“In that case, it is just as important to get the plates as the criminals,” put in Songbird.
“Well, this stumps me,” declared Tom. “No wonder they kept chasing us off.”
“And no wonder Sam and Dick were made prisoners,” added Fred.
“I hope the rascals don’t do them harm,” said Tom. “If I thought that, I’d be for moving on the ranch without delay.”
“I think your brothers will be safe enough for the time being,” came from James Monday. “I am sorry that you let that dolt get away from you.”
“If we had thought it of such importance, we should certainly have kept him a prisoner,” replied Songbird.
“I was watching my chance to get into the ranch house unobserved,” continued the government official. “That shot rather floored me. But I am going to get in, some way,” he added with determination.
“Listen, I think I hear somebody coming!” cried Songbird.
“Let us get to the side of the road,” said James Monday.
They did as advised, the boys mounting their horses and the government official donning his wig and false beard and taking Sam’s steed. Soon they were stationed behind a pile of rocks.
“It’s a wagon that is coming!” said Tom a minute later. “I can hear the wheels scraping on the rocks.”
“I think I’ll investigate on foot,” said James Monday, and slipped to the ground once more. Soon the wagon came in sight. It was pulled by a team of strong looking horses and was piled high with boxes. On the seat sat an old man.
“Hullo, there!” called out the government official, stepping along the trail in the direction of the turnout.
The old man was evidently startled, and he pulled up with a jerk. As he did so, the boys rode a little closer.
“Hullo, stranger! What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you,” responded James Monday.
“What about?” and the old man began to grow uncomfortable.
“Where are you bound?”
“What do ye want to know fer?”
“I am curious, that’s all, friend. Are you afraid to answer me?”
“No, I ain’t. I’m bound fer Red Rock ranch.”
“What have you on the wagon?”
“All sorts o’ supplies that came in on the railroad.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bill Cashaw. It seems to me you’re a curious one, you are.”
“Do you belong in town, or out here?”
“In town, o’course. Hain’t I lived there nigh sixty-four years?”
“Do you work steadily for Sack Todd?”
“No. I do a leetle drivin’ now an’ then, that’s all. But, see here—”
“Do you know all the others at the ranch?”
“Most on ‘em. I don’t know the new fellers much.”
“Did you intend to stay at the ranch?”
“You mean to-night?”
“Yes.”
“Not unless Sack asked me to stay. He’s queer about that, you know.” The old man glanced at the boys. “Quite a party o’ ye, hain’t there?”
“You state positively that you do not belong to the crowd at the ranch?” resumed the government official.
“I said so. But, see here, stranger—”
“Please get down off that wagon,” went on James Monday quietly.
“Eh?”
“I said get down off that wagon.”
“What fer?”
“Because I want you to.”
“Say, are this a hold-up?” cried the old man in renewed alarm. “If it are, I hain’t a-goin’ to stand fer it, an’ let me say that Sack Todd will be after you-uns bald-headed fer it!”
“This is not exactly a hold-up,” said the detective with a faint smile. “Get down and I will explain. If you try to resist, you’ll only get into trouble.”
“Suppose I’ll have to obey,” groaned the old man as he climbed down from the seat. “You-uns are five to one on this. I’m like the coon an’ Davy Crockett—I know when ter come down out o’ the tree. But I don’t understand your game, stranger.”
“As I said before, I don’t intend to hurt you, Mr. Cashaw. But I am after certain information, and I rather think you can aid me in getting it.”
“What you want to know?”
“In the first place, I want you to tell me all you know about Sack Todd. What does he do at his ranch?”
“Humph! Don’t ask me, fer I don’t know. An’ if I did—”
“And if you did—”
“Sack’s been a putty good friend ter me, stranger. Lent me a hundred dollars onct, when a fire had cleaned me out. A feller don’t feel much about hurtin’ his friend.”
“That is so, too. Then you really don’t know what is going on at the ranch? Come now, speak the truth,” and James Monday’s voice grew stern.
“Well, it’s some sort o’ patent, I guess. Sack don’t want folks to git onto it. Reckon it’s a new-fangled printing press—one to run by electristity—or sumthin’ like that.”
“He told you that, did he?”
“Yes. But I hain’t goin’ to answer no more questions,” went on the old man, and started to mount the wagon seat again.
“Wait,” said James Monday. “I am sorry, but you’ll have to stay here for the present, Mr. Cashaw.”
“You mean you are goin’ to make me stay here?”
“For a while, yes.”
“With the wagon?”
“No, I’ll drive your wagon to the ranch.”
“I ain’t askin’ you to do the job.”
“I’ll do it for nothing,” answered the government official with a quiet smile.
“See here, I don’t understand this, at all,” cried Bill Cashaw. “What is yer game, anyhow?”
“If you want me to be plain, I’ll tell you. I suspect the men at the ranch of a serious crime. For all I know, you are one of the gang and as bad as the rest. If so, you’re face to face with a long term in prison.”
“Crime? Prison? I ain’t done a thing!”
“If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear, and you will do what you can to aid me in running down the guilty parties.”
At this, the face of the old man became a study. He started to talk, stammered and became silent.
“Tell me!” he burst out suddenly. “Are you an officer?”
“I am—working under the United States Government.”
“Oh!” The old man turned pale. “Then let me say, as I said afore, I ain’t done nuthin’ wrong, an’ I don’t want to go to prison. If them fellers at the ranch are criminals, I don’t want ter work fer ‘em no more, an’ I’ll help you to bring ‘em to justice.”
CHAPTER XXIV
TOM CARRIES A LETTER
After that it was a comparatively easy matter to get the old man to talk, and he told James Monday and the boys practically all he knew about Sack Todd and his followers.
He said it was commonly supposed that Sack Todd had some invention that he was jealously guarding. Some folks thought the man was a bit crazy on the subject of his discoveries, and so did not question him much concerning them. The machinery and other material which arrived from time to time were all supposed to be parts of the wonderful machine Sack Todd was having made at various places.
While he was talking, the old man looked at Tom many times in curiosity.
“Might I ask your name?” he said at length.
“What do you want ‘to know that for?” returned Tom.
“Because you look so wonderfully like my son Bud—an’ you talk like him, too. But Bud’s skin is a bit darker nor yours.”
“My name is Tom Rover.”
“Talking about looking alike,” broke in Fred. “There’s a strong resemblance,” and he po
inted to the detective and the old man. “Of course, you don’t look quite so old,” he added to James Monday.
“I am glad that you think we look alike,” smiled back the government official. “I was banking on that.”
“What do you mean?” came from Songbird.
“I will show you in a minute. Mr. Cashaw, I’ll trouble you to exchange hats, coats and collars with me,” the detective continued, turning to the old man.
The latter did not understand, but gave up his wearing apparel a moment later, and soon James Monday was wearing them. Then the detective rubbed a little dirt on his hands and face and, with a black pencil he carried, gave himself a few marks around the mouth and eyes.
“How do you do, boys?” he called out, in exact imitation of Bill Cashaw.
“Wonderful!” ejaculated Tom. “That will do splendidly.
“Mine cracious! I ton’t vos know vich been you an’ vich been der old man!” burst out Hans. “You vos like two pretzels alretty!”
“That’s a fine comparison,” laughed Fred, and all had to smile over the German youth’s words.
“I reckon I know what you intend to do,” said Tom to the government official. “You want to take the old man’s job away from him.”
“Yes—for the time being. But I don’t expect to get paid for it.” James Monday turned to Cashaw. “Will you stay with the boys until I return?”
“Well, now—”
“I want you to stay.”
“That means as how I’m to stay whether I want to or not, eh?”
“You can put it that way if you wish. I want to make no trouble for you.”
“Sack Todd will make trouble if he hears of this,” returned the old man dubiously.
“Then you had better keep out of sight.”
“Will you return my horses and wagon?”
“Either that, or pay for the turnout.”
“Then maybe I’d better go to town. I can say I stopped off at a tavern an’ sumbuddy drove off with my rig.”
“Very well,” returned the detective. “But, mind you, if you dare to play me foul—”
“I won’t! I won’t!”
“Then you can go. But wait. Boys, let him stay here an hour. Then he can go.”
So it was arranged, and a few minutes later James Monday was on the seat of the wagon and driving off in the style of the old man.
“He is certainly a good actor,” murmured Tom, gazing after the government official. “I declare, the two look like two peas!”
“That’s a mighty risky thing to do,” observed Songbird. “If Sack Todd and his cronies discover the trick they’ll stop at nothing to get square.”
“Trust Mr. Monday to take care of himself,” responded Tom. “I am only hoping he will be able to aid Sam and Dick.”
“Oh, we all hope that, Tom.”
The boys sat down on some partly dried rocks and began to ask the old man about himself. But Bill Cashaw was too much disturbed mentally to give them much satisfaction.
“Well, by hemlock!” he burst out presently.
“What’s up now?” queried Tom, and all of the others looked equally interested.
“If I didn’t go an’ forgit all about it.”
“Forget what?”
“This letter I had fer Sack. An’ that was o’ prime importance, too, so the trainman said.”
As the old man spoke, he brought forth a letter which he had had stowed away in a pocket of his shirt.
“What’s in the letter?” asked Fred.
“I don’t know. It’s sealed up.”
“I think we’d be justified in breaking it open,” put in Songbird. “Those rascals are outlaws!”
“No! no! don’t break it open!” burst out Tom, and snatched the communication from the old man’s hand. “I’ve got a better plan.”
“What plan?” came from his friends.
“Didn’t you say that I looked like your son Bud?” asked Tom of Bill Cashaw.
“I did.”
“Has Bud ever been to Red Rock ranch?”
“Three or four times, but not lately.”
“Does Sack Todd know him?”
“Yes, but not very well.”
“Then that settles it,” announced the fun-loving Rover. “I, as Bud Cashaw, am going to deliver the letter at the ranch.”
“Tom, that’s too risky!” cried Fred.
“I don’t think so. I can tell them that the letter was left for father”—pointing to Bill Cashaw—”after he started for the ranch. I don’t see how they can help but swallow the story.”
“Yes, but see here—” interrupted the old man. “This ain’t fair. I want you to understand—”
“I know what I am doing, Mr. Cashaw, and you had better keep quiet. Watch him, fellows.”
Without loss of time, Tom made his preparations for visiting the mysterious ranch. He rubbed some dirt on his face and hands, disheveled his hair and turned up one leg of his trousers. Then he borrowed the rather large headgear that Hans wore and pulled it far down over his head.
“How will that do?” he drawled. “Say, is my pap anywhere around this yere ranch?”
“Mine cracious! of dot ton’t beat der Irish!” gasped Hans. “Tom, you vos make a first-class detector alretty!”
“He certainly looks like an Alabama country boy,” was Fred’s comment.
A few touches more to his disguise and Tom was ready to depart for the ranch. He called Songbird aside.
“Watch that old man,” he whispered. “He may not be as innocent as he looks. Don’t let him get to the ranch. If he does, our cake will be dough.”
“Of course you don’t expect to catch up to the wagon,” said Songbird.
“No, but if I do, I’ll go ahead anyway—if Mr. Monday will let me.”
It was not long after this that Tom left the others. He struck out boldly along the poorly defined wagon trail, which led over some rough rocks and down into hollows now filled with water. The marks of the wagon ahead were plainly to be seen, but, though the youth walked fast, he did not catch sight of the turnout.
It was dark by the time he came to the fence that surrounded the ranch buildings. He saw Bill Cashaw’s wagon standing under a shed. Two men were unloading the contents. They were both strangers to Tom.
It must be admitted that Tom’s heart beat rapidly as he stepped into view and slouched toward the wagon shed. The men started in surprise when they beheld him.
“Say, whar’s my pap?” he called out. “Didn’t he come in on the wagon?”
“It’s Bud Cashaw,” murmured one of the men. He raised his voice. “Your old man is in the house with Sack Todd.”
Tom turned toward the ranch proper and was close to a door when it opened and Sack Todd came out and faced him. At a distance behind the man was James Monday.
“Hullo, pap!” sang out Tom. “You forgot that letter from that train hand—or maybe you didn’t see him.”
The government official stared at Tom, wondering who he could be.
“What letter?” demanded the ranch owner quickly.
“Here it is,” answered Tom, and brought it forth. Sack Todd ripped it open quickly and scanned its contents. It was short and to the point:
“Look out for government detectives. They are on your track. One is named James Monday. There is also a fellow named Rover—beware of him.—NUMBER 9.”
Utterly unconscious of what he was doing, Tom had played directly into the hands of Sack Todd and his evil associates.
CHAPTER XXV
IN WHICH TOM IS EXPOSED
“Boy, who gave you this letter?” demanded the owner of Red Rock ranch, after he had read the communication through twice.
His look was a stern one, and his gaze seemed to bore Tom through and through. Yet the lad did not
flinch. He felt that he must play his part to the end.
“Feller give it at the house fer pap,” he drawled. “Pap, he fergot to bring it. So I hustled off to do it.”
“Humph! A nice way to treat a letter of importance,” muttered Sack Todd. He gave Tom another close look. “Who told you your dad was coming here?”
“Oh, I guessed that,” drawled Tom.
“Come in the house. I must question your father about this.”
“I didn’t mean no harm, Mr. Todd!” cried the youth in pretended alarm. “Ain’t it all’ right?”
“Yes. Come in.”
Sack Todd pushed Tom toward the doorway of the ranch, and the youth went inside. He looked around for the government official, but that individual was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is Bill Cashaw?” asked the ranch owner of two men who were present.
“I don’t know—getting something to drink, I reckon,” answered one of the men. “He was standing around a minute ago.”
“Sit down here,” said Sack Todd, turning to Tom and at the same time motioning to a chair. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He disappeared through a doorway and the fun-loving Rover sat down. He was in no easy frame of mind, for he could plainly see that the letter had disturbed the ranch owner greatly and that the man was suspicious.
“I hope I haven’t made a mess of it,” he reasoned. “I wonder where Sam and Dick are?”
Had he had an opportunity, he would have left the room and taken a look around the place, but the strange men were there, and they evidently had their eyes on him.
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