CHAPTER XIII

A Tinkletown Sensation

Sensations came thick and fast in Tinkletown during the next few hours.

Investigation proved that 'Rast Little was nowhere to be found. He had

not returned to his home after the spelling-bee, nor had he been seen

since. Mrs. Holabird passed him in the road on her way home in the

"bob-sled." In response to her command to "climb in" he sullenly said he

was going to walk home by a "short cut" through the woods. A farmer had

seen the stylish Farnsworth sleigh driving north furiously at half-past

eleven, the occupants huddled in a bunch as if to protect themselves

from the biting air. The witness was not able to tell "which was which"

in the sleigh, but he added interest to the situation by solemnly

asserting that one of the persons in the rear seat was "bundled up" more

than the rest, and evidently was unable to sit erect.

According to his tale, the figure was lying over against the other

occupant of the seat. He was also, positive that there were three

figures in the front seat! Who was the extra person? was the question

that flashed into the minds of the listeners. A small boy came to the

schoolhouse at nine o'clock in the morning with 'Rast Little's new derby

hat. He had picked it up at the roadside not far from the schoolhouse

and in the direction taken by the Farnsworth party.

Anderson gave orders that no word of the catastrophe be carried to

Rosalie, who was reported to be ill of a fever the next morning after

the spelling-bee. She had a cough, and the doctor had said that nothing

should be said or done to excite her.

The crowd at the schoolhouse grew larger as the morning passed Everybody

talked in whispers; everybody was mystified beyond belief. All eyes were

turned to Anderson Crow, who stood aloof, pondering as he had never

pondered before. In one hand he held Miss Banks's bloody handkerchief

and in the other a common school text-book on physiology. His badges

and stars fairly revelled in their own importance.

"Don't pester him with questions," warned Isaac Porter, addressing Alf

Reesling, the town drunkard, who had just arrived.

"But I got something I want to say to him," persisted Alf eagerly. Two

or three strong men restrained him.

"Thunderation, Alf," whispered Elon Jones, "cain't you see he's figurin'

something out? You're liable to throw him clear off the track if you say

a word to him."

"Well, this is something he'd oughter know," almost whimpered Alf,

rubbing his frozen ears.

"Sh!" muttered the bystanders, and poor Alf subsided. He was

unceremoniously hustled into the background as Mr. Crow moved from the

window toward the group.

"Gentlemen," said Anderson gravely, "there is somethin' wrong here." It

is barely possible that this was not news to the crowd, but with one

accord they collectively and severally exchanged looks of appreciation.

"I've been readin' up a bit on the human body, an' I've proved one thing

sure in my own mind."

"You bet you have, Anderson," said Elon Jones. "It's all settled. Let's

go home."

"Settled nothin'!" said the marshal. "It's jest begun. Here's what I

deduce: Miss Banks has been foully dealt with. Ain't this her blood, an'

ain't she used her own individual handkerchief to stop it up? It's

blood right square from her heart, gentlemen!"

"I don't see how--" began Ed Higgins; but Anderson silenced him with a

look.

"Of course _you_ don't, but you would if you'd 'a' been a detective as

long's I have. What in thunder do you s'pose I got these badges and

these medals fer? Fer _not_ seein' how? No, siree! I got 'em fer _seein_'

how; that's what!"

"But, Andy--"

"Don't call me 'Andy,'" commanded Mr. Crow.

"Well, then, Anderson, I'd like to know how the dickens she could use

her own handkerchief if she was stabbed to the heart," protested Ed. He

had been crying half the time. Anderson was stunned for the moment.

"Why--why--now, look here, Ed Higgins, I ain't got time to explain

things to a derned idgit like you. Everybody else understands _how_,

don't you?" and he turned to the crowd. Everybody said yes. "Well, that

shows what a fool you are, Ed. Don't bother me any more. I've got work

to do."

"Say, Anderson," began Alf Reesling from the outer circle, "I got

something important to tell--"

"Who is that? Alf Reesling?" cried Anderson wrathfully.

"Yes; I want to see you private, Anderson. Its important," begged Alf.

"How many times have I got to set down on you, Alf Reesling?" exploded

Anderson. "Doggone, I'd like to know how a man's to solve mysteries if

he's got to stand around half the time an' listen to fambly quarrels.

Tell yer wife I'll--"

"This ain't no family quarrel. Besides, I ain't got no wife. It's about

this here--"

"That'll do, now, Alf! Not another word out of you!" commanded Anderson

direfully.

"But, dern you, Anderson," exploded Alf, "I've got to tell you--"

But Anderson held up a hand.

"Don't swear in the presence of the dead," he said solemnly. "You're

drunk, Alf; go home!" And Alf, news and all was hustled from the

schoolhouse by a self-appointed committee of ten.

"Now, we'll search fer the body," announced Anderson. "Git out of the

way, Bud!"

"I ain't standin' on it," protested twelve-year-old Bud Long.

"Well, you're standin' mighty near them blood-stains an'--"

"Yes, 'n ain't blood a part of the body?" rasped Isaac Porter

scornfully; whereupon Bud faded into the outer rim.

"First we'll look down cellar," said Mr. Crow. "Where's the cellar at?"

"There ain't none," replied Elon Jones.

"What? No cellar? Well, where in thunder did they hide the body, then?"

"There's an attic," ventured Joe Perkins.

A searching party headed by Anderson Crow shinned up the ladder to the

low garret. No trace of a body was to be found, and the searchers came

down rather thankfully. Then, under Mr. Crow's direction, they searched

the wood piles, the woods, and the fields for many rods in all

directions. At noon they congregated at the schoolhouse. Alf Reesling

was there.

"Find it?" said he thickly, with a cunning leer. He had been drinking.

Anderson was tempted to club him half to death, but instead he sent him

home with Joe Perkins, refusing absolutely to hear what the town

drunkard had to say.

"Well, you'll wish you'd listened to me," ominously hiccoughed Alf; and

then, as a parting shot, "I wouldn't tell you now fer eighteen dollars

cash. You c'n go to thunder!" It was _lèse majesté_, but the crowd did

nothing worse than stare at the offender.

Before starting off on the trail of the big sleigh, Anderson sent this

message by wire to the lawyers in Chicago:

"_I have found the girl you want, but the body is lost. Would you

just as soon have her dead as alive_?

"ANDERSON CROW."

In a big bob-sled the marshal and a picked sextette of men set off at

one o'clock on the road over which the sleigh had travelled many hours

before. Anderson had failed to report the suspected crime to the sheriff

at Boggs City and was working alone on the mystery. He said he did not

want anybody from town interfering with his affairs.

"Say, Andy--Anderson," said Harry Squires, now editor of the _Banner_,

"maybe we're hunting the wrong body and the wrong people."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, ain't 'Rast Little missing? Maybe he's been killed, eh? And say,

ain't there some chance that he did the killing? Didn't he say he was

going to murder that city chap? Well, supposing he did. We're on the

wrong track, ain't we?"

"Doggone you, Harry, that don't fit in with my deductions," wailed

Anderson. "I wish you'd let me alone. 'Rast may have done the killin',

but it's our place to find the body, ain't it? Whoever has been slew was

taken away last night in the sleigh. S'posin it was Mr. Reddon! Well,

consarn it, ain't he got a body same as anybody else? We've just got to

find somebody's body, that's all. We've got to prove the corpus

deelicti. Drive up, Bill!"

With a perseverance that spoke well for the detective's endurance, but

ill for his intelligence, the "bob" sped along aimlessly. It was

ridiculous to think of tracking a sleigh over a well-travelled road, and

it was not until they reached the cross-roads that Harry Squires

suggested that inquiries be made of the farmers in the neighbourhood.

After diligent effort, a farmer was discovered who said he had heard the

sleigh bells at midnight, and, peering from his window, had caught a

glimpse of the party turning south at the cross-roads.

"Jest as I thought!" exclaimed Anderson. "They went south so's to skip

Boggs City. Boys, they've got her body er 'Rast's body er that other

feller's body with 'em, an' they're skootin' down this pike so's to get

to the big bridge. My idee is that they allowed to drop the body in the

river, which ain't friz plum over."

"Gee! We ain't expected to search all over the bottom of the river, are

we, Anderson?" shivered Isaac Porter, the pump repairer.

"_I_ ain't," said the leader, "but I can deputise anybody I want to."

And so they hurried on to the six-span bridge that crossed the ice-laden

river. As they stood silent, awed and shivering on the middle span,

staring down into the black water with its navy of swirling ice-chunks,

even the heart of Anderson Crow chilled and grew faint.

"Boys," he said, "we've lost the track! Not even a bloodhound could

track 'em in that water."

"Bloodhound?" sniffed Harry Squires. "A hippopotamus, you mean."

They were hungry and cold, and they were ready to turn homeward.

Anderson said he "guessed" he'd turn the job over to the sheriff and his

men. Plainly, he was much too hungry to do any more trailing. Besides,

for more than an hour he had been thinking of the warm wood fire at

home. Bill Rubley was putting the "gad" to the horses when a man on

horseback rode up from the opposite end of the bridge. He had come far

and in a hurry, and he recognised Anderson Crow.

"Say, Anderson!" he called, "somebody broke into Colonel Randall's

summer home last night an' they're there yet. Got fires goin' in all

the stoves, an' havin' a high old time. They ain't got no business

there, becuz the place is closed fer the winter. Aleck Burbank went over

to order 'em out; one of the fellers said he'd bust his head if he

didn't clear out. I think it's a gang!"

A hurried interview brought out the facts. The invaders had come up in a

big sleigh long before dawn, and--but that was sufficient. Anderson and

his men returned to the hunt, eager and sure of their prey. Darkness was

upon them when they came in sight of Colonel Randall's country place in

the hills. There were lights in the windows and people were making merry

indoors; while outside the pursuing Nemesis and his men were wondering

how and where to assault the stronghold.

"I'll jest walk up an' rap on the door," said Anderson Crow, "lettin' on

to be a tramp. I'll ast fer somethin' to eat an' a place to sleep. While

I'm out there in the kitchen eatin' you fellers c'n sneak up an'

surround us. Then you c'n let on like you're lookin' fer me because I'd

robbed a hen-roost er something, an' that'll get 'em off their guard.

Once we all git inside the house with these shotguns we've got 'em where

we want 'em. Then I'll make 'em purduce the body."

"Don't we git anythin' to eat, too?" demanded Isaac Porter faintly.

"The horses ain't had nothin' to eat, Ike," said Anderson. "Ain't you as

good as a horse?"