Mr. Crow. Recess is over," she said pointedly; and Mr. Crow shuffled out
as the children galloped in.

That evening Ed Higgins and 'Rast Little came to call, but she excused
herself because of her correspondence. In her little upstairs room she
wrote letter after letter, one in particular being voluminous. Mrs.
Holabird, as she passed her door, distinctly heard her laugh aloud. It
was a point to be recalled afterward with no little consideration. Later
she went downstairs, cloaked warmly, for a walk to the post-office. Ed
Higgins was still in the parlour talking to the family. He hastily put
in his petition to accompany her, and it was granted absently. Then he
surreptitiously and triumphantly glanced through the window, the scene
outside pleasing him audibly. 'Rast was standing at the front gate
talking to Anderson Crow. Miss Banks noticed as they passed the confused
twain at the gate that Anderson carried his dark lantern.

"Any trace of the heiress, Mr. Crow?" she asked merrily.

"Doggone it," muttered Anderson, "she'll give the whole snap away!"

"What's that?" asked 'Rast.

"Nothin' much," said Anderson, repairing the damage. "Ed's got your time
beat to-night, 'Rast, that's all!"

"I could 'a' took her out ridin' to-night if I'd wanted to," lied 'Rast
promptly. "I'm goin' to take her to the spellin'-bee to-morrow night out
to the schoolhouse."

"Did she say she'd go with you?"

"Not yet. I was jest goin' to ast her to-night."

"Mebby Ed's askin' her now."

"Gosh dern it, that's so! Maybe he is," almost wailed 'Rast; and
Anderson felt sorry for him as he ambled away from the gate and its
love-sick guardian.

CHAPTER XII

The Spelling-Bee

Young Mr. Higgins found his companion bubbling over with vivacity. Her
pretty chin was in the air and every word bore the promise of a laugh.
He afterward recalled one little incident of their walk through the
frosty night, and repeated it to Anderson Crow with more awe than seemed
necessary. They were passing the town pump on their way to the
post-office. The street was dark and deserted.

"Gosh!" said Ed, "I bet the town pump's froze up!"

"It doesn't seem very cold," she said brightly.

"Gee! it's below zero! I bet 'Rast thinks it's pretty doggone cold up
there by your gate."

"Poor 'Rast! His mother should keep him indoors on nights like this." Ed
laughed loud and long and a tingle of happiness shot through his
erstwhile shivering frame. "I'm not a bit cold," she went on. "See--feel
my hand. I'm not even wearing mittens."

Ed Higgins gingerly clasped the little hand, but it was withdrawn at
once. He found it as warm as toast. Words of love surged to his humble
lips; his knees felt a tendency to lower themselves precipitously to the
frozen sidewalk; he was ready to grovel at her feet--and he wondered if
they were as warm as toast. But 'Rast Little came up at that instant and
the chance was lost.

"Doggone!" slipped unconsciously but bitterly from Ed's lips.

"Can I be your company to the spellin'-bee to-morrow night, Miss Banks?"
burst unceremoniously from the lips of the newcomer.

"Thank you, 'Rast. I was just wondering how I should get out to the
schoolhouse. You are very kind. We'll go in the bob-sled with the
Holabirds."

"Doggone!" came in almost a wail from poor Ed. He could have killed
'Rast for the triumphant laugh that followed.

In the meantime Anderson Crow was preparing to crawl in between the icy
sheets at home. Mrs. Crow was "sitting up" with old Mrs. Luce, who was
ill next door.

"She's a girl with a past," reflected Anderson. "She's a mystery,
that's what she is; but I'll unravel her. She had a mighty good reason
fer sawin' me off out there to-day. I was gittin' too close home. She
seen I was about to corner her. By gum, I hope she don't suspect
nothin'! She's found out that Ed Higgins has a good job down to Lamson's
store, an' she's settin' her cap fer him. It shows she'd ruther live in
the city than in the country--so it's all up with 'Rast. That proves
she's from Chicago er some other big place. Ed's gettin' eight dollars a
week down there at Lamson's. By gum, that boy's doin' well! I used to
think he wouldn't amount to nothin'. It shows that the best of us git
fooled in a feller once in a while. To-morrow night I'll go out to the
spellin'-match, an' when the chanct comes I'll sidle up to her an'
whisper her real name in her ear. I bet four dollars an' a half that'll
fetch her purty prompt. Doggone, these here sheets air cold! It's forty
below zero right here in this bed."

Anderson Crow soon slept, but he did not dream of the tragedy the next
night was to bring upon Tinkletown, nor of the test his prowess was to
endure.

The next night and the "spellin'-bee" at school No. 5 came on apace
together. It was bitterly cold and starlight. By eight o'clock the warm
schoolhouse was comfortably filled with the "spellers" of the
neighbourhood, their numbers increased by competitors from Tinkletown
itself. In the crowd were men and women who time after time had "spelled
down" whole companies, and who were eager for the conflict. They had
"studied up" on their spelling for days in anticipation of a hard
battle in the words. Mrs. Borum and Mrs. Cartwill, both famous for their
victories and for the rivalry that existed between them, were selected
as captains of the opposing sides, and Miss Banks herself was to "give
out" the words. The captains selected their forces, choosing alternately
from the anxious crowd of grown folks. There were no children there, for
it was understood that big words would be given out--words children
could not pronounce, much less spell.

The teacher was amazingly pretty on this eventful night. She was dressed
as no other woman in Bramble County, except Rosalie Gray, could have
attired herself--simply, tastefully, daintily. Her face was flushed and
eager and the joy of living glowed in every feature. Ed Higgins and
'Rast Little were struck senseless, nerveless by this vision of health
and loveliness. Anderson Crow stealthily admitted to himself that she
was a stranger in a strange land; she was not of Tinkletown or any place
like it.

Just as the captains were completing their selections of spellers the
door opened and three strangers entered the school-room, overcoated and
furred to the tips of their noses--two men and a woman. As Miss Banks
rushed forward to greet them--she had evidently been expecting them--the
startled assemblage caught its breath and stared. To the further
amazement of every one, Rosalie hastened to her side and joined in the
effusive welcome. Every word of joyous greeting was heard by the amazed
listeners and every word from the strangers was as distinct. Surely
the newcomers were friends of long standing. When their heavy wraps
were removed the trio stood forth before as curious an audience as ever
sat spellbound. The men were young, well dressed and handsome; the woman
a beauty of the most dashing type. Tinkletown's best spellers quivered
with excitement.

[Illustration: "The teacher was amazingly pretty on this eventful
night"]

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Miss Banks, her voice trembling with
eagerness, "let me introduce my friends, Mrs. Farnsworth, Mr.
Farnsworth, and Mr. Reddon. They have driven over to attend the
spelling-match." Ed Higgins and 'Rast Little observed with sinking
hearts that it was Mr. Reddon whom she led forward by the hand, and they
cursed him inwardly for the look he gave her--because she blushed
beneath it.

"You don't live in Boggs City," remarked Mr. Crow, appointing himself
spokesman. "I c'n deduce that, 'cause you're carrying satchels an'
valises."

"Mr. Crow is a famous detective," explained Miss Banks. Anderson
attempted to assume an unconscious pose, but in leaning back he missed
the end of the bench, and sat sprawling upon the lap of Mrs. Harbaugh.
As Mrs. Harbaugh had little or no lap to speak of, his downward course
was diverted but not stayed. He landed on the floor with a grunt that
broke simultaneously with the lady's squeak; a fraction of a second
later a roar of laughter swept the room. It was many minutes before
quiet was restored and the "match" could be opened. Mrs. Cartwill chose
Mrs. Farnsworth and her rival selected the husband of the dashing young
woman. Mr. Reddon firmly and significantly announced his determination
to sit near the teacher "to preserve order," and not enter the contest
of words.

Possibly it was the presence of the strangers that rattled and unnerved
the famed spellers of both sides, for it was not long until the lines
had dwindled to almost nothing. Three or four arrogant competitors stood
forth and valiantly spelled such words as "Popocatepetl,"
"Tschaikowsky," "terpsichorean," "Yang-tse-Kiang," "Yseult," and scores
of words that could scarcely be pronounced by the teacher herself. But
at last, just as the sleepy watchers began to nod and yawn the hardest,
Mrs. Cartwill stood alone and victorious, her single opponent having
gone down on the word "sassafras." Anderson Crow had "gone down" early
in the match by spelling "kerosene" "kerry-seen." Ed Higgins followed
with "ceriseen," and 'Rast Little explosively had it "coal-oil."

During the turmoil incident to the dispersing of the gathered hosts Miss
Banks made her way to 'Rast Little's side and informed him that the
Farnsworths were to take her to Mrs. Holabird's in their big sleigh.
'Rast was floored. When he started to remonstrate, claiming to be her
"company," big Tom Reddon interposed and drew Miss Banks away from her
lover's wrath.

"But I'm so sorry for him, Tom," she protested contritely. "He _did_
bring me here--in a way."

"Well, I'll take you home another way," said good-looking Mr. Reddon. It
was also noticed that Rosalie Gray had much of a confidential nature to
say to Miss Banks as they parted for the evening, she to go home in
Blucher Peabody's new sleigh.

'Rast and Ed Higgins almost came to blows out at the hitch-rack, where
the latter began twitting his discomfited rival. Anderson Crow kept them
apart.

"I'll kill that big dude," growled 'Rast. "He's got no business comin'
here an' rakin' up trouble between me an' her. You mark my words, I'll
fix him before the night's over, doggone his hide!"

At least a dozen men, including Alf Reesling, heard this threat, and not
one of them was to forget it soon. Anderson Crow noticed that Mrs.
Holabird's bob-sled drove away without either Miss Banks or 'Rast
Little in its capacious depths. Miss Banks announced that her three
friends from the city and she would stay behind and close the
schoolhouse, putting everything in order. It was Friday night, and there
would be no session until the following Monday. Mr. Crow was very sleepy
for a detective. He snored all the way home.

The next morning two farmers drove madly into Tinkletown with the
astounding news that some one had been murdered at schoolhouse No. 5. In
passing the place soon after daybreak they had noticed blood on the snow
at the roadside. The school-room door was half open and they entered.
Blood in great quantities smeared the floor near the stove, but there
was no sign of humanity, alive or dead. Miss Banks's handkerchief was
found on the floor saturated.

Moreover, the school-teacher was missing. She had not returned to the
home of Mrs. Holabird the night before. To make the horror all the more
ghastly, Anderson Crow, hastening to the schoolhouse, positively
identified the blood as that of Miss Banks.

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?"

CHAPTER XIV

A Case of Mistaken Identity

Detective Crow found little difficulty in gaining admittance to Colonel
Randall's summer home. He had secreted his badge, and it was indeed a
sorry-looking tramp who asked for a bite to eat at the kitchen door.

Three or four young women were busy with chafing dishes in this
department of the house, and some good-looking young men were looking on
and bothering them with attentions. In the front part of the house a
score of people were laughing and making merry.

"Gosh!" said the new tramp, twisting his chin whiskers, "how many of you
are there?"

"Oh, there are many more at home like us," trilled out one of the young
women gaily. "You're just in time, you poor old thing, to have some of
the bride-to-be's cake."

"I guess I'm in the wrong house," murmured Anderson blankly. "Is it a
weddin'?"

"No; but there will be one before many days. It's just a reunion. How I
wish Rosalie Gray were here!" cried another girl.

Just then there was a pounding on the door, and an instant later Isaac
Porter stalked in at the head of the posse.

"Throw up your hands!" called Anderson, addressing himself to the posse,
the members of which stopped in blank amazement. Some of them obligingly
stuck their hands on high. "What do you want here?"

"We--we--we're lookin' fer a tramp who said he robbed a hen roost,"
faltered Isaac Porter.

"What is the meaning of all this?" called a strong voice from the
dining-room, and the flabbergasted Tinkletownians turned to face Colonel
Randall himself, the owner of the house.

"Derned if I know!" muttered Anderson Crow; and he spoke the truth.

"Why, it's Anderson Crow!" cried a gay young voice.

"Jumpin' Jehosophat!" ejaculated the detective; "it's the body!"

"The school-teacher!" exclaimed the surprised Tinkletownians, as with
their eyes they proceeded to search the figure before them for blood
stains. But no sooner had the chorused words escaped their lips than
they realised how wretchedly commonplace was their blundering expression
in comparison with the faultlessly professional phraseology of their
leader; and, overwhelmed with mortification, the posse ached to recall
them; for that the correct technical term had been applied by one for
years trained to the vernacular of his calling was little consolation to
these sensitive souls, now consumed with envy.

In the meantime, the quarry, if we may be permitted so to designate her,
stood before them as pretty as a picture. At her side was Tom Reddon,
and a dozen guests of the house fell in behind them.

"Did Rosalie tell you?" demanded Miss Banks. "The mean thing! She said
she wouldn't."

"Ro--Rosalie!" gasped Anderson; "tell me what?" nervously.

"That I was--was coming over here with Tom. Didn't she tell you?"

"I should say not. If she'd told me you don't suppose I'd'a' driv' clear
over here in this kinder weather fer nothin', do you? Thunder! Did she
know 'bout it?"

"Certainly, Mr. Crow. She helped with the plans."

"Well, good gosh a'mighty! An' we was a-keepin' from her the awful news
fer fear 'twould give her a backset."

"Awful news! What do you mean? Oh, you frighten me terribly!"

"Doggone! I don't believe Rosalie was sick at all," continued Anderson,
quite regardless of the impatience of his listeners; "she jest wanted to
keep from answerin' questions. She jest regularly let everybody believe
you had been slaughtered, an' never opened her mouth."

"Slaughtered!" cried half a dozen people.

"Sure! Hain't you heard 'bout the murder?"

"Murder?" apprehensively from the excited New Yorkers.

"Yes--the teacher of schoolhouse No. 5 was brutally butchered
las--las--night--by--"

[Illustration: "What is the meaning of all this?"]

"Go slow, Anderson! Better hold your horses!" cautioned Harry
Squires. "Don't forget the body's alive and kic--" and stopping short,
in the hope that his break might escape the school-teacher's attention,
he confusedly substituted, "and here."

Anderson's jaw dropped, but the movement was barely perceptible, the
discomfiture temporary, for to the analytical mind of the great
detective the fact that a murder had been committed was fully
established by the discovery of the blood. That a body was obviously
necessary for the continuance of further investigations he frankly
acknowledged to himself; and not for one instant would any supposition
or explanation other than assassination be tolerated. And it was with
unshaken conviction that he declared:

"Well, somebody was slew, wasn't they? That's as plain's the nose on y'r
face. Don't you contradict me, Harry Squires. I guess Anderson Crow
knows blood when he sees it."

"Do you mean to tell me that you've been trailing us all day in the
belief that some one of us had killed somebody?" demanded Tom Reddon.

Harry Squires explained the situation, Anderson being too far gone to
step into the breach. It may be of interest to say that the Tinkletown
detective was the sensation of the hour. The crowd, merry once more,
lauded him to the skies for the manner in which the supposed culprits
had been trailed, and the marshal's pomposity grew almost to the
bursting point.

"But how about that blood?" he demanded.

"Yes," said Harry Squires with a sly grin, "it was positively identified
as yours, Miss Banks."

"Well, it's the first time I was ever fooled," confessed Anderson
glibly. "I'll have to admit it. The blood really belonged to 'Rast
Little. Boys, the seegars are on me."

"No, they're on me," exclaimed Tom Reddon, producing a box of Perfectos.

"But, Miss Banks, you are wanted in Chicago," insisted Anderson. Reddon
interrupted him.

"Right you are, my dear Sherlock, and I'm going to take her there as
soon as I can. It's what I came East for."

"Ain't--I mean, wasn't you Miss Lovering?" muttered Anderson Crow.

"Good heavens, no!" cried Miss Banks. "Who is she--a shoplifter?"

"I'll tell you the story, Mr. Crow, if you'll come with me," said Mr.
Farnsworth, stepping forward with a wink.

In the library he told the Tinkletown posse that Tom Reddon had met Miss
Banks while she was at school in New York. He was a Chicago
millionaire's son and she was the daughter of wealthy New York people.
Her mother was eager to have the young people marry, but the girl at
that time imagined herself to be in love with another man. In a pique
she left school and set forth to earn her own living. A year's hardship
as governess in the family of Congressman Ritchey and subsequent
disillusionment as a country school-teacher brought her to her senses
and she realised that she cared for Tom Reddon after all. She and Miss
Gray together prepared the letter which told Reddon where she could be
found, and that eager young gentleman did the rest. He had been waiting
for months for just such a message from her. The night of the
spelling-match he induced her to come to Colonel Randall's, and now the
whole house-party, including Miss Banks, was to leave on the following
day for New York. The marriage would take place in a very few weeks.

"I'll accept your explanation," said Mr. Crow composedly as he took a
handful of cigars. "Well, I guess I'll be startin' back. It's gettin'
kind o' late-like."

There was a telegram at the livery stable for him when he reached that
haven of warmth and rest in Tinkletown about dawn the next day. It was
from Chicago and marked "Charges collect."

"What girl and whose body," it said, "do you refer to? Miss Lovering has
been dead two years, and we are settling the estate in behalf of the
other heirs. We were trying to establish her place of residence. Never
mind the body you have lost."

"Doggone," said Anderson, chuckling aloud, "that was an awful good joke
on 'Rast, wasn't it?"

The stablemen stood around and looked at him with jaws that were
drooping helplessly. The air seemed laden with a sombre uncertainty that
had not yet succeeded in penetrating the nature of Marshal Crow.

"Is it from her?" finally asked Ike Smith hoarsely, his lips trembling.

"From what her?"

"Rosalie."

"Thunder, no! It's from my lawyers in Chicago."

"Ain't you--ain't you heerd about it?" half groaned Ike, moving away as
if he expected something calamitous.

"What the dickens are you fellers drivin' at?" demanded Anderson. The
remainder of his posse deserted the red-hot stove and drew near with the
instinctive feeling that something dreadful had happened.

"Ro--Rosalie has been missin' sence early last night. She was grabbed by
some feller near Mrs. Luce's, chucked into a big wagon an' rushed out of
town before Ros Crow could let out a yell. Clean stole her--look out!
Ketch him, Joe!"

Anderson dropped limply into a hostler's arms.

CHAPTER XV

Rosalie Disappears

Things had happened in Tinkletown that night. Alf Reesling finally found
some one who would listen to his story. He told the minister and the
minister alarmed the town. To be brief, Alf admitted that 'Rast Little
was at his house in the outskirts of the village, laid up with a broken
arm and a bad cut in the top of his head.

"He came crawlin' up to my place about six o'clock in the mornin',"
explained Alf, "an' I took the poor cuss in. That's what I wanted to
tell Anderson, but the old rip wouldn't listen to me. Seems as though
'Rast waited around the schoolhouse last night to git a crack at that
feller from town. Miss Banks and her three friends set around the stove
in the schoolhouse for about an hour after the crowd left, an' 'Rast got
so cold he liked to died out there in the woodshed.

"Purty soon they all come out, an' 'Rast cut acrost the lot to git
inside the house by the fire. He was so derned cold that he didn't feel
like crackin' anybody. When they wasn't lookin' he sneaked inside. Jest
as he was gittin' ready to hug the stove he heard Miss Banks an' one of
the men comin' back. He shinned up the ladder into the garret just in
time. In they come an' the feller lit a lamp. 'Rast could hear 'em
talkin'. She said good-bye to the schoolhouse forever, an' the feller
kissed her a couple of times. 'Rast pretty nigh swore out loud at that.
Then she said she'd leave a note in her desk fer the trustees, resignin'
her job, er whatever she called it. He heard her read the note to the
man, an' it said somethin' about goin' away unexpected to git married.
'Rast says ef Anderson had looked in the desk he'd have found the note.

"Then she packed up some books an' her an' the feller went out. 'Rast
was paralysed. He heerd the sleigh-bells jingle an' then he come to. He
started down the ladder so quick that he missed his hold and went
kerslam clear to the bottom. Doggone ef he didn't light on his head,
too. He don't know how long he laid there, but finally he was
resurrected enough to crawl over by the stove. His arm was broke an' he
was bleedin' like a stuck hog. Miss Banks had left her handkerchief on
the desk, an' he says he tried to bind up his head with it, but it was
too infernal small. Somehow he got outside an' wandered around half
crazy fer a long time, finally pullin' up at my house, derned nigh froze
to death an' so weak he couldn't walk no more. He'd lost his hat an' his
ear muffs an' his way all at the same time. If Anderson had let me talk
this mornin' he'd 'a' knowed there wasn't no murder. It was just a
match."

Hours passed before Anderson was himself again and able to comprehend
the details of the story which involved the disappearance of his ward.
It slowly filtered through his mind as he sat stark-eyed and numb before
the kitchen fire that this was the means her mysterious people had taken
to remove her from his custody. The twenty years had expired, and they
had come to claim their own. There was gloom in the home of Anderson
Crow--gloom so dense that death would have seemed bright in comparison.
Mrs. Crow was prostrated, Anderson in a state of mental and physical
collapse, the children hysterical.

All Tinkletown stood close and ministered dumbly to the misery of the
bereaved ones, but made no effort to follow or frustrate the abductors.
The town seemed as helpless as the marshal, not willingly or wittingly,
but because it had so long known him as leader that no one possessed the
temerity to step into his place, even in an hour of emergency.

A dull state of paralysis fell upon the citizens, big and little. It
was as if universal palsy had been ordained to pinch the limbs and
brains of Tinkletown until the hour came for the rehabilitation of
Anderson Crow himself. No one suggested a move in any direction--in
fact, no one felt like moving at all. Everything stood stockstill while
Anderson slowly pulled himself together; everything waited dumbly for
its own comatose condition to be dispelled by the man who had been hit
the hardest.

It was not until late in the afternoon that Blucher Peabody, the
druggist, awoke from his lethargy and moved as though he intended to
take the initiative. "Blootch" was Rosalie's most persistent admirer. He
had fallen heir to his father's apothecary shop and notion store, and he
was regarded as one of the best catches in town. He approached the
half-frozen crowd that huddled near old Mrs. Luce's front gate. In this
crowd were some of the prominent men of the town, young and old; they
left their places of business every half hour or so and wandered
aimlessly to the now historic spot, as if drawn by a magnet. Just why
they congregated there no one could explain and no one attempted to do
so. Presumably it was because the whole town centred its mind on one of
two places--the spot where Rosalie was seized or the home of Anderson
Crow. When they were not at Mrs. Luce's gate they were tramping through
Anderson's front yard and into his house.

"Say," said "Blootch" so loudly that the crowd felt like remonstrating
with him, "what's the use of all this?"

No one responded. No one was equal to it on such short notice.

"We've got to do something besides stand around and whisper," he said.
"We've got to find Rosalie Gray."

"But good gosh!" ejaculated Isaac Porter, "they've got purty nigh a
day's start of us."

"Well, that don't matter. Anderson would do as much for us. Let's get a
move on."

"But where in thunder will we hunt?" murmured George Ray.

"To the end of the earth," announced Blootch, inflating his chest and
slapping it violently, a strangely personal proceeding, which went
unnoticed. He had reached the conclusion that his chance to be a hero
was at hand and not to be despised. Here was the opportunity to outstrip
all of his competitors in the race for Rosalie's favour. It might be
confessed that, with all his good intentions, his plans were hopelessly
vague. The group braced up a little at the sound of his heroic words.

"But the derned thing's round," was the only thing Ed Higgins could find
to say. Ed, as fickle as the wind, was once more deeply in love with
Rosalie, having switched from Miss Banks immediately after the visit to
Colonel Randall's.

"Aw, you go to Guinea!" was Blootch's insulting reply. Nothing could be
more disparaging than that, but Ed failed to retaliate. "Let's appoint a
committee to wait on Anderson and find out what he thinks we'd better
do."

"But Anderson ain't--" began some one. Blootch calmly waived him into
silence.

"What he wants is encouragement, and not a lot of soup and broth and
lemonade. He ain't sick. He's as able-bodied as I am. Every woman in
town took soup to him this noon. He needs a good stiff drink of whiskey
and a committee to cheer him up. I took a bottle up to 'Rast Little last
night and he acted like another man."

At last it was decided that a committee should first wait on Anderson,
ascertaining his wishes in the premises, and then proceed to get at the
bottom of the mystery. In forming this committee the wise men of the
town ignored Mr. Peabody, and he might have been left off completely had
he not stepped in and appointed himself chairman.

The five good men and true descended upon the marshal late in the
afternoon, half fearful of the result, but resolute. They found him
slowly emerging from his spell of lassitude. He greeted them with a
solemn nod of the head. Since early morning he had been conscious of a
long stream of sympathisers passing through the house, but it was not
until now that he felt equal to the task of recognising any of them.

His son Roscoe had just finished telling him the story of the abduction.
Roscoe's awestruck tones and reddened eyes carried great weight with
them, and for the tenth time that day he had his sisters in tears. With
each succeeding repetition the details grew until at last there was but
little of the original event remaining, a fact which his own family
properly overlooked.

"Gentlemen," said Anderson, as if suddenly coming from a trance, "this
wasn't the work of Tinkletown desperadoes." Whereupon the committee felt
mightily relieved. The marshal displayed signs of a returning energy
that augured well for the enterprise. After the chairman had
impressively announced that something must be done, and that he was
willing to lead his little band to death's door--and beyond, if
necessary--Mr. Crow pathetically upset all their hopes by saying that he
had long been expecting such a calamity, and that nothing could be done.

"They took the very night when I was not here to pertect her," he
lamented. "It shows that they been a-watchin' me all along. The job was
did by persons who was in the employ of her family, an' she has been
carried off secretly to keep me from findin' out who and what her
parents were. Don't ye see? Her mother--or father, fer that
matter--couldn't afford to come right out plain an' say they wanted
their child after all these years. The only way was to take her away
without givin' themselves away. It's been the plan all along. There
ain't no use huntin' fer her, gentlemen. She's in New York by this time,
an' maybe she's ready fer a trip to Europe."

"But I should think she'd telegraph to you," said Blootch.

"Telegraph yer granny! Do you s'pose they'd 'a' stole her if they
intended to let her telegraph to anybody? Not much. They're spiritin'
her away until her estate's settled. After a while it will all come out,
an' you'll see if I ain't right. But she's gone. They've got her away
from me an'--an' we got to stand it, that's all. I--I--cain't bear to
think about it. It's broke my heart mighty ne--near. Don't mind me
if--I--cry, boys. You would, too, if you was me."

As the committee departed soon after without any plan of action arising
from the interview with the dejected marshal, it may be well to acquaint
the reader with the history of the abduction, as told by Roscoe Crow and
his bosom friend, Bud Long, thoroughly expurgated.

According to instructions, no one in the Crow family mentioned the
strange disappearance of Elsie Banks to Rosalie. Nor was she told of the
pursuit by the marshal and his posse. The girl, far from being afflicted
with a fever, really now kept in her room by grief over the departure of
her friend and companion. She was in tears all that night and the next
day, suffering intensely in her loss. Rosalie did not know that the
teacher was to leave Tinkletown surreptitiously until after the
spelling-bee. The sly, blushing announcement came as a shock, but she
was loyal to her friend, and not a word in exposure escaped from her
lips. Of course, she knew nothing of the sensational developments that
followed the uncalled-for flight of Elsie Banks.

Shortly after the supper dishes had been cleared away Rosalie came
downstairs and announced that she was going over to read to old Mrs.
Luce, who was bedridden. Her guardian's absence was not explained to
her, and she did not in the least suspect that he had been away all day
on a fool's errand. Roscoe and Bud accompanied her to Mrs. Luce's front
door, heavily bound by promises to hold their tongues regarding Miss
Banks.

"We left her there at old Mis' Luce's," related Roscoe, "an' then went
over to Robertson's Pond to skate. She tole us to stop in fer her about
nine o'clock, didn't she, Bud? Er was it eight?" He saw the necessity
for accuracy.

"Ten," corrected Bud deliberately.

"Well, pop, we stopped fer her, an'--an'--"

"Stop yer blubberin', Roscoe," commanded Anderson as harshly as he
could.

"An' got her," concluded Roscoe. "She put on her shawl an' mittens an'
said she'd run us a race all the way home. We all got ready to start
right in front of old Mis' Luce's gate. Bud he stopped an' said, 'Here
comes Tony Brink.' We all looked around, an' sure enough, a heavy-set
feller was comin' to'rds us. It looked like Tony, but when he got up to
us I see it wasn't him. He ast us if we could tell him where Mr. Crow
lived--"

"He must 'a' been a stranger," deduced Anderson mechanically.

"--an' Bud said you lived right on ahead where the street lamps was.
Jest then a big sleigh turned out of the lane back of Mis' Luce's an'
drove up to where we was standin'. Bud was standin' jest like this--me
here an' Rosalie a little off to one side. S'posin' this chair was her
an'--"

"Yes--yes, go on," from Anderson.

"The sleigh stopped, and there was two fellers in it. There was two
seats, too."

"Front and back?"

"Yes, sir."

"I understand. It was a double-seated one," again deduced the marshal.

"An' nen, by gum, 'fore we could say Jack Robinson, one of the fellers
jumped out an' grabbed Rosalie. The feller on the groun', he up an' hit
me a clip in the ear. I fell down, an' so did Bud--"

"He hit me on top of the head," corrected Bud sourly.

"I heerd Rosalie start to scream, but the next minute they had a blanket
over her head an' she was chucked into the back seat. It was all over in
a second. I got up, but 'fore I could run a feller yelled, 'Ketch him!'
An' another feller did. 'Don't let 'em get away,' said the driver in
low, hissin' tones--"

"Regular villains," vowed Anderson.

"Yes, sir. 'Don't let 'em git away er they'll rouse the town.' 'What'll
we do with 'em?' asked the feller who held both of us. 'Kill 'em?' Gosh,
I was skeered. Neither one of us could yell, 'cause he had us by the
neck, an' he was powerful strong. 'Chuck 'em in here an' I'll tend to
'em,' said the driver. Next thing we knowed we was in the front of the
sleigh, an' the whole outfit was off like a runaway. They said they'd
kill us if we made a noise, an' we didn't. I wish I'd'a' had my rifle,
doggone it! I'd'a' showed 'em."

"They drove like thunder out to'rds Boggs City fer about two mile," said
Bud, who had been silent as long as human nature would permit. "'Nen
they stopped an' throwed us out in the road. 'Go home, you devils, an'
don't you tell anybody about us er I'll come back here some day an' give
you a kick in the slats.'

"Slats?" murmured Anderson.

"That's short fer ribs," explained Bud loftily.

"Well, why couldn't he have said short ribs an' been done with it?"
complained Anderson.

"Then they whipped up an' turned off west in the pike," resumed Bud. "We
run all the way home an' tole Mr. Lamson, an' he--"

"Where was Rosalie all this time?" asked Anderson.

"Layin' in the back seat covered with a blanket, jest the same as if she
was dead. I heerd 'em say somethin' about chloroformin' her. What does
chloroform smell like, Mr. Crow?"

"Jest like any medicine. It has drugs in it. They use it to pull teeth.
Well, what then?"

"Well," interposed Roscoe, "Mr. Lamson gave the alarm, an' nearly
ever'body in town got out o' bed. They telegraphed to Boggs City an' all
around, but it didn't seem to do no good. Them horses went faster'n
telegraphs."

"Did you ever see them fellers before?"

"No, sir; but I think I'd know 'em with their masks off."

"Was they masked?"

"Their faces were."

"Oh, my poor little Rosalie!" sobbed old Anderson hopelessly.

CHAPTER XVI

The Haunted House

Days passed without word or sign from the missing girl. The marshal
haunted the post-office and the railroad station, hoping with all his
poor old heart that word would come from her; but the letter was not
there, nor was there a telegram at the station when he strolled over to
that place. The county officials at Boggs City came down and began a
cursory investigation, but Anderson's emphatic though doleful opinions
set them quite straight, and they gave up the quest. There was nothing
to do but to sit back and wait.

In those three days Anderson Crow turned greyer and older, although he
maintained a splendid show of resignation. He had made a perfunctory
offer of reward for Rosalie, dead or alive, but he knew all the time
that it would be fruitless. Mark Riley, the bill-poster, stuck up the
glaring reward notices as far away as the telegraph poles in Clay
County. The world was given to understand that $1000 reward would be
paid for Rosalie's return or for information leading to the apprehension
and capture of her abductors.

There was one very mysterious point in connection with the
affair--something so strange that it bordered on the supernatural. No
human being in Bramble County except the two boys had seen the
double-seated sleigh. It had disappeared as if swallowed by the earth
itself.

"Well, it don't do any good to cry over spilt milk," said Anderson
bravely. "She's gone, an' I only hope she ain't bein' mistreated. I
don't see why they should harm her. She's never done nobody a wrong.
Like as not she's been taken to a comfortable place in New York, an'
we'll hear from her as soon as she recovers from the shock. There ain't
no use huntin' fer her, I know, but I jest can't help nosin' around a
little. Mebby I can git some track of her. I'd give all I got in this
world to know that she's safe an' sound, no matter if I never see her
ag'in."

The hungry look in his eyes deepened, and no one bandied jests with him
as was the custom in days gone by.

There were not many tramps practising in that section of the State.
Anderson Crow proudly announced that they gave Tinkletown a wide berth
because of his prowess; but the vagabond gentry took an entirely
different view of the question. They did not infest the upper part of
the State for the simple but eloquent reason that it meant starvation to
them. The farmers compelled the weary wayfarer to work all day like a
borrowed horse for a single meal at the "second table." There was no
such thing as a "hand-out," as it is known in the tramp's vocabulary. It
is not extraordinary, therefore, that tramps found the community so
unattractive that they cheerfully walked miles to avoid it. A
peculiarly well-informed vagrant once characterised the up-state farmer
as being so "close that he never shaved because it was a waste of hair."

It is hardly necessary to state, in view of the attitude of both farmer
and tramp, that the misguided vagrant who wandered that way was the
object of distinct, if not distinguished, curiosity. In the country
roads he was stared at with a malevolence that chilled his appetite, no
matter how long he had been cultivating it on barren soil. In the
streets of Tinkletown, and even at the county seat, he was an object of
such amazing concern that he slunk away in pure distress. It was indeed
an unsophisticated tramp who thought to thrive in Bramble County even
for a day and a night. In front of the general store and post-office at
Tinkletown there was a sign-post, on which Anderson Crow had painted
these words:

     "No tramps or Live Stock Allowed on these Streets.
             By order of
                     A. CROW, Marshal."

The live stock disregarded the command, but the tramp took warning. On
rare occasions he may have gone through some of the houses in
Tinkletown, but if he went through the streets no one was the wiser.
Anderson Crow solemnly but studiously headed him off in the outskirts,
and he took another direction. Twice in his career he drove out tramps
who had burglarised the houses of prominent citizens in broad daylight,
but what did it matter so long as the "hoboes" were kept from
desecrating the main street of the town? Mr. Crow's official star,
together with his badge from the New York detective agency, his Sons of
the Revolution pin, and his G.A.R. insignia, made him a person to be
feared. If the weather became too hot for coat and vest the proud
dignitary fastened the badges to his suspenders, and their presence
glorified the otherwise humble "galluses."

On the fourth day after the abduction Marshal Crow was suddenly aroused
from his lethargy by the news that the peace and security of the
neighbourhood was being imposed upon.

"The dickens you say!" he observed, abandoning the perpetual grip upon
his straggling chin whiskers.

"Yes, sir," responded the excited small boy, who, with two companions,
had run himself quite out of breath all over town before he found the
officer at Harkin's blacksmith shop.

"Well, dang 'em!" said Mr. Crow impressively.

"We was skatin' in the marsh when we heerd 'em plain as day," said the
other boy. "You bet I'm nuvver goin' nigh that house ag'in."

"Sho! Bud, they ain't no sech thing as ghosts," said Mr. Crow; "it's
tramps."

"You know that house is ha'nted," protested Bud. "Wasn't ole Mrs. Rank
slew there by her son-in-law? Wasn't she chopped to pieces and buried
there right in her own cellar?"

"Thunderation, boy, that was thirty year ago!"

"Well, nobody's lived in the ha'nted house sence then, has they? Didn't
Jim Smith try to sleep there oncet on a bet, an' didn't he hear sech
awful noises 'at he liked to went crazy?" insisted Bud.

[Illustration: The haunted house]

"I _do_ recollect that Jim run two mile past his own house before he
could stop, he was in sech a hurry to git away from the place. But Jim
didn't _see_ anything. Besides, that was twenty year ago. Ghosts don't
hang aroun' a place when there ain't nothin' to ha'nt. Her son-in-law
was hung, an' she ain't got no one else to pester. I tell you it's
tramps."

"Well, we just thought we'd tell you, Mr. Crow," said the first boy.

In a few minutes it was known throughout the business centre of
Tinkletown that tramps were making their home in the haunted house down
the river, and that Anderson Crow was to ride forth on his bicycle to
rout them out. The haunted house was three miles from town and in the
most desolate section of the bottomland. It was approachable only
through the treacherous swamp on one side or by means of the river on
the other. Not until after the murder of its owner and builder, old
Johanna Rank, was there an explanation offered for the existence of a
home in such an unwholesome locality.

Federal authorities discovered that she and her son-in-law, Dave Wolfe,
were at the head of a great counterfeiting gang, and that they had been
working up there in security for years, turning out spurious coins by
the hundred. One night Dave up and killed his mother-in-law, and was
hanged for his good deed before he could be punished for his bad ones.
For thirty years the weather-beaten, ramshackle old cabin in the swamp
had been unoccupied except by birds, lizards, and other denizens of the
solitude--always, of course, including the ghost of old Mrs. Rank.

Inasmuch as Dave chopped her into small bits and buried them in the
cellar, while her own daughter held the lantern, it was not beyond the
range of possibility that certain atoms of the unlamented Johanna were
never unearthed by the searchers. It was generally believed in the
community that Mrs. Rank's spirit came back every little while to nose
around in the dirt of the cellar in quest of such portions of her person
as had not been respectably interred in the village graveyard.

Mysterious noises had been heard about the place at the dead hour of
night, and ghostly lights had flitted past the cellar windows. All
Tinkletown agreed that the place was haunted and kept at a most
respectful distance. The three small boys who startled Marshal Crow from
his moping had gone down the river to skate instead of going to school.
They swore that the sound of muffled voices came from the interior of
the cabin, near which they had inadvertently wandered. Although Dave
Wolfe had been dead thirty years, one of the youngest of the lads was
positive that he recognised the voice of the desperado. And at once the
trio fled the 'cursed spot and brought the horrifying news to Anderson
Crow. The detective was immediately called upon to solve the ghostly
mystery.

Marshal Crow first went to his home and donned his blue coat,
transferring the stars and badges to the greasy lapel of the garment. He
also secured his dark lantern and the official cane of the village, but
why he should carry a cane on a bicycle expedition was known only to
himself. Followed by a horde of small boys and a few representative
citizens of Tinkletown on antiquated wheels, Mr. Crow pedalled
majestically off to the south. Skirting the swamp, the party approached
the haunted house over the narrow path which ran along the river bank.
Once in sight of the dilapidated cabin, which seemed to slink farther
and farther back into the dense shadows of the late afternoon, with all
the diffidence of the supernatural, the marshal called a halt and
announced his plans.

"You kids go up an' tell them fellers I want to see 'em," he commanded.
The boys fell back and prepared to whimper.

"I don't want to," protested Bud.

"Why don't you go an' tell 'em yourself, Anderson?" demanded Isaac
Porter, the pump repairer.

"Thunderation, Ike, who's runnin' this thing?" retorted Anderson Crow.
"I got a right to deputise anybody to do anything at any time. Don't you
s'pose I know how to handle a job like this? I got my own idees how to
waylay them raskils, an' I reckon I been in the detectin' business long
enough to know how to manage a gol-derned tramp, ain't I? How's that?
Who says I ain't?"

"Nobody said a word, Anderson," meekly observed Jim Borum.

"Well, I _thought_ somebody did. An' I don't want nobody interferin'
with an officer, either. Bud, you an' them two Heffner boys go up an'
tell them loafers to step down here right spry er I'll come up there an'
see about it."

"Gosh, Mr. Crow, I'm a-skeered to!" whimpered Bud. The Heffner boys
started for home on a dead run.

"Askeered to?" sniffed Anderson. "An' your great-grand-dad was in the
Revolution, too. Geminy crickets, ef you was my boy I'd give you
somethin' to be askeered of! Now, Bud, nothin' kin happen to you. Ain't
I here?"

"But suppose they won't come when I tell 'em?"

"Yes, 'n' supposin' 'tain't tramps, but ghosts?" volunteered Mr. Porter,
edging away with his bicycle. It was now quite dark and menacing in
there where the cabin stood. As the outcome of half an hour's
discussion, the whole party advanced slowly upon the house, Anderson
Crow in the lead, his dark lantern in one hand, his cane in the other.
Half way to the house he stopped short and turned to Bud.

"Gosh dern you, Bud! I don't believe you heerd any noise in there at
all! There ain't no use goin' any further with this, gentlemen. The dern
boys was lyin'. We might jest as well go home." And he would have
started for home had not Isaac Porter uttered a fearful groan and
staggered back against a swamp reed for support, his horrified eyes
glued upon a window in the log house. The reed was inadequate, and Isaac
tumbled over backward.

For a full minute the company stared dumbly at the indistinct little
window, paralysis attacking every sense but that of sight. At the
expiration of another minute the place was deserted, and Anderson Crow
was the first to reach the bicycles far up the river bank. Every face
was as white as chalk, and every voice trembled. Mr. Crow's dignity
asserted itself just as the valiant posse prepared to "straddle" the
wheels in mad flight.

"Hold on!" he panted. "I lost my dark lantern down there. Go back an'
git it, Bud."

"Land o' mighty! Did y'ever see anythin' like it?" gasped Jim Borum,
trying to mount a ten-year-old boy's wheel instead of his own.

"I'd like to have anybody tell me there ain't no sech things as ghosts,"
faltered Uncle Jimmy Borton, who had always said there wasn't. "Let go,
there! Ouch!" The command and subsequent exclamation were the inevitable
results of his unsuccessful attempt to mount with Elon Jones the same
wheel.

"What'd I tell you, Anderson?" exclaimed Isaac Porter. "Didn't I say it
was ghosts? Tramps nothin'! A tramp wouldn't last a second up in that
house. It's been ha'nted fer thirty years an' it gits worse all the
time. What air we goin' to do next?"

Even the valiant Mr. Crow approved of an immediate return to Tinkletown,
and the posse was trying to disentangle its collection of bicycles when
an interruption came from an unsuspected quarter--a deep, masculine
voice arose from the ice-covered river hard by, almost directly below
that section of the bank on which Anderson and his friends were herded.
The result was startling. Every man leaped a foot in the air and every
hair stood on end; bicycles rattled and clashed together, and Ed
Higgins, hopelessly bewildered, started to run in the direction of the
haunted house.

CHAPTER XVII

Wicker Bonner, Harvard

"Hello, up there!" was what the deep, masculine voice shouted from the
river. Anderson Crow was the first to distinguish the form of the
speaker, and he was not long in deciding that it was far from
ghost-like. With a word of command he brought his disorganised forces
out of chaos and huddled them together as if to resist attack.

"What's the matter with you?" he demanded, addressing his men in a loud
tone. "Don't get rattled!"

"Are you speaking to me?" called the fresh voice from below.

"Who are you?" demanded Mr. Crow in return.

"Nobody in particular. What's going on up there? What's the fuss?"

"Come up an' find out." Then Mr. Crow, observing that the man below was
preparing to comply, turned and addressed his squad in low, earnest
tones. "This feller will bear watchin'. He's mixed up in this thing
somehow. Else why is he wanderin' around here close to the house? I'll
question him."

"By gosh, he ain't no ghost!" murmured Ed Higgins, eyeing the newcomer
as he crawled up the bank. "Say, did y' see me a minute ago? If you
fellers had come on, I was goin' right up to search that house from top
to bottom. Was you all askeered to come?"

"Aw, you!" said Anderson Crow in deep scorn.

The next instant a stalwart young fellow stood before the marshal, who
was eyeing him keenly, even imperiously. The newcomer's good-looking,
strong-featured face was lighted up by a smile of surpassing
friendliness.

"It's lonesome as thunder down here, isn't it? Glad to see you,
gentlemen. What's up--a bicycle race?"

"No, sir; we got a little business up here, that's all," responded
Anderson Crow diplomatically. "What air you doin' here?"

"Skating. My name is Wicker Bonner, and I'm visiting my uncle,
Congressman Bonner, across the river. You know him, I dare say. I've
been hanging around here for a week's hunting, and haven't had an ounce
of luck in all that time. It's rotten! Aha, I see that you are an
officer, sir--a detective, too. By George, can it be possible that you
are searching for some one? If you are, let me in on it. I'm dying for
excitement."

The young man's face was eager and his voice rang true. Besides, he was
a tall, athletic chap, with brawny arms and a broad back. Altogether, he
would make a splendid recruit, thought Anderson Crow. He was dressed in
rough corduroy knickerbockers, the thick coat buttoned up close to his
muffled neck. A woollen cap came down over his ears and a pair of skates
dangled from his arm.

"Yes, sir; I'm a detective, and we are up here doin' a little
investigatin'. You are from Chicago, I see."

"What makes you think so?"

"Can't fool me. I c'n always tell. You said, 'I've _bean_ hangin','
instead of 'I've _ben_ hangin'.' See? They say _bean_ in Chicago. Ha!
ha! You didn't think I could deduce that, did you?"

"I'll confess that I didn't," said Mr. Bonner with a dry smile. "I'm
from Boston, however."

"Sure," interposed Isaac Porter; "that's where the beans come from,
Anderson."

"Well, that's neither here nor there," said Mr. Crow, hastily changing
the subject. "We're wastin' time."

"Stayin' here, you mean?" asked Ed Higgins, quite ready to start.
Involuntarily the eyes of the posse turned toward the house among the
willows. The stranger saw the concerted glance and made inquiry.
Whereupon Mr. Crow, assisted by seven men and five small boys, told Mr.
Wicker Bonner, late of Harvard, what had brought them from Tinkletown to
the haunted house, and what they had seen upon their arrival. Young
Bonner's face glowed with the joy of excitement.

"Great!" he cried, fastening his happy eyes upon the hated thing among
the trees. "Let's search the place. By George, this is glorious!"

"Not on your life!" said Ed Higgins. "You can't get me inside that
house. Like as not a feller'd never come out alive."

"Well, better men than we have died," said Mr. Bonner tranquilly. "Come
on; I'll go in first. It's all tommy-rot about the place being haunted.
In any event, ghosts don't monkey around at this time of day. It's
hardly dusk."

"But, gosh dern it," exploded Anderson Crow, "we seen it!"

"I seen it first," said Isaac Porter proudly.

"But I heerd it first," peeped up Master Bud.

"You've all been drinking hard cider or pop or something like that,"
said the brawny scoffer.

"Now, see here, you're gittin' fresh, an--" began the marshal, swelling
up like a pigeon.

"Look out behind!" sang out Mr. Bonner, and Anderson jumped almost out
of his shoes, besides ripping his shirt in the back, he turned so
suddenly.

"Jeemses River!" he gasped.

"Never turn your back on an unknown danger," cautioned the young man
serenely. "Be ready to meet it."

"If you're turned t'other way you c'n git a quicker start if you want to
run," suggested Jim Borum, bracing himself with a fresh chew of tobacco.

"What time is it?" asked Wicker Bonner.

Anderson Crow squinted up through the leafless treetops toward the
setting sun; then he looked at the shadow of a sapling down on the bank.

"It's about seven minutes past five--in the evenin'," he said
conclusively. Bonner was impolite enough to pull out his watch for
verification.

"You're a minute fast," he observed; but he looked at Anderson with a
new and respectful admiration.

"He c'n detect anything under the sun," said Porter with a feeble laugh
at his own joke.

"Well, let's go up and ransack that old cabin," announced Bonner,
starting toward the willows. The crowd held back. "I'll go alone if
you're afraid to come," he went on. "It's my firm belief that you didn't
see anything and the noise you boys heard was the wind whistling through
the trees. Now, tell the truth, how many of you saw it?"

"I did," came from every throat so unanimously that Jim Borum's
supplemental oath stood out alone and forceful as a climax.

"Then it's worth investigating," announced the Boston man. "It is
certainly a very mysterious affair, and you, at least, Mr. Town Marshal,
should back me up in the effort to unravel it. Tell me again just what
it was you saw and what it looked like."

"I won't let no man tell me what my duties are," snorted Anderson, his
stars trembling with injured pride. "Of course I'm going to solve the
mystery. We've got to see what's inside that house. I thought it was
tramps at first."

"Well, lead on, then; I'll follow!" said Bonner with a grin.

"I thought you was so anxious to go first!" exclaimed Anderson with fine
tact. "Go ahead yourself, ef you're so derned brave. I dare you to."

Bonner laughed loud enough to awaken every ghost in Bramble County and
then strode rapidly toward the house. Anderson Crow followed slowly and
the rest straggled after, all alert for the first sign of resistance.

"I wish I could find that derned lantern," said Anderson, searching
diligently in the deep grass as he walked along, in the meantime
permitting Bonner to reach the grim old doorway far in advance of him.

"Come on!" called back the intrepid leader, seeing that all save the
marshal had halted. "You don't need the lantern. It's still daylight,
old chap. We'll find out what it was you all saw in the window."

"That's the last of him," muttered Isaac Porter, as the broad back
disappeared through the low aperture that was called a doorway. There
were no window sashes or panes in the house, and the door had long since
rotted from the hinges.

"He'll never come out. Let's go home," added Ed Higgins conclusively.

"Are you coming?" sang out Bonner from the interior of the house. His
voice sounded prophetically sepulchral.

"Consarn it, cain't you wait a minute?" replied Anderson Crow, still
bravely but consistently looking for the much-needed dark lantern.

"It's all right in here. There hasn't been a human being in the house
for years. Come on in; it's fine!"

Anderson Crow finally ventured up to the doorway and peeped in. Bonner
was standing near the tumbledown fireplace, placidly lighting a
cigarette.

"This is a fine job you've put up on me," he growled. "I thought there
would be something doing. There isn't a soul here, and there hasn't
been, either."

"Thunderation, man, you cain't see ghosts when they don't want you to!"
said Anderson Crow. "It was a ghost, that's settled. I knowed it all
the time. Nothin' human ever looked like it, and nothin' alive ever
moaned like it did."

By this time the rest of the party had reached the cabin door. The less
timorous ventured inside, while others contented themselves by looking
through the small windows.

"Well, if you're sure you really saw something, we'd better make a
thorough search of the house and the grounds," said Bonner, and
forthwith began nosing about the two rooms.

The floors were shaky and the place had the odour of decayed wood. Mould
clung to the half-plastered walls, cobwebs matted the ceilings, and
rotted fungi covered the filth in the corners. Altogether it was a most
uninviting hole, in which no self-respecting ghost would have made its
home. When the time came to climb up to the little garret Bonner's
followers rebelled. He was compelled to go alone, carrying the lantern,
which one of the small boys had found. This part of the house was even
more loathsome than below, and it would be impossible to describe its
condition. He saw no sign of life, and retired in utter disgust. Then
came the trip to the cellar. Again he had no followers, the Tinkletown
men emphatically refusing to go down where old Mrs. Rank's body had been
buried. Bonner laughed at them and went down alone. It was nauseous with
age and the smell of damp earth, but it was cleaner there than above
stairs. The cellar was smaller than either of the living rooms, and was
to be reached only through the kitchen. There was no exit leading
directly to the exterior of the house, but there was one small window at
the south end. Bonner examined the room carefully and then rejoined the
party. For some reason the posse had retired to the open air as soon as
he left them to go below. No one knew exactly why, but when one started
to go forth the others followed with more or less alacrity.

"Did you see anything?" demanded the marshal.

"What did old Mrs. Rank look like when she was alive?" asked Bonner with
a beautifully mysterious air. No one answered; but there was a sudden
shifting of feet backward, while an expression of alarmed inquiry came
into every face. "Don't back into that open well," warned the amused
young man in the doorway. Anderson Crow looked sharply behind, and
flushed indignantly when he saw that the well was at least fifty feet
away. "I saw something down there that looked like a woman's toe," went
on Bonner very soberly.

"Good Lord! What did I tell you?" cried the marshal, turning to his
friends. To the best of their ability they could not remember that
Anderson had told them anything, but with one accord the whole party
nodded approval.

"I fancy it was the ghost of a toe, however, for when I tried to pick it
up it wriggled away, and I think it chuckled. It disappear--what's the
matter? Where are you going?"

It is only necessary to state that the marshal and his posse retreated
in good order to a distant spot where it was not quite so dark, there
to await the approach of Wicker Bonner, who leisurely but laughingly
inspected the exterior of the house and the grounds adjoining. Finding
nothing out of the ordinary, except as to dilapidation, he rejoined the
party with palpable displeasure in his face.

"Well, I think I'll go back to the ice," he said; "that place is as
quiet as the grave. You are a fine lot of jokers, and I'll admit that
the laugh is on me."

But Bonner was mystified, uncertain. He had searched the house
thoroughly from top to bottom, and he had seen nothing unusual, but
these men and boys were so positive that he could not believe the eyes
of all had been deceived.

"This interests me," he said at last. "I'll tell you what we'll do, Mr.
Crow. You and I will come down here to-night, rig up a tent of some sort
and divide watch until morning. If there is anything to be seen we'll
find out what it is. I'll get a couple of straw mattresses from our
boathouse and--"

"I've got rheumatiz, Mr. Bonner, an' it would be the death o' me to
sleep in this swamp," objected Anderson hastily.

"Well, I'll come alone, then. I'm not afraid. I don't mean to say I'll
sleep in that old shack, but I'll bunk out here in the woods. No human
being could sleep in that place. Will any one volunteer to keep me
company?"

Silence.

"I don't blame you. It does take nerve, I'll confess. My only
stipulation is that you shall come down here from the village early
to-morrow morning. I may have something of importance to tell you, Mr.
Crow."

"We'll find his dead body," groaned old Mr. Borton.

"Say, mister," piped up a shrill voice, "I'll stay with you." It was Bud
who spoke, and all Tinkletown was afterward to resound with stories of
his bravery. The boy had been silently admiring the bold sportsman from
Boston town, and he was ready to cast his lot with him in this
adventure. He thrilled with pleasure when the big hero slapped him on
the back and called him the only man in the crowd.

At eight o'clock that night Bonner and the determined but trembling Bud
came up the bank from the river and pitched a tent among the trees near
the haunted house. From the sledge on the river below they trundled up
their bedding and their stores. Bud had an old single-barrel shotgun, a
knife and a pipe, which he was just learning to smoke; Bonner brought a
Navajo blanket, a revolver and a heavy walking stick. He also had a
large flask of whiskey and the pipe that had graduated from Harvard with
him.

At nine o'clock he put to bed in one of the chilly nests a very sick
boy, who hated to admit that the pipe was too strong for him, but who
felt very much relieved when he found himself wrapped snugly in the
blankets with his head tucked entirely out of sight. Bud had spent the
hour in regaling Bonner with the story of Rosalie Gray's abduction and
his own heroic conduct in connection with the case. He confessed that he
had knocked one of the villains down, but they were too many for him.
Bonner listened politely and then--put the hero to bed.

Bonner dozed off at midnight. An hour or so later he suddenly sat bolt
upright, wide awake and alert. He had the vague impression that he was
deathly cold and that his hair was standing on end.

CHAPTER XVIII

The Men in the Sleigh

Let us go back to the night on which Rosalie was seized and carried away
from Mrs. Luce's front gate, despite the valiant resistance of her
youthful defenders.

Rosalie had drooned Thackeray to the old lady until both of them were
dozing, and it was indeed a welcome relief that came with Roscoe's
resounding thumps on the front door. Mrs. Luce was too old to be
frightened out of a year's growth, but it is perfectly safe to agree
with her that the noise cost her at least three months.

Desperately blue over the defection of Elsie Banks, Rosalie had found
little to make her evening cheerful indoors, but the fresh, crisp air
set her spirits bounding the instant she closed Mrs. Luce's door from
the outside. We have only to refer to Roscoe's lively narrative for
proof of what followed almost instantly. She was seized, her head
tightly wrapped in a thick cloak or blanket; then she was thrown into a
sleigh, and knew nothing more except a smothering sensation and the
odour of chloroform.

When she regained consciousness she was lying on the ground in the open
air, dark night about her. Three men were standing nearby, but there was
no vehicle in sight. She tried to rise, but on account of her bonds was
powerless to do so. Speech was prevented by the cloth which closed her
lips tightly. After a time she began to grasp the meaning of the
muttered words that passed between the men.

"You got the rig in all right, Bill--you're sure that no one heard or
saw you?" were the first questions she could make out, evidently arising
from a previous report or explanation.

"Sure. Everybody in these parts goes to bed at sundown. They ain't got
nothing to do but sleep up 'ere."

"Nobody knows we had that feller's sleigh an' horses out--nobody ever
will know," said the big man, evidently the leader. She noticed they
called him Sam.

"Next thing is to git her across the river without leavin' any tracks.
We ain't on a travelled road now, pals; we got to be careful. I'll carry
her down to the bank; but be sure to step squarely in my
footprints--it'll look like they were made by one man. See?"

"The river's froze over an' we can't be tracked on the ice. It's too
dark, too, for any one to see us. Go ahead, Sammy; it's d---- cold
here."

The big man lifted her from the ground as if she were a feather, and she
was conscious of being borne swiftly through a stretch of sloping
woodland down to the river bank, a journey of two or three hundred
yards, it seemed. Here the party paused for many minutes before
venturing out upon the wide expanse of frozen river, evidently making
sure that the way was clear. Rosalie, her senses quite fully restored by
this time, began to analyse the situation with a clearness and calmness
that afterward was the object of considerable surprise to her. Instead
of being hysterical with fear, she was actually experiencing the thrill
of a real emotion. She had no doubt but that her abductors were persons
hired by those connected with her early history, and, strange as it may
seem, she could not believe that bodily harm was to be her fate after
all these years of secret attention on the part of those so deeply,
though remotely, interested.

Somehow there raced through her brain the exhilarating conviction that
at last the mystery of her origin was to be cleared away, and with it
all that had been as a closed book. No thought of death entered her mind
at that time. Afterward she was to feel that death would be most
welcome, no matter how it came.

Her captors made the trip across the river in dead silence. There was no
moon and the night was inky black. The exposed portions of her face
tingled with cold, but she was so heavily wrapped in the blanket that
her body did not feel the effects of the zero weather.

At length the icy stretch was passed, and after resting a few minutes,
Sam proceeded to ascend the steep bank with her in his arms. Why she was
not permitted to walk she did not know then or afterward. It is
possible, even likely, that the men thought their charge was
unconscious. She did nothing to cause them to think otherwise. Again
they passed among trees, Sam's companions following in his footprints as
before. Another halt and a brief command for Davy to go ahead and see
that the coast was clear came after a long and tortuous struggle through
the underbrush. Twice they seemed to have lost their bearings in the
darkness, but eventually they came into the open.

"Here we are!" grunted Sam as they hurried across the clearing. "A hard
night's work, pals, but I guess we're in Easy Street now. Go ahead,
Davy, an' open the trap!"

Davy swore a mighty but sibilant oath and urged his thick, ugly figure
ahead of the others.

A moment later the desperadoes and their victim passed through a door
and into a darkness even blacker than that outside. Davy was pounding
carefully upon the floor of the room in which they stood. Suddenly a
faint light spread throughout the room and a hoarse, raucous voice
whispered:

"Have you got her?"

"Get out of the way--we're near froze," responded Davy gruffly.

"Get down there, Bill, and take her; I'm tired carryin' this hundred and
twenty pounder," growled Sam.

The next instant Rosalie was conscious of being lowered through a trap
door in the floor, and then of being borne rapidly through a long,
narrow passage, lighted fitfully by the rays of a lantern in the hands
of a fourth and as yet unseen member of the band.

"There!" said Bill, impolitely dropping his burden upon a pile of straw
in the corner of the rather extensive cave at the end of the passage;
"wonder if the little fool is dead. She ought to be coming to by this
time."

"She's got her eyes wide open," uttered the raucous voice on the
opposite side; and Rosalie turned her eyes in that direction. She looked
for a full minute as if spellbound with terror, her gaze centred at the
most repulsive human face she ever had seen--the face of Davy's mother.

The woman was a giantess, a huge, hideous creature with the face of a
man, hairy and bloated. Her unkempt hair was grey almost to whiteness,
her teeth were snags, and her eyes were almost hidden beneath the shaggy
brow. There was a glare of brutal satisfaction in them that appalled the
girl.

For the first time since the adventure began her heart failed her, and
she shuddered perceptibly as her lids fell.

"What the h---- are you skeering her fer like that, ma," growled Davy.
"Don't look at her like that, or--"

"See here, my boy, don't talk like that to me if you don't want me to
kick your head off right where you stand. I'm your mother, Davy, an'--"

"That'll do. This ain't no time to chew the rag," muttered Sam. "We're
done fer. Get us something to eat an' something to drink, old woman;
give the girl a nifter, too. She's fainted, I reckon. Hurry up; I want
to turn in."

"Better untie her hands--see if she's froze," added Bill savagely.

Roughly the old woman slashed the bonds from the girl's hands and feet
and then looked askance at Sam, who stood warming his hands over a
kerosene stove not far away. He nodded his head, and she instantly
untied the cloth that covered Rosalie's mouth.

"It won't do no good to scream, girl. Nobody'll hear ye but us--and
we're your friends," snarled the old woman.

"Let her yell if she wants to, Maude. It may relieve her a bit," said
Sam, meaning to be kind. Instinctively Rosalie looked about for the
person addressed as Maude. There was but one woman in the gang. Maude!
That was the creature's name. Instead of crying or shrieking, Rosalie
laughed outright.

At the sound of the laugh the woman drew back hastily.

"By gor!" she gasped; "the--she's gone daffy!"

The men turned toward them with wonder in their faces. Bill was the
first to comprehend. He saw the girl's face grow sober with an effort,
and realised that she was checking her amusement because it was sure to
offend.

"Aw," he grinned, "I don't blame her fer laughin'! Say what ye will,
Maude, your name don't fit you."

"It's as good as any name--" began the old hag, glaring at him; but Sam
interposed with a command to her to get them some hot coffee while he
had a talk with the girl. "Set up!" he said roughly, addressing Rosalie.
"We ain't goin' to hurt you."

Rosalie struggled to a sitting posture, her limbs and back stiff from
the cold and inaction. "Don't ask questions, because they won't be
answered. I jest want to give you some advice as to how you must act
while you are our guest. You must be like one of the family. Maybe we'll
be here a day, maybe a week, but it won't be any longer than that."

"Would you mind telling me where I am and what this all means? Why have
you committed this outrage? What have I done--" she found voice to say.
He held up his hand.

"You forget what I said about askin' questions. There ain't nothin' to
tell you, that's all. You're here and that's enough."

"Well, who is it that has the power to answer questions, sir? I have
some right to ask them. You have--"

"That'll do, now!" he growled. "I'll put the gag back on you if you
keep it up. So's you won't worry, I want to say this to you: Your
friends don't know where you are, and they couldn't find you if they
tried. You are to stay right here in this cave until we get orders to
move you. When the time comes we'll take you to wherever we're ordered,
and then we're through with you. Somebody else will have the say. You
won't be hurt here unless you try to escape--it won't do you any good to
yell. It ain't a palace, but it's better than the grave. So be wise. All
we got to do is to turn you over to the proper parties at the proper
time. That's all."

"Is the person you speak of my--my mother or my father?" Rosalie asked
with bated breath.

CHAPTER XIX

With the Kidnapers

Sam stared at her, and there was something like real amazement in his
eyes.

"Yer mother or father?" he repeated interrogatively. "Wha--what the
devil can they have to do with this affair? I guess they're askin' a lot
of questions themselves about this time."

"Mr. and Mrs. Crow are not my parents," she said; and then shrewdly
added, "and you know it, sir."

"I've heard that sayin' 'bout a child never knowin' its own father, but
this business of both the father and mother is a new one on me. I guess
it's the chloroform. Give us that booze, Bill. She's dippy yet."

He tried to induce her to swallow some of the whiskey, but steadfastly
she refused, until finally, with an evil snarl, Sam commanded the
giantess to hold her while he forced the burning liquor down her throat.
There was a brief struggle, but Rosalie was no match for the huge woman,
whose enormous arms encircled her; and as the liquid trickled in upon
her tongue she heard above the brutal laughter of the would-be doctors
the hoarse voice of Bill crying:

"Don't hurt her, Sam! Let 'er alone!"

"Close yer face! Don't you monkey in this thing, Bill Briggs.
I'll--well, you know. Drink this, damn you!"

Sputtering and choking, her heart beating wildly with fear and rage,
Rosalie was thrown back upon the straw by the woman. Her throat was
burning from the effects of the whiskey and her eyes were blinded by the
tears of anger and helplessness.

"Don't come any of your highfalutin' airs with me, you little cat,"
shrieked the old woman, rubbing a knee that Rosalie had kicked in her
struggles.

"Lay still there," added Sam. "We don't want to hurt you, but you got to
do as I tell you. Understand? Not a word, now! Gimme that coffee-pot,
Davy. Go an' see that everything's locked up an' we'll turn in fer the
night. Maude, you set up an' keep watch. If she makes a crack, soak her
one."

"You bet I will. She'll find she ain't attendin' no Sunday-school
picnic."

"No boozin'!" was Sam's order as he told out small portions of whiskey.
Then the gang ate ravenously of the bacon and beans and drank cup after
cup of coffee. Later the men threw themselves upon the piles of straw
and soon all were snoring. The big woman refilled the lantern and hung
it on a peg in the wall of the cave; then she took up her post near the
square door leading to the underground passage, her throne an upturned
whiskey barrel, her back against the wall of the cave. She glared at
Rosalie through the semi-darkness, frequently addressing her with the
vilest invectives cautiously uttered--and all because her victim had
beautiful eyes and was unable to close them in sleep.

[Illustration: "Rosalie was no match for the huge woman"]

Rosalie's heart sank as she surveyed the surroundings with her mind
once more clear and composed. After her recovery from the shock of
contact with the old woman and Sam she shrank into a state of mental
lassitude that foretold the despair which was to come later on. She did
not sleep that night. Her brain was full of whirling thoughts of escape,
speculations as to what was to become of her, miserable fears that the
end would not be what the first impressions had made it, and, over all,
a most intense horror of the old woman, who dozed, but guarded her as no
dragon ever watched in the days of long ago.

The cave in which they were housed was thirty or forty feet from side to
side, almost circular in shape, a low roof slanting to the rocky floor.
Here and there were niches in the walls, and in the side opposite to the
entrance to the passageway there was a small, black opening, leading
without doubt to the outer world. The fact that it was not used at any
time during her stay in the cave led her to believe it was not of
practical use. Two or three coal-oil stoves were used to heat the cave
and for cooking purposes. There were several lanterns, a number of
implements (such as spades, axes, crowbars, sledges, and so forth),
stool-kegs, a rough table, which was used for all purposes known to the
dining-room, kitchen, scullery and even bedchamber. Sam slept on the
table. Horse blankets were thrown about the floor in confusion. They
served as bedclothes when the gang slept. At other times they might as
well have been called doormats. One of the niches in the wall was used
as the resting place for such bones or remnants as might strike it when
hurled in that direction by the occupants. No one took the trouble to
carefully bestow anything in the garbage hole, and no one pretended to
clean up after the other. The place was foul smelling, hot and almost
suffocating with the fumes from the stoves, for which there seemed no
avenue of escape.

Hours afterward, although they seemed drawn out into years, the men
began to breathe naturally, and a weird silence reigned in the cave.
They were awake. The venerable Maude emerged from her doze, looked
apprehensively at Sam, prodded the corner to see that the prize had not
faded away, and then began ponderously to make preparations for a meal,
supposedly breakfast. Meagre ablutions, such as they were, were
performed in the "living room," a bucket of water serving as a general
wash-basin. No one had removed his clothing during the night, not even
his shoes. It seemed to her that the gang was in an ever-ready condition
to evacuate the place at a moment's notice.

Rosalie would not eat, nor would she bathe her face in the water that
had been used by the quartette before her. Bill Briggs, with some sense
of delicacy in his nature, brought some fresh water from the far end of
the passageway. For this act he was reviled by his companions.

"It's no easy job to get water here, Briggs," roared Sam. "We got to be
savin' with it."

"Well, don't let it hurt you," retorted Bill. "I'll carry it up from the
river to-night. You won't have to do it."

"She ain't any better'n I am," snorted Maude, "and nobody goes out to
bring me a private bath, I take notice. Get up here and eat something,
you rat! Do you want us to force it down you--"

"If she don't want to eat don't coax her," said Sam. "She'll soon get
over that. We was only hired to get her here and get her away again, and
not to make her eat or even wash. That's nothing to us."

"Well, she's got to eat or she'll die, and you know, Sam Welch, that
ain't to be," retorted the old woman.

"She'll eat before she'll die, Maudie; don't worry."

"I'll never eat a mouthful!" cried Rosalie, a brave, stubborn light in
her eyes. She was standing in the far corner drying her face with her
handkerchief.

"Oho, you can talk again, eh? Hooray! Now we'll hear the story of her
life," laughed big Sam, his mouth full of bacon and bread. Rosalie
flushed and the tears welled to her eyes.

All day long she suffered taunts and gibes from the gang. She grew to
fear Davy's ugly leers more than the brutal words of the others. When
he came near she shrank back against the wall; when he spoke she
cringed; when he attempted to touch her person she screamed. It was this
act that brought Sam's wrath upon Davy's head. He won something like
gratitude from the girl by profanely commanding Davy to confine his love
to looks and not to acts.

"She ain't to be harmed," was Sam's edict. "That goes, too."

"Aw, you go to--" began Davy belligerently.

"What's that?" snarled Sam, whirling upon him with a glare. Davy slunk
behind his mother and glared back. Bill moved over to Sam's side. For a
moment the air was heavy with signs of an affray. Rosalie crouched in
her corner, her hand over her ears, her eyes closed. There was murder in
Davy's face. "I'll break every bone in your body!" added Sam; but Bill
laconically stayed him with a word.

"Rats!" It was brief, but it brought the irate Sam to his senses.
Trouble was averted for the time being.

"Davy ain't afraid of him," cried that worthy's mother shrilly.

"You bet I ain't!" added Davy after a long string of oaths. Sam grinned
viciously.

"There ain't nothin' to fight about, I guess," he said, although he did
not look it. "We'd be fools to scrap. Everything to lose and nothin' to
gain. All I got to say, Davy, is that you ain't to touch that girl."

"Who's goin' to touch her?" roared Davy, bristling bravely. "An' you
ain't to touch her nuther," he added.

The day wore away, although it was always night in the windowless cave,
and again the trio of men slept, with Maude as guard. Exhausted and
faint, Rosalie fell into a sound sleep. The next morning she ate
sparingly of the bacon and bread and drank some steaming coffee, much to
the derisive delight of the hag.

"You had to come to it, eh?" she croaked. "Had to feed that purty face,
after all. I guess we're all alike. We're all flesh and blood, my lady."

The old woman never openly offered personal violence to the girl. She
stood in some fear of the leader--not physical fear, but the strange
homage that a brute pays to its master. Secretly she took savage delight
in treading on the girl's toes or in pinching her arms and legs,
twisting her hair, spilling hot coffee on her hands, cursing her softly
and perpetrating all sorts of little indignities that could not be
resented, for the simple reason that they could not be proved against
her. Her word was as good as Rosalie's.

Hourly the strain grew worse and worse. The girl became ill and feverish
with fear, loathing and uncertainty. Her ears rang with the horrors of
their lewdness, her eyes came to see but little, for she kept them
closed for the very pain of what they were likely to witness. In her
heart there grew a constant prayer for deliverance from their clutches.
She was much too strong-minded and healthy to pray for death, but her
mind fairly reeled with the thoughts of the vengeance she would exact.

The third day found the gang morose and ugly. The confinement was as
irksome to them as it was to her. They fretted and worried, swore and
growled. At nightfall of each day Sam ventured forth through the passage
and out into the night. Each time he was gone for two or three hours,
and each succeeding return to the vile cave threw the gang into deeper
wrath. The word they were expecting was not forthcoming, the command
from the real master was not given. They played cards all day, and at
last began to drink more deeply than was wise. Two desperate fights
occurred between Davy and Sam on the third day. Bill and the old woman
pulled them apart after both had been battered savagely.

"She's sick, Sam," growled Bill, standing over the cowering, white-faced
prisoner near the close of the fourth day. Sam had been away nearly all
of the previous night, returning gloomily without news from
headquarters. "She'll die in this d---- place and so will we if we don't
get out soon. Look at her! Why, she's as white as a sheet. Let's give
her some fresh air, Sammy. It's safe. Take her up in the cabin for a
while. To-night we can take her outside the place. Good Lord, Sammy,
I've got a bit of heart! I can't see her die in this hole. Look at her!
Can't you see she's nearly done for?"

After considerable argument, pro and con, it was decided that it would
be safe and certainly wise to let the girl breathe the fresh air once in
a while. That morning Sam took her into the cabin through the passage.
The half hour in the cold, fresh air revived her, strengthened her
perceptibly. Her spirits took an upward bound. She began to ask
questions, and for some reason he began to take notice of them. It may
have been the irksomeness of the situation, his own longing to be away,
his anger toward the person who had failed to keep the promise made
before the abduction, that led him to talk quite freely.

CHAPTER XX

In the Cave

"It's not my fault that we're still here," he growled in answer to her
pathetic appeal. "I've heard you prayin' for Daddy Crow to come and take
you away. Well, it's lucky for him that he don't know where you are.
We'd make mincemeat of that old jay in three minutes. Don't do any more
prayin'. Prayers are like dreams--you have 'em at night and wonder why
the next day. Now, look 'ere, Miss Gray, we didn't do this rotten job
for the love of excitement. We're just as anxious to get out of it as
you are."

"I only ask why I am held here and what is to become of me?" said
Rosalie resignedly. She was standing across the table from where he sat
smoking his great, black pipe. The other members of the gang were
lounging about, surly and black-browed, chafing inwardly over the delay
in getting away from the cave.

"I don't know why you've been held here. I only know it's d---- slow.
I'd chuck the job, if there wasn't so much dust in it for me."

"But what is to become of me? I cannot endure this much longer. It is
killing me. Look! I am black and blue from pinches. The old woman never
misses an opportunity to hurt me."

"She's jealous of you because you're purty, that's all. Women are all
alike, hang 'em! I wouldn't be in this sort of work if it hadn't been
for a jealous wife."

He puffed at his pipe moodily for a long time, evidently turning some
problem over and over in his mind. At last, heaving a deep sigh, and
prefacing his remarks with an oath, he let light in upon the mystery.
"I'll put you next to the job. Can't give any names; it wouldn't be
square. You see, it's this way: you ain't wanted in this country. I
don't know why, but you ain't."

"Not wanted in this country?" she cried blankly. "I don't stand in any
one's way. My life and my love are for the peaceful home that you have
taken me from. I don't ask for anything else. Won't you tell your
employer as much for me? If I am released, I shall never interfere with
the plans of--"

"'Tain't that, I reckon. You must be mighty important to somebody, or
all this trouble wouldn't be gone through with. The funny part of it is
that we ain't to hurt you. You ain't to be killed, you know. That's the
queer part of it, ain't it?"

"I'll admit it has an agreeable sound to me," said Rosalie, with a
shadow of a smile on her trembling lips. "It seems ghastly, though."

"Well, anyhow, it's part of somebody's scheme to get you out of this
country altogether. You are to be taken away on a ship, across the
ocean, I think. Paris or London, mebby, and you are never to come
back to the United States. Never, that's what I'm told."

[Illustration: "She shrank back from another blow which seemed
impending"]

Rosalie was speechless, stunned. Her eyes grew wide with the misery of
doubt and horror, her lips moved as if forming the words which would not
come. Before she could bring a sound from the contracted throat the
raucous voice of old Maude broke in:

"What are you tellin' her, Sam Welch? Can't you keep your face closed?"
she called, advancing upon him with a menacing look.

"Aw, it's nothin' to you," he retorted, but an uncomfortable expression
suddenly crept into his face. A loud, angry discussion ensued, the whole
gang engaging. Three to one was the way it stood against the leader, who
was forced to admit, secretly if not publicly, that he had no right to
talk freely of the matter to the girl. In vain she pleaded and promised.
Her tears were of no avail, once Sam had concluded to hold his tongue.
Angry with himself for having to submit to the demands of the others,
furious because she saw his surrender, Sam, without a word of warning,
suddenly struck her on the side of the head with the flat of his broad
hand, sending her reeling into the corner. Dazed, hurt and half stunned,
she dropped to her knees, unable to stand. With a piteous look in her
eyes she shrank back from another blow which seemed impending. Bill
Briggs grasped his leader's arm and drew him away, cursing and snarling.

Late in the afternoon, Bill was permitted to conduct her into the cabin
above, for a few minutes in the air, and for a glimpse of the failing
sunlight. She had scarcely taken her stand before the little window when
she was hastily jerked away, but not before she thought she had
perceived a crowd of men, huddling among the trees not far away. A
scream for help started to her lips; but Bill's heavy hand checked it
effectually. His burly arm sent her scuttling toward the trap-door; and
a second later she was below, bruised from the fall and half fainting
with disappointment and despair.

Brief as the glimpse had been, she was positive she recognised two faces
in the crowd of men--Anderson Crow's and Ed Higgins's. It meant, if her
eyes did not deceive her, that the searchers were near at hand, and that
dear, old Daddy Crow was leading them. Her hopes flew upward and she
could not subdue the triumphant glance that swept the startled crowd
when Bill breathlessly broke the news.

Absolute quiet reigned in the cave after that. Maude cowed the prisoner
into silence with the threat to cut out her tongue if she uttered a cry.
Later, the tramp of feet could be heard on the floor of the cabin.
There was a sound of voices, loud peals of laughter, and then the noise
made by some one in the cellar that served as a blind at one end of the
cabin. After that, dead silence. At nightfall, Sam stealthily ventured
forth to reconnoitre. He came back with the report that the woods and
swamps were clear and that the searchers, if such they were, had gone
away.

"The house, since Davy's grandma's bones were stored away in that cellar
for several moons, has always been thought to be haunted. The fools
probably thought they saw a ghost--an' they're runnin' yet."

Then for the first time Rosalie realised that she was in the haunted
cabin in the swamp, the most fearsome of all places in the world to
Tinkletown, large and small. Not more than three miles from her own
fireside! Not more than half an hour's walk from Daddy Crow and others
in the warmth of whose love she had lived so long!

"It's gettin' too hot here for us," growled Sam at supper. "We've just
got to do something. I'm going out to-night to see if there's any word
from the--from the party. These guys ain't all fools. Somebody is liable
to nose out the trap-door before long and there'll be hell to pay. They
won't come back before to-morrow, I reckon. By thunder, there ought to
be word from the--the boss by this time. Lay low, everybody; I'll be
back before daybreak. This time I'm a-goin' to find out something sure
or know the reason why. I'm gettin' tired of this business. Never know
what minute the jig's up, nor when the balloon busts."

Again he stole forth into the night, leaving his companions more or less
uneasy as to the result, after the startling events of the afternoon.
Hour after hour passed, and with every minute therein, Rosalie's ears
strained themselves to catch the first sound of approaching rescuers.
Her spirits fell, but her hopes were high. She felt sure that the men
outside had seen her face and that at last they had discovered the place
in which she was kept. It would only be a question of time until they
learned the baffling secret of the trap-door. Her only fear lay in the
possibility that she might be removed by her captors before the rescuers
could accomplish her delivery. Her bright, feverish, eager eyes,
gleaming from the sunken white cheeks, appealed to Bill Briggs more than
he cared to admit. The ruffian, less hardened than his fellows, began to
feel sorry for her.

Eleven o'clock found the trio anxious and ugly in their restlessness.
There was no sleep for them. Davy visited the trap over a hundred times
that night. His mother, breaking over the traces of restraint, hugged
the jug of whiskey, taking swig after swig as the vigil wore on. At last
Davy, driven to it, insisted upon having his share. Bill drank but
little, and it was not long before Rosalie observed the shifty, nervous
look in his eyes. From time to time he slyly appropriated certain
articles, dropping them into his coat pocket. His ear muffs, muffler,
gloves, matches, tobacco and many chunks of bread and bacon were stowed
stealthily in the pockets of his coat. At last it dawned upon her that
Bill was preparing to desert. Hope lay with him, then. If he could only
be induced to give her an equal chance to escape!

Mother and son became maudlin in their--not cups, but jug; but Davy had
the sense to imbibe more cautiously, a fact which seemed to annoy the
nervous Bill.

"I must have air--fresh air," suddenly moaned Rosalie from her corner,
the strain proving too great for her nerves. Bill strode over and looked
down upon the trembling form for a full minute. "Take me outside for
just a minute--just a minute, please. I am dying in here."

"Lemme take her out," cackled old Maude. "I'll give her all the air she
wants. Want so--some air myself. Lemme give her air, Bill. Have some air
on me, pardner. Lemme--"

"Shut up, Maude!" growled Bill, glancing uneasily about the cave. "I'll
take her up in the cabin fer a couple of minutes. There ain't no
danger."

Davy protested, but Bill carried his point, simply because he was sober
and knew his power over the half-stupefied pair. Davy let them out
through the trap, promising to wait below until they were ready to
return.

"Are you going away?" whispered Rosalie, as they passed out into the
cold, black night.

"Sh! Don't talk, damn you!" he hissed.

"Let me go too. I know the way home and you need have no fear of me. I
like you, but I hate the others. Please, please! For God's sake, let me
go! They can't catch me if I have a little start."

"I'd like to, but I--I dassent. Sam would hunt me down and kill me--he
would sure. I am goin' myself--I can't stand it no longer."

"Have pity! Don't leave me alone with them. Oh, God, if you--"

Moaning piteously, she pleaded with him; but he was obdurate, chiefly
through fear of the consequences. In his heart he might have been
willing to give her the chance, but his head saw the danger to itself
and it was firm.

"I'll tell you what I'll do," he whispered in the end. "I'll take you
back there and then I'll go and tell your friends where you are and how
to help you. Honest! Honest, I will. I know it's as broad as it is
long, but I'd rather do it that way. They'll be here in a couple of
hours and you'll be free. Nobody will be the wiser. Curse your whining!
Shut up! Damn you, get back in there! Don't give me away to Davy, and
I'll swear to help you out of this."

A minute or two later, he dragged her back into the cabin,
moaning, pleading, and crying from the pain of a sudden blow. Ten
minutes afterward he went forth again, this time ostensibly to meet Sam;
but Rosalie knew that he was gone forever.

CHAPTER XXI

The Trap-Door

A sickly new moon threw vague ghostly beams across the willow-lined
swamp, out beyond the little cabin that stood on its border. Through the
dense undergrowth and high among the skeleton treetops ugly shadows
played with each other, while a sepulchral orchestra of wind and bough
shrieked a dirge that flattened in Bonner's ears; but it was not the
weird music of the swamp that sent the shudder of actual terror through
the frame of the big athlete.

A series of muffled, heartbreaking moans, like those of a woman in dire
pain, came to his ears. He felt the cold perspiration start over his
body. His nerves grew tense with trepidation, his eyes wide with horror.
Instinctively, his fingers clutched the revolver at his side and his
gaze went toward the black, square thing which marked the presence of
the haunted house. The orchestra of the night seemed to bring its dirge
to a close; a chill interlude of silence ensued. The moans died away
into choking sobs, and Bonner's ears could hear nothing else. A sudden
thought striking him, he rolled out of his bed and made his way to Bud's
pile of blankets. But the solution was not there. The lad was sound
asleep and no sound issued from his lips. The moans came from another
source, human or otherwise, out there in the crinkling night.

Carefully making his way from the tent, his courage once more restored
but his flesh still quivering, Bonner looked intently for manifestations
in the black home of Johanna Rank. He half expected to see a ghostly
light flit past a window. It was intensely dark in the thicket, but the
shadowy marsh beyond silhouetted the house into a black relief. He was
on all fours behind a thick pile of brush, nervously drawing his pipe
from his pocket, conscious that he needed it to steady his nerves, when
a fresh sound, rising above the faint sobs, reached his ears. Then the
low voice of a man came from some place in the darkness, and these words
rang out distinctly:

"Damn you!"

He drew back involuntarily, for the voice seemed to be at his elbow. The
sobs ceased suddenly, as if choked by a mighty hand.

The listener's inclination was to follow the example of Anderson Crow
and run madly off into the night. But beneath this natural panic was the
soul of chivalry. Something told him that a woman out there in the
solitude needed the arms of a man; and his blood began to grow hot
again. Presently the silence was broken by a sharp cry of despair:

"Have pity! Oh, God--" moaned the voice that sent thrills through his
body--the voice of a woman, tender, refined, crushed. His fingers
gripped the revolver with fresh vigor, but almost instantly the rustling
of dead leaves reached his ears: the man and his victim were making
their way toward the house.

Bonner crouched among the bushes as if paralysed. He began to comprehend
the situation. In a vague sort of way he remembered hearing of
Tinkletown's sensation over at his uncle's house, where he was living
with a couple of servants for a month's shooting. The atmosphere had
been full of the sensational abduction story for several days--the
abduction of a beautiful young woman and the helpless attitude of the
relatives and friends. Like a whirlwind the whole situation spread
itself before him; it left him weak. He had come upon the gang and their
victim in this out-of-the-way corner of the world, far from the city
toward which they were supposed to have fled. He had the solution in his
hands and he was filled with the fire of the ancients.

A light appeared in the low doorway and the squat figure of a man held a
lantern on high. An instant later, another man dragged the helpless girl
across the threshold and into the house. Even as Bonner squared himself
to rush down upon them the light disappeared and darkness fell over the
cabin. There was a sound of footsteps on the floor, a creaking of hinges
and the stealthy closing of a door. Then there was absolute quiet.

Bonner was wise as well as brave. He saw that to rush down upon the
house now might prove his own as well as her undoing. In the darkness,
the bandits would have every advantage. For a moment he glared at the
black shadow ahead, his brain working like lightning.

"That poor girl!" he muttered vaguely. "Damn beasts! But I'll fix 'em,
by heaven! It won't be long, my boys."

His pondering brought quick results. Crawling to Bud's cot, he aroused
him from a deep sleep. Inside of two minutes the lad was streaking off
through the woods toward town, with instructions to bring Anderson Crow
and a large force of men to the spot as quickly as possible.

"I'll stand guard," said Wicker Bonner.

As the minutes went by Bonner's thoughts dwelt more and more intently
upon the poor, imprisoned girl in the cabin. His blood charged his
reason and he could scarce control the impulse to dash in upon the
wretches. Then he brought himself up with a jerk. Where was he to find
them? Had he not searched the house that morning and was there a sign of
life to be found? He was stunned by this memory. For many minutes he
stood with his perplexed eyes upon the house before a solution came to
him.

He now knew that there was a secret apartment in the old house and a
secret means of entrance and exit. With this explanation firmly
impressed upon his mind, Wicker Bonner decided to begin his own campaign
for the liberation of Rosalie Gray. It would be hours before the
sluggish Anderson Crow appeared; and Bonner was not the sort to leave a
woman in jeopardy if it was in his power to help her. Besides, the
country people had filled him with stories of Miss Gray's beauty, and
they found him at an impressionable and heart-free age. The thrill of
romance seized him and he was ready to dare.

He crept up to the doorway and listened. Reason told him that the coast
was clear; the necessity for a sentinel did not exist, so cleverly were
the desperadoes under cover. After a few moments, he crawled into the
room, holding his breath, as he made his way toward the cellar
staircase. He had gone but a few feet when the sound of voices came to
him. Slinking into a corner, he awaited developments. The sounds came
from below, but not from the cellar room, as he had located it. A moment
later, a man crawled into the room, coming through a hole in the floor,
just as he had suspected. A faint light from below revealed the sinister
figure plainly, but Bonner felt himself to be quite thoroughly hidden.
The man in the room spoke to some one below.

"I'll be back in half an hour, Davy. I'll wait fer Sam out there on the
Point. He ought to have some news from headquarters by this time. I
don't see why we have to hang around this place forever. She ought to be
half way to Paris by now."

"They don't want to take chances, Bill, till the excitement blows over."

"Well, you an' your mother just keep your hands off of her while I'm
out, that's all," warned Bill Briggs.

The trap-door was closed, and Bonner heard the other occupant of the
room shuffle out into the night. He was not long in deciding what to do.
Here was the chance to dispose of one of the bandits, and he was not
slow to seize it. There was a meeting in the thicket a few minutes
later, and Bill was "out of the way" for the time being. Wicker Bonner
dropped him with a sledge-hammer blow, and when he returned to the cabin
Bill was lying bound and gagged in the tent, a helpless captive.

His conqueror, immensely satisfied, supplied himself with the surplus
ends of "guy ropes" from the tent and calmly sat down to await the
approach of the one called Sam, he who had doubtless gone to a
rendezvous "for news." He could well afford to bide his time. With two
of the desperadoes disposed of in ambuscade, he could have a fairly even
chance with the man called Davy.

It seemed hours before he heard the stealthy approach of some one moving
through the bushes. He was stiff with cold, and chafing at the
interminable delay, but the approach of real danger quickened his blood
once more. There was another short, sharp, silent struggle near the
doorway, and once more Wicker Bonner stood victorious over an
unsuspecting and now unconscious bandit. Sam, a big, powerful man, was
soon bound and gagged and his bulk dragged off to the tent among the
bushes.

"Now for Davy," muttered Bonner, stretching his great arms in the pure
relish of power. "There will be something doing around your heart, Miss
Babe-in-the-Woods, in a very few minutes."

He chuckled as he crept into the cabin, first having listened intently
for sounds. For some minutes he lay quietly with his ear to the floor.
In that time he solved one of the problems confronting him. The man Davy
was a son of old Mrs. Rank's murderer, and the "old woman" who kept
watch with him was his mother, wife of the historic David. It was she
who had held the lantern, no doubt, while David Wolfe chopped her own
mother to mincemeat. This accounted for the presence of the gang in the
haunted house and for their knowledge of the underground room.

Bonner's inspiration began to wear off. Pure luck had aided him up to
this stage, but the bearding of David in his lair was another
proposition altogether. His only hope was that he might find the man
asleep. He was not taking the old woman into consideration at all. Had
he but known it, she was the most dangerous of all.

His chance, he thought, lay in strategy. It was impossible to open the
trap-door from above, he had found by investigation. There was but one
way to get to Miss Gray, and that was by means of a daring ruse.
Trusting to luck, he tapped gently on the floor at the spot where memory
told him the trap-door was situated. His heart was thumping violently.

There was a movement below him, and then the sound of some one handling
the bolts in the door. Bonner drew back, hoping against hope that a
light would not be shown. In one hand he held his revolver ready for
use; in the other his heavy walking stick. His plans were fully
developed. After a moment the trap was lifted partially and a draft of
warm air came out upon him.

CHAPTER XXII

Jack, the Giant Killer

"That you, Sam?" half whispered a man's voice. There was no light.

"Sh!" hissed Bonner, muffling his voice. "Is everybody in?"

"Bill's waitin' fer you outside. Ma an' me are here. Come on down.
What's up?"

"How's the girl?"

"Bellerin' like a baby. Ma's with her in the cave. Hurry up! This
thing's heavy."

For reply Bonner seized the edge of the door with his left hand, first
pushing his revolver in his trousers' pocket. Then he silently swung the
heavy cane through the air and downward, a very faint light from below
revealing the shock head of Davy in the aperture. It was a mighty blow
and true. Davy's body fell away from the trap, and a second later
Bonner's dropped through the hole. He left the trap wide open in case
retreat were necessary. Pausing long enough to assure himself that the
man was unconscious and bleeding profusely, and to snatch the big
revolver from Davy's person, Bonner turned his attention to the
surroundings.

Perhaps a hundred feet away, at the end of a long, low passage, he saw
the glimmer of a light. Without a second's hesitation he started toward
it, feeling that the worst of the adventure was past. A shadow coming
between him and the light, he paused in his approach. This shadow
resolved itself into the form of a woman, a gigantic creature, who
peered intently up the passage.

"What's the matter, Davy?" she called in raucous tones. "You damn fool,
can't you do anything without breaking your neck? I reckon you fell down
the steps? That you, Sam?"

Receiving no answer, the woman clutched the lantern and advanced boldly
upon Bonner, who stood far down the passage, amazed and irresolute. She
looked more formidable to him than any of the men, so he prepared for a
struggle.

"Halt!" he cried, when she was within ten feet of him. "Don't resist;
you are surrounded!"

The woman stopped like one shot, glared ahead as if she saw him for the
first time, and then uttered a frightful shriek of rage. Dashing the
lantern to the ground, she raised her arm and fired a revolver point
blank at Bonner, despite the fact that his pistol was covering her. He
heard the bullet crash into the rotten timbers near his ear. Contrary to
her design, the lantern was not extinguished. Instead, it lay sputtering
but effective upon the floor.

Before Bonner could make up his mind to shoot at the woman she was upon
him, firing again as she came. He did not have time to retaliate. The
huge frame crushed down upon him and his pistol flew from his hand. As
luck would have it, his free hand clutched her revolver, and she was
prevented from blowing his brains out with the succeeding shots, all of
which went wild.

Then came a desperate struggle. Bonner, a trained athlete, realised that
she was even stronger than he, more desperate in her frenzy, and with
murder in her heart. As they lunged to and fro, her curses and shrieks
in his ear, he began to feel the despair of defeat. She was beating him
down with one mighty arm, crushing blows, every one of them. Then came
the sound which turned the tide of battle, for it filled him with a
frenzy equal to her own. The scream of a woman came down through the
passage, piteous, terror-stricken.

He knew the fate of that poor girl if his adversary overcame him. The
thought sent his blood hot and cold at once. Infuriatedly, he exerted
his fine strength, and the tide turned. Panting and snarling, the big
woman was battered down. He flung her heavily to the ground and then
leaped back to pick up his revolver, expecting a renewal of the attack.
For the first time he was conscious of intense pain in his left leg. The
woman made a violent effort to rise, and then fell back, groaning and
cursing.

"You've done it! You've got me!" she yelled. "My leg's broke!" Then she
shrieked for Davy and Bill and Sam, raining curses upon the law and upon
the traitor who had been their undoing.

Bonner, his own leg wobbling and covered with blood, tried to quiet her,
but without success. He saw that she was utterly helpless, her leg
twisted under her heavy body. Her screams of pain as he turned her over
proved conclusively that she was not shamming. Her hip was dislocated.
The young man had sense enough left to return to Davy before venturing
into the cave where Miss Gray was doubtless in a dead faint. The man was
breathing, but still unconscious from the blow on the head. Bonner
quickly tied his hands and feet, guarding against emergencies in case
of his own incapacitation as the result of the bullet wound in his leg;
then he hobbled off with the lantern past the groaning Amazon in quest
of Rosalie Gray. It did not occur to him until afterward that single
handed he had overcome a most desperate band of criminals, so simply had
it all worked out up to the time of the encounter with the woman.

A few yards beyond where the old woman lay moaning he came upon the cave
in which the bandits made their home. Holding the lantern above his
head, Bonner peered eagerly into the cavern. In the farthest corner
crouched a girl, her terror-struck eyes fastened upon the stranger.

"How do you do, Miss Gray," came the cheery greeting from his lips. She
gasped, swept her hand over her eyes, and tried piteously to speak. The
words would not come. "The long-prayed-for rescue has come. You are
free--that is, as soon as we find our way out of this place. Let me
introduce myself as Jack, the Giant Killer--hello! Don't do that! Oh,
the devil!" She had toppled over in a dead faint.

How Wicker Bonner, with his wounded leg, weak from loss of blood, and
faint from the reaction, carried her from the cave through the passage
and the trap-door and into the tent can only be imagined, not described.
He only knew that it was necessary to remove her from the place, and
that his strength would soon be gone. The sun was tinting the east
before she opened her eyes and shuddered. In the meantime he had
stanched the flow of blood in the fleshy part of his leg, binding the
limb tightly with a piece of rope. It was an ugly, glancing cut made by
a bullet of large calibre, and it was sure to put him on crutches for
some time to come. Even now he was scarcely able to move the member. For
an hour he had been venting his wrath upon the sluggish Anderson Crow,
who should have been on the scene long before this. Two of his captives,
now fully conscious, were glaring at their companions in the tent with
hate in their eyes.

Rosalie Gray, wan, dishevelled, but more beautiful than the reports had
foretold, could not at first believe herself to be free from the
clutches of the bandits. It took him many minutes--many painful
minutes--to convince her that it was not a dream, and that in truth he
was Wicker Bonner, gentleman. Sitting with his back against a tent pole,
facing the cabin through the flap, with a revolver in his trembling
hand, he told her of the night's adventures, and was repaid tenfold by
the gratitude which shone from her eyes and trembled in her voice. In
return she told him of her capture, of the awful experiences in the
cave, and of the threats which had driven her almost to the end of
endurance.

"Oh, oh, I could love you forever for this!" she cried in the fulness of
her joy. A rapturous smile flew to Bonner's eyes.

"Forever begins with this instant, Miss Gray," he said; and without any
apparent reason the two shook hands. Afterward they were to think of
this trivial act and vow that it was truly the beginning. They were
young, heart-free, and full of the romance of life.

"And those awful men are really captured--and the woman?" she cried,
after another exciting recital from him. Sam and Bill fairly snarled.
"Suppose they should get loose?" Her eyes grew wide with the thought of
it.

"They can't," he said laconically. "I wish the marshal and his bicycle
army would hurry along. That woman and Davy need attention. I'd hate
like the mischief to have either of them die. One doesn't want to kill
people, you know, Miss Gray."

"But they were killing me by inches," she protested.

"Ouch!" he groaned, his leg giving him a mighty twinge.

"What is it?" she cried in alarm. "Why should we wait for those men?
Come, Mr. Bonner, take me to the village--please do. I am crazy,
absolutely crazy, to see Daddy Crow and mother. I can walk there--how
far is it?--please come." She was running on eagerly in this strain
until she saw the look of pain in his face--the look he tried so hard to
conceal. She was standing straight and strong and eager before him, and
he was very pale under the tan.

"I can't, Miss Gray. I'm sorry, you know. See! Where there's smoke
there's fire--I mean, where there's blood there's a wound. I'm done for,
in other words."

"Done for? Oh, you're not--not going to die! Are you hurt? Why didn't
you tell me?" Whereupon she dropped to her knees at his side, her dark
eyes searching his intently, despair in them until the winning smile
struggled back into his. The captives chuckled audibly. "What can
I--what shall I do? Oh, why don't those men come! It must be noon or--"

"It's barely six A.M., Miss Gray. Don't worry. I'm all right. A cut in
my leg; the old woman plugged me. I can't walk, you know--but--"

"And you carried me out here and did all that and never said a word
about--oh, how good and brave and noble you are!"

When Anderson Crow and half of Tinkletown, routed out _en masse_ by Bud,
appeared on the scene an hour or two later, they found Wicker Bonner
stretched out on a mattress, his head in Rosalie's lap. The young woman
held his revolver in her hand, and there was a look in her face which
said that she would shoot any one who came to molest her charge. Two
helpless desperadoes lay cursing in the corner of the tent.

Anderson Crow, after an hour of deliberation and explanation, fell upon
the bound and helpless bandits and bravely carted the whole lot to the
town "calaboose." Wicker Bonner and his nurse were taken into town, and
the news of the rescue went flying over the county, and eventually to
the four corners of the land, for Congressman Bonner's nephew was a
person of prominence.

Bonner, as he passed up the main street in Peabody's sleigh on the way
to Anderson Crow's home, was the centre of attraction. He was the hero
of the hour, for was not Rosalie Gray herself, pale and ill with
torture, his most devoted slave? What else could Tinkletown do but pay
homage when it saw Bonner's head against her shoulder and Anderson Crow
shouting approval from the bob-sled that carried the kidnapers. The four
bandits, two of them much the worse for the night's contact with Wicker
Bonner, were bundled into the lock-up, a sadly morose gang of ghosts.

"I owe you a thousand dollars," said Anderson to Bonner as they drew up
in front of the marshal's home. All Tinkletown was there to see how Mrs.
Crow and the family would act when Rosalie was restored to them. The
yard was full of gaping villagers, and there was a diffident cheer when
Mrs. Crow rushed forth and fairly dragged Rosalie from the sleigh.
"Blootch" Peabody gallantly interposed and undertook to hand the girl
forth with the grace of a Chesterfield. But Mrs. Crow had her way.

"I'll take it out in board and lodging," grinned Wicker Bonner to
Anderson as two strong men lifted him from the sleigh.

"Where's Bud?" demanded Anderson after the others had entered the house.

"He stayed down to the 'calaboose' to guard the prisoners," said
"Blootch." "Nobody could find the key to the door and nobody else would