CHAPTER XXXI

"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."

"Don't you think it. Buck up, old fellow, don't be afraid."

"Afeerd? Me? I don't know what it is to be skeered. Didn't you ever hear

about how I landed them fellers that kidnaped my daughter Rosalie? Well,

you jest ast some one 'at knows about it. Umph! I guess that was a

recommend fer bravery. But these fellers will be ready fer us, won't

they?"

"We can trick them easily. I've been thinking of a plan all afternoon.

We don't know just where they are now, so we can't rake them in

to-night. We'll have to wait until they come to us. My plan is to have a

half-dozen competent private detectives up from New York. We can scatter

them through the audience next Thursday night, and when the right time

comes we can land on every one of those fellows like hawks on spring

chickens. I know the chief of a big private agency in New York, and I

think the best plan is to have him send up some good men. It won't cost

much, and I'd rather have those fearless practical men here than all the

rubes you could deputise. One of 'em is worth ten of your

fellow-citizens, Mr. Crow, begging your pardon for the remark. You and I

can keep the secret and we can do the right thing, but we would be asses

to take more Tinkletown asses into our confidence. If you'll agree, I'll

write to Mr. Pinkerton this evening. He can have his men here, disguised

and ready for work, by Thursday afternoon. If you don't mind, I'd like

to have you take charge of the affair, because you know just how to

handle thieves, and I don't. What say you?"

Anderson was ready and eager to agree to anything, but he hesitated a

long time before concluding to take supreme charge of the undertaking.

Mr. Gregory at once implored him to take command. It meant the success

of the venture; anything else meant failure.

"But how'n thunder am I to know the robbers when I see 'em?" demanded

the marshal, nervously pulling bluegrass up by the roots.

"You'll know 'em all right," said Andrew Gregory. Thursday came and with

it the "troupe." Anderson Crow had not slept for three nights, he was so

full of thrills and responsibility. Bright and early that morning he was

on the lookout for suspicious characters. Gregory was to meet the

detectives from New York at half-past seven in the evening. By previous

arrangement, these strangers were to congregate casually at Tinkletown

Inn, perfectly diguised as gentlemen, ready for instructions. The two

arch-plotters had carefully devised a plan of action. Gregory chuckled

secretly when he thought of the sensation Tinkletown was to

experience--and he thought of it often, too.

The leading members of Boothby's All Star Company "put up" at the Inn,

which was so humble that it staggered beneath this unaccustomed weight

of dignity. The beautiful Miss Marmaduke (in reality, Miss Cora Miller)

was there, and so were Miss Trevanian, Miss Gladys Fitzmaurice, Richmond

Barrett (privately Jackie Blake), Thomas J. Booth, Francisco Irving, Ben

Jefferson and others. The Inn was glorified. All Tinkletown looked upon

the despised old "eating house" with a reverence that was not reluctant.

The manager, a busy and preoccupied person, who looked to be the

lowliest hireling in the party, came to the Inn at noon and spread the

news that the reserved seats were sold out and there was promise of a

fine crowd. Whereupon there was rejoicing among the All Star Cast, for

the last legs of the enterprise were to be materially strengthened.

"We won't have to walk back home," announced Mr. Jackie Blake, that

good-looking young chap who played Orlando.

"Glorious Shakespeare, thou art come to life again," said Ben Jefferson,

a barn-stormer for fifty years. "I was beginning to think you were a

dead one."

"And no one will seize our trunks for board," added Miss Marmaduke

cheerfully. She was a very pretty young woman and desperately in love

with Mr. Orlando.

"If any one seized Orlando's trunks, I couldn't appear in public

to-night," said Mr. Blake. "Orlando possesses but one pair of trunks."

"You might wear a mackintosh," suggested Mr. Booth.

"Or borrow trunks of the trees," added Mr. Irving.

"They're off," growled Mr. Jefferson, who hated the puns he did not

make.

"Let's dazzle the town, Cora," said Jackie Blake; and before Tinkletown

could take its second gasp for breath, the leading man and woman were

slowly promenading the chief and only thoroughfare.

"By ginger! she's a purty one, ain't she?" murmured Ed Higgins, sole

clerk at Lamson's. He stood in the doorway until she was out of sight

and remained there for nearly an hour awaiting her return. The men of

Tinkletown took but one look at the pretty young woman, but that one

look was continuous and unbroken.

"If this jay town can turn up enough money to-night to keep us from

stranding, I'll take off my hat to it for ever more," said Jackie Blake.

"Boothby says the house is sold out," said

Miss Marmaduke, a shade of anxiety in her dark eyes. "Oh, how I wish we

were at home again."

"I'd rather starve in New York than feast in the high hills," said he

wistfully. The idols to whom Tinkletown was paying homage were but

human, after all. For two months the Boothby Company had been buffeted

from pillar to post, struggling hard to keep its head above water,

always expecting the crash. The "all-stars" were no more than striving

young Thespians, who were kept playing throughout the heated term with

this uncertain enterprise, solely because necessity was in command of

their destinies. It was not for them to enjoy a summer in ease and

indolence.

"Never mind, dear," said she, turning her green parasol so that it

obstructed the intense but complimentary gaze of no less than a dozen

men; "our luck will change. We won't be barn-storming for ever."

"We've one thing to be thankful for, little woman," said Jackie, his

face brightening. "We go out again this fall in the same company. That's

luck, isn't it? We'll be married as soon as we get back to New York and

we won't have to be separated for a whole season, at least."

"Isn't it dear to think of, Jackie sweetheart? A whole season and then

another, and then all of them after that? Oh, dear, won't it be sweet?"

It was love's young dream for both of them.

"Hello, what's this?" exclaimed Orlando the Thousandth, pausing before a

placard which covered the lower limbs of his pictorial partner. "Ten

Thousand Dollars reward! Great Scott, Cora, wouldn't I like to catch

those fellows? Great, eh? But it's a desperate gang! The worst ever!"

Just then both became conscious of the fact that some one was

scrutinising them intently from behind. They turned and beheld Anderson

Crow, his badges glistening.

"How are you, officer?" said Jackie cheerily. Miss Marmaduke, in her

happiness, beamed a smile upon the austere man with the chin whiskers.

Anderson was past seventy, but that smile caused the intake of his

breath to almost lift him from the ground.

"First rate, thanks; how's yourself? Readin' the reward notice? Lemme

tell you something. There's goin' to be somethin' happen tarnation soon

that will astonish them fellers ef--" but here Anderson pulled up with a

jerk, realising that he was on the point of betraying a great secret.

Afraid to trust himself in continued conversation, he abruptly said:

"Good afternoon," and started off down the street, his ears tingling.

"Queer old chap, isn't he?" observed Jackie, and immediately forgot him

as they strolled onward.

That evening Tinkletown swarmed with strangers. The weather was fine,

and scores of the summer dwellers in the hills across the river came

over to see the performance, as the advance agent had predicted. Bluff

Top Hotel sent a large delegation of people seeking the variety of life.

There were automobiles, traps, victorias, hay-racks, and "sundowns"

standing all along the street in the vicinity of Hapgood's Grove. It was

to be, in the expansive language of the press agent, "a cultured

audience made up of the élite of the community."

Late in the afternoon, a paralysing thought struck in upon the marshal's

brain. It occurred to him that this band of robbers might also be

engaged to carry off Rosalie Gray. After all, it might be the great

dominant reason for their descent upon the community. Covered with a

perspiration that was not caused by heat, he accosted Wicker Bonner, the

minute that gentleman arrived in town. Rosalie went, of course, to the

Crow home for a short visit with the family.

"Say, Wick, I want you to do me a favour," said Anderson eagerly, taking

the young man aside. "I cain't tell you all about it, 'cause I'm bound

by a deathless oath. But, listen, I'm afraid somethin's goin' to happen

to-night. There's a lot o' strangers here, an' I'm nervous about

Rosalie. Somebody might try to steal her in the excitement. Now I want

you to take good keer of her. Don't let 'er out o' your sight, an' don't

let anybody git 'er away from you. I'll keep my eye on her, too. Promise

me."

"Certainly, Mr. Crow. I'll look out for her. That's what I hope to do

all the rest of--'

"Somethin's liable to happen," Mr. Crow broke in, and then quietly

slipped away.

Bonner laughed easily at the old man's fears and set them down as a part

of his whimsical nature. Later, he saw the old man near the entrance as

the party passed inside the inclosure. The Bonner party occupied

prominent seats in front, reserved by the marshal. There were ten in the

group, a half-dozen young Boston people completing the house party.

The side walls of a pavilion inclosed the most beautiful section of the

grove. In one end were the seats, rapidly filling with people. At the

opposite end, upon Mother Earth's green carpet, was the stage, lighted

dimly by means of subdued spot lights and a few auxiliary stars on high.

There was no scenery save that provided by Nature herself. An orchestra

of violins broke through the constant hum of eager voices.

Anderson Crow's heart was inside the charmed inclosure, but his person

was elsewhere. Simultaneously, with the beginning of the performance of

"As You like It," he was in his own barn-loft confronting Andrew Gregory

and the five bewhiskered assistants from New York City. Gregory had met

the detectives at the Inn and had guided them to the marshal's barn,

where final instructions were to be given. For half an hour the party

discussed plans with Anderson Crow, speaking in low, mysterious tones

that rang in the marshal's ears to his dying day.

"We've located those fellows," asserted Mr. Gregory firmly. "There can

be no mistake. They are already in the audience over there, and at a

signal will set to work to hold up the whole crowd. We must get the

drop on them, Mr. Crow. Don't do that! You don't need a disguise. Keep

those yellow whiskers in your pocket. The rest of us will wear

disguises. These men came here disguised because the robbers would be

onto them in a minute if they didn't. They know every detective's face

in the land. If it were not for these beards and wigs they'd have

spotted Pinkerton's men long ago. Now, you know your part in the affair,

don't you?"

"Yes, sir," respectfully responded Anderson, his chin whisker wobbling

pathetically.

"Then we're ready to proceed. It takes a little nerve, that's all, but

we'll soon have those robbers just where we want them," said Andrew

Gregory.

The second act of the play was fairly well under way when Orlando, in

the "green room," remarked to the stage director:

"What's that old rube doing back here, Ramsay? Why, hang it, man, he's

carrying a couple of guns. Is this a hold-up?" At the same instant

Rosalind and two of the women came rushing from their dressing tent,

alarmed and indignant. Miss Marmaduke, her eyes blazing, confronted the

stage director.

"What does this mean, Mr. Ramsay?" she cried. "That old man ordered us

out of our dressing-room at the point of a revolver, and--see! There he

is now doing the same to the men."

It was true. Anderson Crow, with a brace of horse pistols, was driving

the players toward the centre of the stage. In a tremulous voice he

commanded them to remain there and take the consequences. A moment later

the marshal of Tinkletown strode into the limelight with his arsenal,

facing an astonished and temporarily amused audience. His voice, pitched

high with excitement, reached to the remotest corners of the inclosure.

Behind him the players were looking on, open-mouthed and bewildered. To

them he loomed up as the long-dreaded constable detailed to attach their

personal effects. The audience, if at first it laughed at him as a joke,

soon changed its view. Commotion followed his opening speech.