The Daughter of Anderson Crow Part 36

"I don't see how he's goin' to remove off them reward bills without sc.r.a.ping off her legs at the same time," mused Anderson Crow in perplexity. Two housewives of Tinkletown suddenly deserted the group and entered the store. And so it was that the train robbers were forgotten for the time being.

But Marshal Crow's reputation as a horse-thief taker and general suppressor of crime constantly upbraided him. It seemed to call upon him to take steps toward the capture of the train robbers. All that afternoon he reflected. Tinkletown, seeing his mood, refrained from breaking in upon it. He was allowed to stroke his whiskers in peace and to think to his heart's content. By nightfall his face had become an inscrutable mask, and then it was known that the President of Bramble County's Horse-Thief Detective a.s.sociation was determined to fathom the great problem. Stealthily he went up to the great attic in his home and inspected his "disguises." In some far-off period of his official career he had purchased the most amazing collection of false beards, wigs and garments that any stranded comedian ever disposed of at a sacrifice. He tried each separate article, seeking for the best individual effect; then he tried them collectively. It would certainly have been impossible to recognise him as Anderson Crow. In truth, no one could safely have identified him as a human being.

"I'm goin' after them raskils," he announced to Andrew Gregory and the whole family, as he came down late to take his place at the head of the supper table.

"Ain't you goin' to let 'em show here, pop?" asked Roscoe in distress.

"Show here? What air you talkin' about?"

"He means the train robbers, Roscoe," explained the lad's mother. The boy breathed again.

"They are a dangerous lot," volunteered Gregory, who had been in Albany for two days. "The papers are full of their deeds. Cutthroats of the worst character."

"I'd let them alone, Anderson," pleaded his wife. "If you corner them, they'll shoot, and it would be jest like you to follow them right into their lair."

"Consarn it, Eva, don't you s'pose that I c'n shoot, too?" snorted Anderson. "What you reckon I've been keepin' them loaded revolvers out in the barn all these years fer? Jest fer ornaments? Not much! They're to shoot with, ef anybody asks you. Thunderation, Mr. Gregory, you ain't no idee how a feller can be handicapped by a timid wife an' a lot o'

fool childern. I'm almost afeard to turn 'round fer fear they'll be skeered to death fer my safety."

"You cut yourself with a razor once when ma told you not to try to shave the back of your neck by yourself," said one of the girls. "She wanted you to let Mr. Beck shave it for you, but you wouldn't have it that way."

"Do you suppose I want an undertaker shavin' my neck? I'm not that anxious to be shaved. Beck's the undertaker, Mr. Gregory."

"Well, he runs the barber shop, too," insisted the girl.

During the next three days Tinkletown saw but little of its marshal, fire chief and street commissioner. That triple personage was off on business of great import. Early, each morning, he mysteriously stole away to the woods, either up or down the river, carrying a queer bundle under the seat of his "buckboard." Two revolvers, neither of which had been discharged for ten years, reposed in a box fastened to the dashboard. Anderson solemnly but positively refused to allow any one to accompany him, nor would he permit any one to question him. Farmers coming to town spoke of seeing him in the lanes and in the woods, but he had winked genially when they had asked what he was trailing.

"He's after the train robbers," explained all Tinkletown soberly.

Whereupon the farmers and their wives did not begrudge Anderson Crow the chicken dinners he had eaten with them, nor did they blame him for bothering the men in the fields. It was sufficient that he found excuse to sleep in the shade of their trees during his still hunt.

"Got any track of 'em?" asked George Ray one evening, stopping at Anderson's back gate to watch the marshal unhitch his thankful nag.

Patience had ceased to be a virtue with George.

"Any track of who?" asked Mr. Crow with a fine show of innocence.

"The robbers."

"I ain't been trackin' robbers, George."

"What in thunder have you been trackin' all over the country every day, then?"

"I'm breakin' this colt," calmly replied the marshal, with a mighty wink at old Betty, whom he had driven to the same buckboard for twenty years.

As George departed with an insulted snort, Andrew Gregory came from the barn, where he had been awaiting the return of Mr. Crow."

"I'm next to something big," he announced in a low tone, first looking in all directions to see that no one was listening.

"Gos.h.!.+ Did you land Mr. Farnsworth?"

"It has nothing to do with insurance," hastily explained the agent.

"I've heard something of vast importance to you."

"You don't mean to say the troupe has busted?"

"No--no; it is in connection with--with--" and here Mr. Gregory leaned forward and whispered something in Anderson's ear. Mr. Crow promptly stopped dead still in his tracks, his eyes bulging. Betty, who was being led to the water trough, being blind and having no command to halt, proceeded to b.u.mp forcibly against her master's frame.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

"As You Like It"

"You--don't--say--so! Whoa! dang ye! Cain't you see where you're goin', you old rip?" Betty was jerked to a standstill. "What have you heerd?"

asked Anderson, his voice shaking with interest.

"I can't tell you out here," said the other cautiously. "Put up the nag and then meet me in the pasture out there. We can sit down and talk and not be overheard."

"I won't be a minute. Here, you Roscoe! Feed Betty and water her first.

Step lively, now. Tell your ma we'll be in to supper when we git good an' ready."

Anderson and Andrew Gregory strode through the pasture gate and far out into the green meadow. Once entirely out of hearing, Gregory stopped and both sat down upon a little hillock. The agent was evidently suppressing considerable excitement.

"Those train robbers are in this neighbourhood," he said, breaking a long silence. Anderson looked behind involuntarily. "I don't mean that they are in this pasture, Mr. Crow. You've been a good friend to me, and I'm inclined to share the secret with you. If we go together, we may divide the ten-thousand-dollar reward, because I'm quite sure we can land those chaps."

"What's your plan?" asked Anderson, turning a little pale at the thought. Before going any further into the matter, Gregory asked Anderson if he would sign a paper agreeing to divide the reward equally with him. This point was easily settled, and then the insurance man unfolded his secret.

"I have a straight tip from a friend in New York and he wouldn't steer me wrong. The truth about him is this: He used to work for our company, but took some money that didn't belong to him. It got him a sentence in the pen. He's just out, and he knows a whole lot about these robbers.

Some of them were in Sing Sing with him. The leader wanted him to join the gang and he half-way consented. His duty is to keep the gang posted on what the officers in New York are doing. See?"

"Of course," breathed Anderson.

"Well, my friend wants to reform. All he asks is a slice of the reward.

If we capture the gang, we can afford to give him a thousand or so, can't we?"

"Of course," was the dignified response.

"Here's his letter to me. I'll read it to you." In the gathering dusk Gregory read the letter to the marshal of Tinkletown. "Now, you see," he said, at the close of the astounding epistle, "this means that if we observe strict secrecy, we may have the game in our hands. No one must hear a word of this. They may have spies right here in Tinkletown. We can succeed only by keeping our mouths sealed."

"Tighter'n beeswax," promised Anderson Crow.

Briefly, the letter to Andrew Gregory was an exposure of the plans of the great train-robber gang, together with their whereabouts on a certain day to come. They were to swoop down on Tinkletown on the night of the open-air performance of "As You Like It," and their most desperate coup was to be the result. The scheme was to hold up and rob the entire audience while the performance was going on. Anderson Crow was in a cold perspiration. The performance was but three days off, and he felt that he required three months for preparation.

"How in thunder are we goin' to capture that awful gang, jest you an'

me?" he asked, voicing his doubts and fears.

"We'll have to engage help, that's all."

"We'll need a regiment."