The Daughter of Anderson Crow Part 37

"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 a.s.ses to take more Tinkletown a.s.ses 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 bluegra.s.s 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.

"h.e.l.lo, 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 elite 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sistants 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," a.s.serted 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 a.r.s.enal, 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.