The Daughter of Anderson Crow Part 38

CHAPTER x.x.xII

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 sn.i.g.g.e.r, 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 h.e.l.l 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 d.a.m.ned 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 pa.s.s among you, ladies and gentlemen, and any effort to r.e.t.a.r.d 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 pa.s.sing 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 a.s.semblage 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 d.a.m.n 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 mult.i.tude, 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 m.u.f.fled 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 d.i.c.kens 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 G.o.d'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.