sit down an' give me your theory, from b
eginnin' to end."

  Isa Blagg appeared to consider it preposterous to appeal for an explanation to a mere boy. Nevertheless, when Rube stated his case the sheriff was constrained to agree with it in every particular.

  CHAPTER XXII

  RUBE CARTER'S THEORY—AND KIDDIE'S

  "To begin with, then," said Rube, "Nick Undrell knew about your valuables—knew that you kept 'em here in your cabin; and he coveted them. He'd made up his mind weeks ago to get hold of 'em. He admitted as much to you yourself, an' he put you off suspectin' him by makin' out that he'd started on a new trail by givin' up drink an' gamblin' and thievin'. That's where he was artful. Then he knew that you'd gone away on a campin'-out trip. We've bin told as he's bin spyin' around here an' tryin' to make friends with the dog.

  "Naturally, he didn't know just when we should be back. Anyhow, he reckoned that last night would be safe, there bein' no moonlight. In case he should be heard movin' through the bush, he took the loan of our spare canoe an' dropped along silent by water. I'm figurin' that he calculated on the dog knowin' him an' not barkin'. But he wanted ter make sure, an' he crept up towards the kennel.

  "Sheila was free; she wasn't chained up or locked in; an' she met him. Whether she fawned on him or attacked him, an' so got that thread of yaller wool on her claw don't greatly signify, though I guess she attacked him, an' he shot her dead, going up to her afterwards t' make sure, an' leavin' his footprint."

  Kiddie nodded in satisfaction at the boy's narrative.

  "And then?" he said.

  "Then Nick made a bee-line for the cabin, broke the pane of glass, opened the winder, an' crawled in. Here he collected all the valuables he c'd lay his hands on—money, trinkets, jewels—hundreds and hundreds of dollars' worth, an' packed the lot into the gunny sack that he found in that there corner."

  "Ah, I didn't remember that gunny sack," said Kiddie. "I had wondered how the things were carried away. Well?"

  "Well," continued Rube, "after that, he went through the sittin'-room t' escape by the front door. He looked around the room an' caught sight of the cigarettes and tobacco. Before decidin' which ter take, he thought he'd try one of the cigarettes, so he smoked one, leavin' the scent of it hangin' in the air. I reckon he enjoyed it, so he took the cigarettes an' left the pipe tobacco."

  "They are very good cigarettes, I believe," commented Kiddie. "I've never smoked one myself."

  "Still, I wonder at Nick Undrell leavin' all that tobacco on the shelf," put in Isa Blagg. "What d'you figure he did next, Rube? Went around to the stables, helped himself t' the best hoss thar, an' rode off, I should say."

  "That's about it," concluded Rube.

  "My theory exactly," declared the sheriff, "an' now I calculate the first thing t' do is ter get on Nick's tracks an' arrest him."

  "Wait," said Kiddie. "There's one thing that Rube has not explained. What about the canoe? We found it tied up in Grizzly Notch. How did it get back there?"

  "Ar-rum!" ejaculated Rube. "I forgot the canoe; but I suppose Nick took it back an' tied it up 'fore he went to the stable."

  "Not at all," said Kiddie. "Your theory is wrong from beginnin' to end. The canoe was never used. The paddles were in the boat-house as dry as a bone. The tobacco pipe, the dead matches and the footprint were planted there purposely as a blind to put us on a false trail. I don't deny that the pipe was Nick Undrell's, or the boots, or that the threads of yellow worsted came from Nick's vest. But in spite of these clues, yes, even because of them, I believe that Nick Undrell had nothing to do with this robbery."

  "Git!" exclaimed Isa Blagg, with a derisive laugh.

  "S-shoo!" whispered Rube in amazement.

  "You say you didn't touch the dead dog," pursued Kiddie, "didn't look into her eyes an' see how the pupils were dilated; didn't handle her limbs an' feel how rigid they were. You've seen many an animal killed with a bullet, Rube, but you never saw one lookin' as Sheila looks. Why? Because she wasn't shot. It was poison that killed her—a quick an' deadly poison, injected on the point of a dart, a spear, or, perhaps even an arrow. And the bootprint was made purposely by the man who went up to her to recover the weapon and to fix the thread of yellow worsted to her claw, just as he afterwards fixed the thread on the splinter of window glass, as an intentionally misleading clue. As to the cigarettes and tobacco, there need have been no hesitation. The cigarettes were taken in preference by a man who never smokes a pipe, but is peculiarly fond of cigarettes."

  "Gee!" cried Rube. "You are clever, Kiddie."

  Kiddie had disappeared into his bedroom. When he came out again some minutes afterwards, he was dressed as a western cowboy.

  "Hullo!" exclaimed Rube. "Where're you off to?"

  "Along to Laramie ter locate Nick Undrell," drawled Kiddie, fixing his six-shooter in his belt.

  He hastened out to the stables, saddled and mounted a pony, and started off through the woodland towards the trail.

  Hardly had he got out from among the trees when he heard the clattering of a horse's galloping feet. He dropped the bridle over his pony's head, leapt from his saddle, gathered the coils of his lariat in his fist, and crept to the side of the trail. The galloping horse came swiftly nearer. Kiddie peeped out over the edge of a boulder and recognized his own bay hunter Regent.

  The rider's face was hidden under his wide hat, but as he raised his whip hand there was the gleam of a yellow and black striped vest. Kiddie gripped his lariat ready to throw, but he did not throw it. Instead, he whistled loud and shrill, and, as the horseman came abreast of him, he called out—

  "Nick—Nick!"

  Nick Undrell drew rein, and, swinging sharply round, rode up to Kiddie.

  "The very man I wanted to see," said Kiddie, dropping his lariat, and seizing the hunter's palpitating muzzle in his hands. "Where is he, Nick?"

  "He?" echoed Nick Undrell, with a laugh. "Well, if your lordship's referrin' ter Broken Feather, he's a prisoner in my shack, wearin' handcuffs an' a pair of my boots, an' with two o' my boys standin' over him with loaded revolvers. An' the boodle—the loot—the swag that the greasy skunk stole from your cabin last night, it's all fixed up right an' tight in Laramie Bank."

  CHAPTER XXIII

  EVIDENCE FOR THE PROSECUTION

  "Good—very good," said Kiddie. "He's captured; and you're sure he can't escape—eh?"

  Nick Undrell laughed.

  "Don't you alarm yourself any," he answered, dismounting from the bay horse. "He ain't goin' t' escape, that's sure."

  "Very well," returned Kiddie, slinging his coiled lariat over the horn of his saddle. "In that case, I c'n afford to wait for your further explanations until we get along to my cabin. Sheriff Blagg is there, an' young Rube Carter."

  He led his pony through the woodland by the same narrow trail that he had followed a few minutes earlier, and it was not long before they reached the stables.

  "I presume," said Kiddie, when he was closing the door, leaving the two horses secure in their stalls, "that Broken Feather was ridin' my horse Regent when you laid him by the heels?"

  "That's so," Nick answered; "the best hoss I've ever bin astride of. Yes, we waylaid him—middle of One Tree Gulch."

  "Seems you expected him. You knew just where he'd been, an' what he'd been up to. You expected him to ride through One Tree Gulch exactly at that time?"

  "No, your lordship," returned Nick; "I knew nothin' for sure. It was no more'n a cute guess on my part, knowin' the man."

  Kiddie turned and looked at Undrell very steadily.

  "I'm very much afraid that you know more about this business than you're likely to admit," he said. "You were in it yourself to some extent. Perhaps you even went partners with him—eh?"

  "What?" Nick showed genuine astonishment at the implied accusation.

  "Walk right in," ordered Kiddie, when they were at the front door of the cabin.

  Isa Blagg started forward excitedly at Nick's unexpected entrance.

  "Got him already!" he exclaimed. "That's
smart, Kiddie—real smart."

  "Wait, Isa, wait," retorted Kiddie. "I want to ask a few questions."

  He reached round to his desk and laid a tobacco pipe on the table in front of Nick Undrell.

  "Is that yours?" he asked.

  "Yes," said Nick, taking it up and turning it in his fingers, "it's sure mine. Where'd you pick it up? Last time I see it 'twas on the shelf at home in my shack. Been lying thar for months. Too good ter throw away, not good enough ter smoke. How in thunder did it get here?"

  "It was found in one of our canoes," explained Kiddie. "You are supposed to have dropped it there and forgotten it."

  "Never bin in one o' your canoes in all my life," Nick declared.

  "Ever been in this room before?" pursued Kiddie.

  "Never," Nick denied; "never been inside the door."

  "Show me the soles of your boots," said Kiddie.

  Nick lifted his feet for inspection. Kiddie looked at the smooth soles inquiringly, nodded in satisfaction, and then leant forward and carefully picked a thread of yellow worsted from Undrell's striped vest.

  "How do you explain," he went on, "that we found a thread of this very same yellow wool caught in the glass of that broken window? How do you account for a thread of the same stuff bein' found fixed round one of the claws of my dead hound?"

  "Your dead hound!" repeated Nick, in genuine surprise. "Dead, d'ye say? D'ye mean he killed it—shot it? My, I'm glad we captured him—real glad, I am."

  "What's that?" cried Isa Blagg. "Who d'ye mean?"

  "All right, Sheriff," said Kiddie. "Leave it to me, please. I've only one more question to ask." He turned to Nick again. "Ever smoked one of my foreign cigarettes, Nick?" he inquired.

  Nick shook his head.

  "Never even seen one of 'em, except that time in my shack when you offered me one outer your gold case, an' I wouldn't have it," he answered. "But I guess you knows as well as I do that Broken Feather collared a whole heap of 'em?"

  "Yes," said Kiddie. "It was the takin' of the cigarettes that made me certain that the robber was Broken Feather. You will have gathered from my questions that he tried to fix the crime upon you, Nick. He wore a pair of your boots an' left the prints of them around. He planted your old pipe in the canoe. He left the yellow threads from your woollen vest where they would serve as clues pointin' to you an' you alone and at the same time he was most careful to leave no trace or sign of his own identity."