CHAPTER XXXII

The Luck of Anderson Crow

"Don't anybody attempt to leave this tent!" commanded Mr. Crow, standing

bravely forth with his levelled revolvers. The orchestra made itself as

small as possible, for one of the guns wavered dangerously. "Don't be

alarmed, ladies and gentlemen. The train robbers are among you."

There were a few feminine shrieks, a volume of masculine "Whats!" a

half-hearted and uncertain snigger, and a general turning of heads.

"Keep your seats!" commanded Anderson. "They can't escape. I have them

surrounded. I now call upon all robbers present to surrender in the name

of the law. Surrender peaceful and you will not he damaged; resist and

we'll blow you to hell an' gone, even at the risk of injurin' the women

and childern. The law is no respecter of persons. Throw up your hands!"

He waited impressively, but either through stupefaction or obstinacy the

robbers failed to lift their hands.

"You're cornered, you golderned scamps!" shouted Anderson Crow, "an' you

might jest as well give up! Twenty Pinkerton men are here from New York

City, an' you can't escape! Throw up your hands!"

"The damned old fool is in earnest," gasped Judge Brewster, from across

the river.

"He's crazy!" cried Congressman Bonner.

"Let everybody in this crowd throw up their hands!" called a firm, clear

voice from the entrance. At the same instant five bewhiskered

individuals appeared as if by magic with drawn revolvers, dominating the

situation completely. The speaker was Andrew Gregory, the insurance

agent.

"Now, what have you got to say?" cried Anderson gaily. "I guess me an'

the detectives have you cornered all right, ain't we?"

The audience sat stupefied, paralysed. While all this was going on upon

the inside, a single detective on the outside was stealthily puncturing

the tires of every automobile in the collection, Mr. Bracken's huge

touring car being excepted for reasons to be seen later on.

"Good heavens!" groaned old Judge Brewster. A half dozen women fainted

and a hundred men broke into a cold perspiration.

"Hands up, everybody!" commanded Andrew Gregory. "We can take no

chances. The train robbers are in this audience. They came to hold up

the entire crowd, but we are too quick for you, my fine birds. The place

is surrounded!"

"Mr. Gregory, the insurance--" began Anderson Crow, but he was cut

short.

"Mr. Crow deserves great credit for this piece of detective work. His

mere presence is a guaranty of safety to those of you who are not

thieves. You all have your hands up? Thanks. Mr. Crow, please keep those

actors quiet. Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is not always an easy matter

to distinguish thieves from honest men. I will first give the

desperadoes a chance to surrender peaceably. No one steps forward? Very

well. Keep your hands up, all of you. The man who lowers his hands will

be instantly regarded as a desperado and may get a bullet in his body

for his folly. The innocent must suffer with the guilty. Mr. Crow, shall

we proceed with the search?"

"Yes, sir; go right ahead, and be quick," replied Anderson Crow.

"Very well, then, in the name of the law, my men will begin the search.

They will pass among you, ladies and gentlemen, and any effort to retard

their progress will be met with instant--well, you know."

Before the petrified audience could fully realise what was taking place,

three of the detectives were swiftly passing from person to person,

stripping the women of their jewels, the men of their money and their

watches. A half-hearted protest went up to Anderson Crow, but it was

checked summarily by the "searching party." It was well for the poor

marshal that he never knew what the audience thought of him at that

ghastly moment.

It was all over in five minutes. The detectives had searched every

prosperous-looking person in the audience, under the very nose and guns

of Marshal Crow, and they were sardonically bidding the assemblage a

fond good-bye from the flapping doorway in the side wall. Andrew Gregory

addressed the crowd, smiling broadly.

"We found a good many more robbers in the crowd than we could

conveniently handle, ladies and gentlemen. In fact, I never came across

such a rare collection of hold-up men outside of Wall Street. The only

perfectly honest man in Tinkletown to-night is Anderson Crow, your

esteemed marshal. Believe me, he is ridiculously honest. He may be a

damn fool, but he is honest. Don't blame him. Thanking you, one and all,

for your generous help in our search for the train robbers, we bid you

an affectionate farewell. We may meet again if you travel extensively on

express trains. Good-night!"

With a taunting laugh, Andrew Gregory dropped the flap and leaped after

his companions. Bracken's chauffeur lay senseless by the roadside, and

one of the "detectives" sat in his seat. Even as the audience opened

its collective mouth to shout its wrath and surprise, the big touring

car, with six armed men aboard, leaped away with a rush. Down the dark

road it flew like an express train, its own noise drowning the shouts of

the multitude, far behind.

Bonner, recovering from his stupefaction and rage, led the pursuit,

first commanding Rosalie to hurry home with the women and lock herself

safely indoors.

Anderson Crow, realising what a dupe he had been in the hands of the

clever scoundrels, was covered with fear and shame. The outraged crowd

might have killed him had not his escape been made under cover of

darkness. Shivering and moaning in abject misery, the pride of

Tinkletown fled unseeing, unthinking into the forest along the river. He

was not to know until afterward that his "detectives" had stripped the

rich sojourners of at least ten thousand dollars in money and jewels. It

is not necessary to say that the performance of "As You Like It" came to

an abrupt end, because it was not as they liked it. Everybody knew by

this time that they had seen the celebrated "train robbers."

Jackie Blake was half dressed when he leaped to his feet with an

exclamation so loud that those preceding it were whispers.

"Holy smoke!" fell from his lips; and then he dashed across the green to

the women's dressing tent. "Cora! Cora! Come out!"

"I can't," came back in muffled tones.

"Then good-bye; I'm off!" he shouted. That brought her, partially

dressed, from the tent. "Say, do you remember the river road we walked

over to-day? Well, those fellows went in that direction, didn't they?

Don't you see? Aren't you on? The washout! If they don't know about it

the whole bunch is at the bottom of the ravine or in the river by this

time! Mum's the word! There's a chance, darling; the reward said 'dead

or alive!' I'm off!"

She tried to call him back, but it was too late. With his own revolver

in his hand, the half Orlando, half Blake, tore down the rarely

travelled river road south. Behind him Tinkletown raved and wailed over

the great calamity, but generally stood impotent in the face of it all.

But few felt inclined to pursue the robbers. Blake soon had the race to

himself. It was a mile or more to the washout in the road, but the

excitement made him keen for the test. The road ran through the woods

and along the high bluff that overlooked the river. He did not know it,

but this same road was a "short cut" to the macadam pike farther south.

By taking this route the robbers gave Boggs City a wide berth.

Blake's mind was full of the possibilities of disaster to the

over-confident fugitives. The washout was fresh, and he was counting on

the chance that they were not aware of its existence. If they struck it

even at half speed the whole party would be hurled a hundred feet down

to the edge of the river or into the current itself. In that event,

some, if not all, would be seriously injured.

As he neared the turn in the road, his course pointed out to him by the

stars above, he was startled half out of his boots by the sudden

appearance of a man, who staggered from the roadside and wobbled

painfully away, pleading for mercy.

"Halt, or I'll shoot!" called Jackie Blake, and the pathetic figure not

only halted, but sat down in the middle of the road.

"For the Lord's sake, don't shoot!" groaned a hoarse voice. "I wasn't in

cahoots with them. They fooled me--they fooled me." It was Anderson

Crow, and he would have gone on interminably had not Jackie Blake

stopped him short.

"You're the marshal, eh? The darned rube--"

"Yes, I'm him. Call me anything, only don't shoot. Who are you?" groaned

Anderson, rising to his knees. He was holding his revolvers by the

muzzles. "Never mind who I am. I haven't time. Say, you'd better come

with me. Maybe we can head off those villains. They came this way and--"

"Show 'em to me," roared Anderson, recognising a friend. Rage surged up

and drove out the shame in his soul. "I'll tackle the hull caboodle,

dang 'em!" And he meant it, too.

Blake did not stop to explain, but started on, commanding Mr. Crow to

follow. With rare fore-thought the marshal donned his yellow beard as he

panted in the trail of the lithe young actor. The latter remembered that

the odds were heavily against him. The marshal might prove a valuable

aid in case of resistance, provided, of course, that they came upon the

robbers in the plight he was hoping for.

"Where the dickens are you a-goin'?" wheezed the marshal, kicking up a

great dust in the rear. The other did not answer. His whole soul was

enveloped in the hope that the washout had trapped the robbers. He was

almost praying that it might be so. The reward could be divided with the

poor old marshal if--

He gave a yell of delight, an instant later, and then began jumping

straight up and down like one demented. Anderson Crow stopped so

abruptly that his knees were stiff for weeks. Jackie Blake's wild dream

had come true. The huge automobile had struck the washout, and it was

now lying at the base of the bluff, smashed to pieces on the rocks! By

the dim light from the heavens, Blake could see the black hulk down

there, but it was too dark to distinguish other objects. He was about to

descend to the river bank when Anderson Crow came up.

"What's the matter, man?" panted he.

"They're down there, don't you see it? They went over the bluff right

here--come on. We've got 'em!"

"Hold on!" exclaimed Anderson, grasping his arm. "Don't rush down there

like a danged fool. If they're alive they can plug you full of bullets

in no time. Let's be careful."

"By thunder, you're right. You're a wise old owl, after all. I never

thought of that. Let's reconnoitre."

Tingling with excitement, the two oddly mated pursuers descended

stealthily by a roundabout way. They climbed over rocks and crept

through underbrush until finally they came to a clear spot not twenty

feet from where the great machine was lying, at the very edge of the

swift, deep current. They heard groans and faint cries, with now and

then a piteous oath. From their hiding place they counted the forms of

four men lying upon the rocks, as if dead. The two held a whispered

consultation of war, a plan of action resulting.

"Surrender!" shouted Jackie Blake, standing forth. He and Anderson had

their pistols levelled upon the prostrate robbers. For answer there were

louder groans, a fiercer oath or two and then a weak, pain-struck voice

came out to them:

"For God's sake, get this machine off my legs. I'm dying. Help! Help! We

surrender!"

Ten minutes later, the jubilant captors had released the miserable

Andrew Gregory from his position beneath the machine, and had

successfully bound the hands and feet of five half-unconscious men.

Gregory's legs were crushed and one other's skull was cracked. The sixth

man was nowhere to be found. The disaster had been complete, the

downfall of the great train robbers inglorious. Looking up into the face

of Anderson Crow, Gregory smiled through his pain and said hoarsely:

"Damned rotten luck; but if we had to be taken, I'm glad you did it,

Crow. You're a good fool, anyway. But for God's sake, get me to a

doctor."

"Dang it! I'm sorry fer you, Mr. Gregory--" began Anderson, ready to

cry.

"Don't waste your time, old man. I need the doctor. Are the others

dead?" he groaned.

"I don't know," replied Jackie Blake. "Some of them look like it. We

can't carry you up that hill, but we'll do the next best thing. Marshal,

I'll stay here and guard the prisoners while you run to the village for

help--and doctors."

"And run fast, Anderson," added Gregory. "You always were so devilish

slow. Don't walk-trot."

Soon afterward, when Anderson, fagged but overjoyed, hobbled into the

village, the excited crowd was ready to lynch him, but with his first

words the atmosphere changed.

"Where is Jackie Blake?" sobbed a pretty young woman, grasping the proud

marshal's arm and shaking him violently.

"Derned if I know, ma'am. Was he stole?"

She made him understand, and together, followed by the actors, the

audience and the whole town, they led the way to the washout, the fair

Rosalind dragging the overworked hero of the hour along at a gait which

threatened to be his undoing.

Later on, after the five bandits had been carried to the village, Jackie

Blake gladly informed his sweetheart that they could have easy sailing

with the seven thousand dollars he expected. Anderson Crow had agreed to

take but three thousand dollars for his share in the capture. One of the

robbers was dead. The body of the sixth was found in the river weeks

afterward.

"I'm glad I was the first on the ground," said Blake, in anticipation of

the reward which was eventually to be handed over to him. "But Anderson

Crow turned out to be a regular trump, after all. He's a corker!" He was

speaking to Wicker Bonner and a crowd of New Yorkers.

Tinkletown began to talk of a monument to Anderson Crow, even while he

lived. The general opinion was that it should be erected while he was

still able to enjoy it and not after his death, when he would not know

anything about its size and cost.

"By gosh! 'Twas a great capture!" swelling perceptibly. "I knowed they

couldn't escape me. Dang 'em! they didn't figger on me, did they? Pshaw!

it was reediculus of 'em to think they c'd fool me entirely, although

I'll have to confess they did fool me at first. It was a desprit gang

an' mighty slick."

"You worked it great, Anderson," said George Ray. "Did you know about

the washout?"

"Did I know about it?" snorted Anderson witheringly. "Why, good Gosh

a'mighty, didn't I purty near run my legs off to git there in time to

throw down the barricade before they could get there with Mr. Bracken's

automobile? Thunderation! What a fool question!"