Chapter 3

The Pursuit Begins

Fifteen minutes later Anderson Crow was parading proudly about the town.
He had taken the stranger to the creek and had seen him scurry across
the log to the opposite side, supplied with directions that would lead
him to the nearest route through the swamps and timberland to Crow's
Cliff. The stranger had Anderson's money in his pocket; but Anderson had
a very respectable sort of driving outfit to show for it. His wife kept
dinner for him until two o'clock, and then sent the youngest Crow out to
tell her father that he'd have to go hungry until supper-time.

It is no wonder that Anderson failed to reach home in time for the
midday meal. He started home properly enough, but what progress could he
make when everybody in town stopped him to inquire about the remarkable
deal and to have a look at the purchase. Without a single dissenting
voice, Tinkletown said Anderson had very much the "best of the bargain."
George Ray meant all right when he said, "A fool for luck," but he was
obliged to explain thoroughly the witticism before the proud Mr. Crow
could consider himself appeased.

It was not until he pulled up in front of the _Weekly Banner_
establishment to tell the reporter "the news" that his equanimity
received its first jar. He was quite proud of the deal, and, moreover,
he enjoyed seeing his name in the paper. In the meantime almost
everybody in Tinkletown was discussing the awful profligacy of the
stranger. It had not occurred to anybody to wonder why he had been in
such a hurry to reach Crow's Cliff, a wild, desolate spot down the
river.

"The hoss alone is worth fifty dollars easy," volunteered Mr. Crow
triumphantly. The detective's badge on his inflated chest seemed to
sparkle with glee.

"Say, Anderson, isn't it a little queer that he should sell out so
cheap?" asked Harry Squires, the local reporter and pressfeeder.

"What's that?" demanded Anderson Crow sharply.

"Do you think it's really true that he bought the nag up at Boggs City?"
asked the sceptic. Mr. Crow wallowed his quid of tobacco helplessly for
a minute or two. He could feel himself turning pale.

"He said so; ain't that enough?" he managed to bluster.

"It seems to have been," replied Harry, who had gone to night school in
Albany for two years.

"Well, what in thunder are you talking about then?" exclaimed Anderson
Crow, whipping up.

"I'll bet three dollars it's a stolen outfit!"

"You go to Halifax!" shouted Anderson, but his heart was cold. Something
told him that Harry Squires was right. He drove home in a state of dire
uncertainty and distress. Somehow, his enthusiasm was gone.

"Dang it!" he said, without reason, as he was unhitching the horse in
the barn lot.

"Hey, Mr. Crow!" cried a shrill voice from the street. He looked up and
saw a small boy coming on the run.

"What's up, Toby?" asked Mr. Crow, all a-tremble. He knew!

"They just got a telephone from Boggs City," panted the boy, "down to
the _Banner_ office. Harry Squires says for you to hurry down--buggy and
all. It's been stole."

"Good Lord!" gasped Anderson. His badge danced before his eyes and then
seemed to shrivel.

Quite a crowd had collected at the _Banner_ office. There was a sudden
hush when the marshal drove up. Even the horse felt the intensity of the
moment. He shied at a dog and then kicked over the dashboard, upsetting
Anderson Crow's meagre dignity and almost doing the same to the vehicle.

"You're a fine detective!" jeered Harry Squires; and poor old Anderson
hated him ever afterward.

"What have you heerd?" demanded the marshal.

"There's been a terrible murder at Boggs City, that's all. The chief of
police just telephoned to us that a farmer named Grover was found dead
in a ditch just outside of town--shot through the head, his pockets
rifled. It is known that he started to town to deposit four hundred
dollars hog-money in the bank. The money is missing, and so are his
horse and buggy. A young fellow was seen in the neighbourhood early this
morning--a stranger. The chief's description corresponds with the man
who sold that rig to you. The murderer is known to have driven in this
direction. People saw him going almost at a gallop."

It is not necessary to say that Tinkletown thoroughly turned inside out
with excitement. The whole population was soon at the post-office, and
everybody was trying to supply Anderson Crow with wits. He had lost his
own.

"We've got to catch that fellow," finally resolved the marshal. There
was a dead silence.

"He's got a pistol," ventured some one.

"How do you know?" demanded Mr. Crow keenly. "Did y' see it?"

"He couldn't ha' killed that feller 'thout a gun."

"That's a fact," agreed Anderson Crow. "Well, we've got to get him,
anyhow. I call for volunteers! Who will join me in the search?" cried
the marshal bravely.

"I hate to go to Crow's Cliff after him," said George Ray. "It's a
lonesome place, and as dark as night 'mong them trees and rocks."

"It's our duty to catch him. He's a criminal, and besides, he's killed a
man," said Crow severely.

"And he has twenty-one dollars of your money," added Harry Squires.
"I'll go with you, Anderson. I've got a revolver."

"Look out there!" roared Anderson Crow. "The blamed thing might go off!"
he added as the reporter drew a shiny six-shooter from his pocket.

The example set by one brave man had its influence on the crowd. A
score or more volunteered, despite the objections of their wives, and it
was not long before Anderson Crow was leading his motley band of sleuths
down the lane to the foot-log over which the desperado had gone an hour
before.

It was at the beginning of the man-hunt that various citizens recalled
certain actions and certain characteristics of the stranger which had
made them suspicious from the start. His prodigal disposition of the box
of matches impressed most of them as reckless dare-devilism; his haste,
anxiety, and a single instance of mild profanity told others of his
viciousness. One man was sure he had seen the stranger's watch chain in
farmer Grover's possession; and another saw something black on his
thumb, which he now remembered was a powder stain.

"I noticed all them things," averred Anderson Crow, supreme once more.

"But what in thunder did he want with those hair-pins?" inquired George
Ray.

"Never mind," said Anderson mysteriously. "You'll find out soon enough."

"Do you know Anderson?" some one asked.

"Of course I do," responded the marshal loftily.

"Well, what were they for, then?"

"I'm not givin' any clews away. You just wait a while and see if I'm not
right."

And they were satisfied that the detective knew all about it. After
crossing the foot-log the party was divided as to which direction it
should take. The marshal said the man had run to the southeast, but for
some inexplicable reason quite a number of the pursuers wanted to hunt
for him in the northwest. Finally it was decided to separate into posses
of ten, all to converge at Crow's Cliff as soon as possible. There were
enough double-barrelled shotguns in the party to have conquered a pirate
crew.

At the end of an hour Anderson Crow and his delegation came to the
narrow path which led to the summit of Crow's Cliff. They were very
brave by this time. A small boy was telling them he had seen the
fugitive about dinner-time "right where you fellers are standin' now."

"Did he have any blood on him?" demanded Anderson Crow.

"No, sir; not 'less it was under his clothes."

"Did he say anythin' to you?"

"He ast me where this path went to."

"See that, gentlemen!" cried Anderson. "I knew I was right. He wanted--"

"Well, where did he go?" demanded Harry Squires.

"I said it went to the top of the clift. An' then he said, 'How do you
git to the river?' I tole him to go down this side path here an' 'round
the bottom of the hill."

"Didn't he go up the cliff?" demanded the marshal.

"No, sir."

"Well, what in thunder did he ask me where the cliff was if he--"

"So he went to the river, eh?" interrupted Squires. "Come on, men; he
went down through this brush and bottomland."

"He got lost, I guess," volunteered the boy.

"What!"

"'Cause he yelled at me after he'd gone in a-ways an' ast--an' ast--"
The boy paused irresolutely.

"Asked what?"

"He ast me where in h---- the path was."

"By ginger, that's him, right out an' out!" exclaimed Mr. Crow
excitedly.

"'Nen he said he'd give me a quarter if I'd show him the way; so I--"

"Did he give you the quarter?" questioned one of the men.

"Yep. He'd a roll of bills as big as my leg." Everybody gasped and
thought of Grover's hog-money.

"You went to the river with him?" interrogated the reporter.

"I went as fur as the clearin', an' then he tole me to stop. He said he
could find the way from there. After that he run up the bank as if some
one was after him. There was a boat waitin' fer him under the clift."

"Did he get into it?" cried Squires.

"He tole me not to look or he'd break my neck," said the boy. The posse
nervously fingered its arsenal.

"But you _did_ look?"

"Yep. I seen 'em plain."

"Them? Was there more than one?"

"There was a woman in the skift."

"You don't say so!" gasped Squires.

"Dang it, ain't he tellin' you!" Anderson ejaculated scornfully.

The boy was hurried off at the head of the posse, which by this time had
been reinforced. He led the way through the dismal thickets, telling his
story as he went.

"She was mighty purty, too," he said. "The feller waved his hat when he
seen her, an' she waved back. He run down an' jumped in the boat, an'
'nen--'nen--"

"Then what?" exploded Anderson Crow.

"He kissed her!"

"The d---- murderer!" roared Crow.

"He grabbed up the oars and rowed 'cross an' downstream. An' he shuck
his fist at me when he see I'd been watchin'," said the youngster, ready
to whimper now that he realised what a desperate character he had been
dealing with.

"Where did he land on the other side?" pursued the eager reporter.

"Down by them willer trees, 'bout half a mile down. There's the skift
tied to a saplin'. Cain't you see it?"

Sure enough, the stern of a small boat stuck out into the deep, broad
river, the bow being hidden by the bushes.

"Both of 'em hurried up the hill over yender, an' that's the last I seen
of 'em," concluded the lad.

Anderson Crow and his man-hunters stared helplessly at the broad, swift
river, and then looked at each other in despair. There was no boat in
sight except the murderer's, and there was no bridge within ten miles.

While they were growling a belated detachment of hunters came up to the
river bank greatly agitated.

"A telephone message has just come to town sayin' there would be a
thousand dollars reward," announced one of the late arrivals; and
instantly there was an imperative demand for boats.

"There's an old raft upstream a-ways," said the boy, "but I don't know
how many it will kerry. They use it to pole corn over from Mr.
Knoblock's farm to them big summer places in the hills up yender."

"Is it sound?" demanded Anderson Crow.

"Must be or they wouldn't use it," said Squires sarcastically. "Where is
it, kid?"

The boy led the way up the river bank, the whole company trailing
behind.

"Sh! Not too loud," cautioned Anderson Crow. Fifteen minutes later a
wobbly craft put out to sea, manned by a picked crew of determined
citizens of Tinkletown. When they were in midstream a loud cry came from
the bank they had left behind. Looking back, Anderson Crow saw excited
men dashing about, most of them pointing excitedly up into the hills
across the river. After a diligent search the eyes of the men on the
raft saw what it was that had created such a stir at the base of Crow's
Cliff.

"There he is!" cried Anderson Crow in awed tones. There was no mistaking
the identity of the coatless man on the hillside. A dozen men recognised
him as the man they were after. Putting his hands to his mouth, Anderson
Crow bellowed in tones that savoured more of fright than command:

"Say!"

There was no response.

"Will you surrender peaceably?" called the captain of the craft.

There was a moment of indecision on the part of the fugitive. He looked
at his companion, and she shook her head--they all saw her do it.

Then he shouted back his reply.