CHAPTER XIII. SWANSON'S RANCHE—THE DETECTIVES IN ROBBER'S RETREAT—THE SUCCESS OF THE DOCTOR—ANOTHER ROBBERY PLANNED.
In the center of a beautiful valley, with high, rugged bluffs rising on all sides, and intersected by a clear stream of spring water, which fell in tiny cascades and little waterfalls, turning and twisting like a silver snake, stood Swanson's Ranche. The low frame building, surrounded on four sides by a wide porch, and standing on a gentle elevation which fell away to the creek, was the home of the redoubtable Swanson, who was monarch of all he surveyed for miles around. The evening was rapidly advancing into night, and the large open fireplace, huge and yawning, was roaring with the cheerful fire which Swanson's obedient squaw had built, that her liege lord might not be chilled by the cold wind which whistled over the plains.
The floor of the large room, covered with fur rugs and huge buffalo-skins, was made of pounded clay, and the feet of many years had hardened it to almost stone-like solidity.
Saddles, lariats, rifles, high boots, and all the trappings and harness belonging to a cowboy's outfit littered the place, and stretched out on the robes and furs, in easy, careless attitudes, lay some half-dozen men.
Jim Cummings and Dan Moriarity were of the number. Thick clouds of tobacco smoke curled and eddied to the low ceiling, and seated near the fire to get the benefit of the light were a couple of card-playing ranchmen, indulging in a game of California Jack.
Standing with his back to the blaze, his feet spread apart, and his hands deep in his pockets, stood the owner of the ranche—Swanson. Cast in a Herculean mold, he stood over six feet tall, his broad shoulders surmounted by a neck like a bull, and his red, cunning face, almost hid from sight by the thick, bushy whiskers which covered it.
He had been relating, with great gusto, some adventure in which he had played a prominent part, and raising his broad hand in the air he brought it down on a table near him, as he exclaimed:
"And if any detective comes skulking around this shanty, I swear I'll cut out his sneaking heart, and make him eat it raw"—when the sound of horses broke the thread of his discourse, and a voice was heard shouting:
"Hello-o-o, the house!"
"Yes, an be right smart about it, dis chile most froze."
A young fellow near the door sprang to open it, and thrusting his head out, said:
"Come in, there's no dogs around."
"Dats all right, honey, we ain't got no fear of de hounds, me an' the
Doctor ain't."
"Keep quiet, you black imp," said the voice which had first been heard,
"Hobble the nags and bring in my saddle, boys."
"All right, sah; I's hearin' you, sah."
To this conversation, which had taken place outside, the men in the room had listened with great interest. Anything was welcome that served to break the monotony of ranche life, and a stir of expectation went through the room as the two strangers were heard dismounting.
The door opened and the new-comers entered.
"By the great horn spoon if this ain't the old hoss doctor hisself!" exclaimed Swanson, as he reached out his huge paw. "I thought the Apaches had lifted your scalp years ago."
"You can't kill a good hoss doctor, Swanson," replied the Doctor, grasping the offered hand and giving it a hearty shake. "Good hoss doctors don't grow on every bush."
"Boys," said Swanson, turning the Doctor around. "This hyar gentleman is Doctor Skinner—"
"Late graduate of the Philadelphia Veterinary Surgical Institute. Has practised in seventeen States and four Territories. Can cure anything on hoofs, from the devil to the five-legged broncho of Arizona, which has four legs, one on each corner, and one attached to his left flank. With it, he can travel faster than the swiftest race horse, and when hunted by the native red men, he throws it over his neck, and smiles urbanely upon his baffled pursuers."
Swanson roared with delight as the Doctor rolled this off his tongue, and slapping him on the back, cried:
"You're the same old codger. Haven't changed an inch in seven years. You've got to stay here a week, two weeks, a month. I've plenty of sick stock, and some of the boys have horses that need polishing."
"Yes, sah!" broke in the Doctor's companion, a full-blooded negro.
"We's gwine to camp down hyar shuah a monf—"
"Hold your tongue, Scip," said the Doctor. "I'm the talking man here. Yes! gentlemen," addressing the attentive cowboys, "I can cure anything that touches the ground—biped, quadruped, or centipede—glanders, botts, greased hoofs, heaves, blind staggers, it makes no odds. My universal, self-acting, double compound elixir of equestrian ointment will perform a cure in each and every case. It is cheap! It is sure! It is patented! It is the best, and it is here. You may roll up, you may tumble up, you may walk up, any way to get up, or send your money up, and you will receive a two-quart bottle of this precious liquid, of which I am the sole owner, proprietor and manufacturer."
Again Swanson expressed his unbounded delight, and the audience signified their entire approbation by shouting:
"Go it, old hoss; keep it up!"
When the doctor first entered, Cummings, who was extended on a large bear skin, fastened a searching look on him, taking in every feature and article of wearing apparel, and Moriarity, who was stretched near him, regarded the new-comer with suspicious eyes, but when they witnessed the cordial greeting which Swanson gave, they dismissed their suspicions and entering into the spirit of the evening, applauded as loudly and noisily as the rest.
Scip, who had been attending to the horses outside, now stuck his head through the door and shouted:
"Tole you what it was, Massa Doctor, dis yer chile can't tote dat bundle in alone, nohow."
"All right, Scip, I'll help you," and disregarding, with a wave of his hands, the proffers of assistance which were tendered him, the doctor stepped onto the porch and found Scip struggling with a large pack, strapped to the back of a broncho, tugging and jerking, and swearing under his breath at "the old fool rope."
Coming close to him the doctor said aloud:
"Be careful you black imp of Satan; what are you so rough about?" and then followed in a whisper, "the men are both there, Chip."
Scip, or rather, Chip, adopting the same tactics, replied:
"Honey, I's handlin' dis yeah smoof as cottonseed oil"—whispering, "what a rascally-looking lot."
The Doctor and Scip were none other than the two detectives. When Chip reached Kansas City he hunted around for some suitable disguise which would carry him through in safety. In his perplexity he went to the chief of police, with whom he was on the most friendly terms, and put the case before him.
The chief said:
"About seven years ago there used to be an old fraud named Skinner, a sort of horse-doctor, who stepped somewhat over the line and walked off with some other fellow's nag. He is now putting in his time at Jefferson City. He was hale fellow well met with all that gang, especially Swanson, and I think if you could run down to Jefferson City, put the case before the warden, you could get pointers from him."
That afternoon Chip was in Jefferson City, and walking over to the penitentiary, found the warden willing, and Skinner was called to the visitor's cage.
He had three years more to serve, and, on being told that any service he could render the State would be taken into account and to his credit, he gave Chip a minute and detailed description of his costume, manner of doing business, and brought up many interesting reminiscenses, which Chip carefully noted.
Sam, who had a peculiar talent for disguises, was to take the part of Doctor Skinner, and Chip as his negro servant could slip in and out without attracting much attention.
It was in these assumed characters that the detectives made their entre into Swanson's habitat.
Further private conversation was barred by the massive form of Swanson filling the door, and urging his friend the Doctor to let "his nigger" take charge of the stock.
"Can't be did, colonel," said the Doctor, "can't be trusted alone near this pack. Scip has too much love for the bottom of the flask to allow him too much freedom here."
"Well, I'll send one of the boys out. Hyar, you, Abe; mosey out thar and yank that pack in hyar."
Abe, a strong, strapping young plainsman, lifted the pack to his shoulder, and, followed by the "Easy, young man; step lightly; glass, you know; this side up with care," of the doctor, deposited it upon the floor.
Opening the pack the Doctor held aloft a large square bottle, on which was pasted a yellow label, "Dr. Skinner's Incomparable Horse Healer," commenced rapidly to dilate upon the peculiar excellence of the nostrum.
"Gentleman, what is good for the noble brute is good for man. This compound, this superior selection of seventeen separate solvents is warranted to dissipate the most chronic complaints. It will incite slumber, mend the broken heart, cause the hair to grow, is good for chapped hands, sore eyes and ingrowing toe-nails. It is a panacea for all evils and a trial will cost you nothing."
He passed the bottle to Swanson, who stood listening to his glib tongue in amused wonder, and invited him to test the medicine. Nothing loth, the giant took a huge drink.
"Whisky," he shouted, joyfully, "the real, old stuff," and smacking his lips he again applied them to the bottle. It was passed around, and the doctor at once became the most popular man on the ranche.
Scip, who had finally succeeded in securing his horses to his satisfaction, during which time he had made a tour of the premises and obtained the lay of the land, now entered the room and pushing his way through the crowd gathered around the Doctor and his bottle of "cure all," spread his hands to the fire, standing beside Cummings.
"Where did you pick up the darkey, Doctor?" inquired Swanson, designating Scip by a jerk of his thumb.
"The hard fact is, gentlemen, that we picked each other up. I was 1907 and Scip was 1908.
"How's that?"
"I repeat. I was 1907 and Scip was 1908."
"You mean to say you were doing—"
"Simply that and nothing more, I found a halter in the road one day and picked it up, carrying it with me, and it wasn't until a most officious individual in blue coat and brass buttons came along and rudely placed a pair of exquisite steel bracelets on my delicate wrists, that I learned that a horse was tied at the other end of the halter, and the gentleman who is supposed to dispense justice in Kansas City urged me to remove to Jefferson City for a time; that is all. The number of my room was 1907 and my colored friend here had the apartment next to mine."
"Yah, yah," laughed Scip, "we bof did our time together, suah."
This new claim on Swanson's friendship had its effect, and the generous quantities of whisky which he had swallowed having put him into an extraordinary good humor, he threw his arms around the doctor and vowed he would keep him all his life.
Thus the two detectives by a bold piece of strategy, had gained entrance to the express robbers' asylum and had been offered the right hand of fellowship. The evening wore on, cards were produced, and the click of the ivory poker chips was heard above the low hum of conversation. The doctor did not care to take a hand, and Scip, apparently tired out with his day's journey, had thrown himself on a buffalo-robe in a corner, and seemed fast asleep.
The Doctor, his eyes half closed, and slowly puffing his pipe, closely and keenly eyed every face in the room; but most of all, he gazed at Swanson, who, partly overcome by liquor, was leaning back in an easy, cane-bottomed chair, looking into the fire. A malignant frown, ever and anon, knit his low brow, and his cruel mouth curled so as to show his teeth, as his thoughts passed through his befuddled brain.
Cummings and Moriarity, who had withdrawn from the main party, had their heads together, earnestly engaged in conversation. Cummings was evidently endeavoring to persuade his fainter hearted comrade to do something, for he often bent a significant look on Swanson, or pointed his thumb toward him, but Moriarity, whose eyes were half indicative of fear, would shake his head as if in expostulation.
The Doctor saw all this, through his half-closed eyes and strained his ears to catch even the slightest shred of their consultation, but the outlaws talked in such low tones that he was unable to hear anything.
A glance at Skip, who was gently snoring near them, put his mind at rest, for he saw that the darkey was taking in every word that dropped, feigning sleep all the time. A sudden movement by some of the men, roused Swanson, and looking at a huge silver watch, he ordered them all to bed at once. Which command was obeyed by all except Cummings, Moriarity, the Doctor and Scip.
An inner room, fitted with bunks, was used as the dormitory, but the two robbers, as special guests had rooms to themselves. Going to a cupboard, and bringing out an armful of blankets, Swanson threw them on the floor.
"There my hearty, you and your boy will have to camp out here to-night.
We're crowded, so make yourself comfortable," and then bidding them
"Good-night," he staggered to his bed.
Nothing could suit the detectives better than this. A room to themselves, a warm fire, plenty of blankets and no suspicions of their true character.
Smoothing the blankets over the bear skins, the two friends lay down and a whispered conversation commenced.
"What were Cummings and Moriarity talking about, Chip?" said Sam, in a cautious tone.
"Cummings wants to rob the old man, Swanson. He says he's got thousands of dollars salted somewhere around here and thinks they might as well make hay while the sun shines, but Dan was afraid to do it."
"What a precious pair of rascals, but we can use this idea first-rate to get them over the line again."
"I thought of the same thing as they were talking. If you could only bring it up without awaking any suspicions, we might offer to help him do the job."
"Trust me for that, old fellow. Even if we have to commit actual robbery, I'll do it."
"Well, keep your eyes open, and don't be caught sleeping. Go to sleep, now. I'll keep first watch."
This was the regular system of the two operators. While one slept the other kept watch and to this fact a large portion of their success was due.
The ranche became quiet, its denizens all sleeping, and the night passed without any disturbance.