CHAPTER XI

Elsie Banks

Aderson Crow stood afar off--among the bleak, leafless trees of Badger's

Grove--and gazed thoughtfully, even earnestly, upon the little red

schoolhouse with its high brick chimney and snow-clad roof. A biting

January wind cut through his whiskers and warmed his nose to a

half-broiled shade of red. On the lapel of his overcoat glistened his

social and official badges, augmented by a new and particularly shiny

emblem of respect bestowed by the citizens of Tinkletown.

At first it had been the sense of the town to erect a monument in

recognition of his part in the capture of the Bramble County horse-thief

gang, but a thrifty and considerate committee of five substituted a

fancy gold badge with suitable inscriptions on both sides, extolling him

to the skies "long before he went there hisself" (to quote Uncle Gideon

Luce, whose bump of perception was a stubborn prophet when it came to

picking out the site of Mr. Crow's heaven). For a full half hour the

marshal of Tinkletown had been standing among the trees surveying the

schoolhouse at the foot of the slope. If his frosted cheeks and watery

eyes ached for the warmth that urged the curls of smoke to soar away

from the chimney-top, his attitude did not betray the fact. He was

watching and thinking, and when Anderson thought of one thing he never

thought of another at the same time.

"It'll soon be recess time," he reflected. "Then I'll step down there

an' let on to be makin' a social call on the schoolma'am. By gum, I

believe she's the one! It'll take some tarnation good work to find out

the truth about her, but I guess I c'n do it all right. The only thing I

got to guard ag'inst is lettin' anybody else know of the mystery

surroundin' her. Gosh! it'll surprise some of the folks 'round here,

'specially Rosalie. An' mebby the township trustee won't be sorry he

give the school this year to a strange girl instid o' to Jane Rankin er

Effie Dickens! Congressman Ritchey hadn't no business puttin' his nose

into our affairs anyhow, no matter if this here teacher is a friend of

his fambly. He's got some kind a holt on these here trustees--'y gosh,

I'd like to know what 'tis. He c'n jest wrap 'em round his finger an'

make 'em app'int anybody he likes. Must be politics. There, it's recess!

I'll jest light out an' pay the schoolhouse a little visit."

Inside a capacious and official pocket of Mr. Crow's coat reposed a

letter from a law firm in Chicago. It asked if within the last two years

a young woman had applied for a position as teacher in the township

schools at Tinkletown. A description accompanied the inquiry, but it was

admitted she might have applied under a name not her own, which was

Marion Lovering. In explanation, the letter said she had left her home

in Chicago without the consent of her aunt, imbued with the idea that

she would sooner support herself than depend upon the charity of that

worthy though wealthy relative. The aunt had recently died, and counsel

for the estate was trying to establish proof concerning the actions and

whereabouts of Miss Lovering since her departure from Chicago.

The young woman often had said she would become a teacher, a tutor, a

governess, or a companion, and it was known that she had made her way to

that section of the world presided over by Anderson Crow--although the

distinguished lawyers did not put it in those words. A reward of five

hundred dollars for positive information concerning the "life of the

girl" while in "that or any other community" was promised.

Miss Banks's appointment came through the agency of the district's

congressman, in whose home she had acted as governess for a period.

Moreover, she answered the description in that she was young, pretty,

and refined. Anderson Crow felt that he was on the right track; he was

now engaged in as pretty a piece of detective business as had ever

fallen to his lot, and he was not going to spoil it by haste and

overconfidence.

Just why Anderson Crow should "shadow" the schoolhouse instead of the

teacher's temporary place of abode no one could possibly have known but

himself--and it is doubtful if _he_ knew. He resolved not to answer the

Chicago letter until he was quite ready to produce the girl and the

proof desired.

"I'd be a gol-swiggled fool to put 'em onter my s'picions an' then have

'em cheat me out of the reward," he reflected keenly. "You cain't trust

them Chicago lawyers an inch an' a half. Doggone it, I'll never fergit

that feller who got my pockit-book out to Central Park that time. He

tole me positively he was a lawyer from Chicago, an' had an office in

the Y.M.C.A. Building. An' the idee of him tellin' me he wanted to see

if my pockit-book had better leather in it than hisn!"

The fact that the school children, big and little, loved Miss Banks

possessed no point of influence over their elders of the feminine

persuasion. They turned up their Tinkletown noses and sniffed at her

because she was a "vain creature," who thought more of "attractin' the

men than she did of anything else on earth." And all this in spite of

the fact that she was the intimate friend of the town goddess, Rosalie

Gray.

Everybody in school No. 5 over the age of seven was deeply, jealously in

love with Miss Banks. Many a frozen snowball did its deadly work from

ambush because of this impotent jealousy.

But the merriest rivalry was that which developed between Ed Higgins,

the Beau Brummel of Tinkletown, and 'Rast Little, whose father owned the

biggest farm in Bramble County. If she was amused by the frantic efforts

of each suitor to outwit the other she was too tactful to display her

emotion. Perhaps she was more highly entertained by the manner in which

Tinkletown femininity paired its venom with masculine admiration.

"Mornin', Miss Banks," was Anderson's greeting as he stamped noisily

into the room. He forgot that he had said good-morning to her when she

stopped in to see Rosalie on her way to the schoolhouse. The children

ceased their outdoor game and peered eagerly through the windows,

conscious that the visit of this dignitary was of supreme importance.

Miss Banks looked up from the papers she was correcting, the pucker

vanishing from her pretty brow as if by magic.

"Good-morning, Mr. Crow. What are you doing away out here in the

country? Jimmy"--to a small boy--"please close the door." Anderson had

left it open, and it was a raw January wind which followed him into the

room.

"'Scuse me," he murmured. "Seems I ain't got sense enough to shet a door

even. My wife says--but you don't keer to hear about that, do you? Oh, I

jest dropped in," finally answering her question. He took a bench near

the big stove and spread his hands before the sheet-iron warmth.

"Lookin' up a little affair, that's all. Powerful chilly, ain't it?"

"Very." She stood on the opposite side of the stove, puzzled by this

unexpected visit, looking at him with undisguised curiosity.

"Ever been to Chicago?" asked Anderson suddenly, hoping to catch her

unawares.

"Oh, yes. I have lived there," she answered readily. He shifted his legs

twice and took a hasty pull at his whiskers.

"That's what I thought. Why don't you go back there?"

"Because I'm teaching school here, Mr. Crow."

"Well, I reckon that's a good excuse. I thought mebby you had a

different one."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I dunno. I jest asked."

"You are a detective, are you not?" asked Miss Banks, smiling brightly

and with understanding.

"Oh, off an' on I do a little detectin'. See my badge?"

"Am I suspected of a heinous crime?" she asked so abruptly that he

gasped. "Won't you take off your cap, Mr. Crow?" He removed it

sheepishly.

"Lord, no!" he exclaimed in confusion. "I mean the crime--not the cap.

Well, I guess I'll be goin'. School's goin' to take up, I reckon. See

you later, Miss Banks." He restored his cap to its accustomed place and

was starting toward the door, a trifle dazed and bewildered.

"What is it that you wish to find out, Mr. Crow?" she suddenly called to

him. He halted and faced about so quickly that his reply came like a

shot out of a gun.

"I'm on the lookout fer a girl--an' she'll be's rich's Crowses if I c'n

only find 'er. I dassent tell 'er name jest now," he went on, slowly

retracing his steps, "'cause I don't want people--er her either, fer

that matter--to git onter my scheme. But you jest wait." He was standing

very close to her now and looking her full in the face. "You're sure you

don't know anythin' 'bout her?"

"Why, how should I know? You've told me nothing."

"You've got purty good clothes fer a common school-teacher," he flung at

her in an aggressive, impertinent tone, but the warm colour that swiftly

rose to her cheeks forced him to recall his words, for he quickly

tempered them with, "Er, at least, that's what all the women folks say."

"Oh, so some one has been talking about my affairs? Some of your

excellent women want to know more about me than--"

"Don't git excited, Miss Banks," he interrupted; "the women ain't got

anythin' to do with it--I mean, it's nothin' to them. I--"

"Mr. Crow," she broke in, "if there is anything you or anybody in

Tinkletown wants to know about me you will have to deduce it for

yourself. I believe that is what you call it--deduce? And now good-bye,

Mr. Crow. Recess is over," she said pointedly; and Mr. Crow shuffled out

as the children galloped in.

That evening Ed Higgins and 'Rast Little came to call, but she excused

herself because of her correspondence. In her little upstairs room she

wrote letter after letter, one in particular being voluminous. Mrs.

Holabird, as she passed her door, distinctly heard her laugh aloud. It

was a point to be recalled afterward with no little consideration. Later

she went downstairs, cloaked warmly, for a walk to the post-office. Ed

Higgins was still in the parlour talking to the family. He hastily put

in his petition to accompany her, and it was granted absently. Then he

surreptitiously and triumphantly glanced through the window, the scene

outside pleasing him audibly. 'Rast was standing at the front gate

talking to Anderson Crow. Miss Banks noticed as they passed the confused

twain at the gate that Anderson carried his dark lantern.

"Any trace of the heiress, Mr. Crow?" she asked merrily.

"Doggone it," muttered Anderson, "she'll give the whole snap away!"

"What's that?" asked 'Rast.

"Nothin' much," said Anderson, repairing the damage. "Ed's got your time

beat to-night, 'Rast, that's all!"

"I could 'a' took her out ridin' to-night if I'd wanted to," lied 'Rast

promptly. "I'm goin' to take her to the spellin'-bee to-morrow night out

to the schoolhouse."

"Did she say she'd go with you?"

"Not yet. I was jest goin' to ast her to-night."

"Mebby Ed's askin' her now."

"Gosh dern it, that's so! Maybe he is," almost wailed 'Rast; and

Anderson felt sorry for him as he ambled away from the gate and its

love-sick guardian.