Chapter VII.
JESSE BESTS THE DETECTIVES AT THEIR OWN GAME.
Reading failure in the dejected expression on his son's countenance as he entered the study, Mr. Rozier waved his hand toward a chair.
"There's no use telling us you haven't succeeded, your face shows it all too plainly," he said as the boy sat down. "All we want to know is how it happened. Begin at the beginning and don't omit anything."
"Not even the slightest detail," added one of the detectives. "What might seem trivial to you may be of the utmost importance to us."
Desirous of getting through the ordeal as soon as possible, young Rozier related all that had occurred from the moment he had reached the crowd about the tent till he had been given his dismissal, even to the words he hurled at the canvas when he heard the gloating laugh.
With many wise nods of their heads and frequent ejaculations, the man-hunters listened to the narrative.
"You're quite right, my boy, only wait," exclaimed their leader as the story was concluded. "They were too smart for you, but they may not get off so easily when we tackle them." Then turning to the bank president he went on:
"You did well, Mr. Rozier, in sending for us. The way this Howard evaded all your son's questions proves that he is a slick article, one that isn't easily to be trapped. However, I think we will succeed in landing him and his two confederates."
Disgusted at the conceit of the man, the bank president waited a few moments to see if the sleuth would suggest any line of action and finding that he did not, snapped:
"That remains to be seen. I've found, in my experience in the world, that it's best to act first and talk afterward.
"What do you propose to do?"
Disconcerted by the putting into words of the very question that was puzzling him, the detective replied:
"Why, go 'round to see them."
"And talk about the mines again, eh?" interrupted Mr. Rozier. "Stuff and nonsense! You might just as well say we're detectives and we're trying to find some grounds for arresting you."
"Well, what do you suggest?" asked the man, nettled at the speech and manner of the banker.
With the burden of the responsibility for the success or failure of their purpose thus shifted to his shoulders, Mr. Rozier thrummed on his desk, scowling.
"I should say the thing for you to do was to mingle with the crowd that's watching them, if there is any now, so that if they come out you can shadow them, that's the word you detectives use, isn't it? If they try to get away, stop them."
"How? We've no right to interfere with a man's movements unless we can make some specific charge against him. If we did, he'd have an action at law against us. They're not vagrants because they have money and if we should arrest them as suspicious characters what could we prove?"
"Could you get at them, or Howard at any rate, for wearing false whiskers?" inquired young Rozier.
"There's no law against that, of which I'm aware," qualified the man-hunter, "but you've given me an idea.
"We might hire some tough to pick a row with them and snatch off the beard."
"After the experience with young Consollas I fancy no one could get near enough to them," observed the banker.
"True," admitted the detective, reluctantly. Then his face brightened:
"You don't suppose your daughter could cozzen Howard into talking about his mines, do you?"
His face livid with rage, the president of the savings institution brought his fist down on his desk with a bang, thundering:
"No sir, I don't! And what's more, Miss Rozier is not to be brought into our conversation again, just understand that. The quicker you do the better. If you can't devise any plan of getting around these men by yourselves or with my son's or my assistance just say so and I'll pay your bill and you can go back to Kansas City."
Alarmed at the fervor of the outburst, the man-hunter set himself about making reparation for his unlucky suggestion and finally succeeded in pacifying the enraged banker.
But when this had been accomplished, they were no nearer the solution of their problem than before.
One by one, various plans were proposed, discussed and rejected.
"There's one thing we can do," remarked a sleuth who had taken no previous part in the debate.
Expectantly the others looked at him.
"Out with it, man!" commanded the banker. "If you've got an idea, for goodness' sake let's hear it."
"What I was going to say was that we could wait till night and when they are asleep go through their clothes and luggage."
"But they may leave the Springs before dark or just after," objected Forman, Jr.
The new line of thought roused by the proposition, however, bore fruit.
"I have it!" exclaimed the banker, all of a tremble. "We'll drug 'em! I'll send 'round a couple of bottles of doctored wine. If they're miners, they drink—it's a safe bet they do, anyway. They'll take the stuff and then when they're under, you men can go into the tent and ransack it to your hearts' content."
"But they won't accept anything coming from us," protested his namesake. "If they wouldn't take a cigar from me, they won't a bottle of wine from you."
The objection was easily overridden, however, by the suggestion that the gift could be sent anonymously, with a note simply saying that it was from a friend.
This point decided, there only remained the procuring of the drug with which to doctor the wine.
In utter ignorance of what to use, the banker inquired of the detectives.
The question caused an argument among them as to the most efficacious kind of dope, the decision finally falling upon chloral as the one that would act upon the victim the quickest and the most powerfully.
Realizing that it would be no easy matter to obtain the drug, Mr. Rozier announced his willingness to get it and went to the apothecary shop. Yet before he secured it, he was obliged to use all the influence of his wealth and position. But at last, upon his solemn assurance that it was to be used for no improper purpose, the pharmacist gave some of the poison to him and he hurried back to his home.
Ordering two bottles of some rare old Madeira to be brought from his wine cellar, the banker and the man-hunters set about putting in the drug as soon as they were placed upon the desk by the servant.
Yet the task was no easy one. Should the recipients of the gift discover that the corks had been tampered with, they would, of course, become suspicious of them instantly.
With much care and many expletives, the elder Rozier finally succeeded in pushing to one side, unbroken, the age-rusted wires that held the corks intact and gradually worked the stoppers out.
This done, the requisite number of drops were put in each bottle, the corks were driven back in and the wires readjusted in their proper places.
The dust and cobwebs, so dear to the eye of the connoisseur of old vintages, had been sadly brushed off and torn in the operation, however.
After vainly trying to attach substitutes, the difficulty was finally solved by wiping them all off entirely.
When the bottles had been wrapped in heavy paper, one of the man-hunters addressed the package to "Mr. Thomas Howard, with the best wishes of an admirer."
Satisfied with their work, it was decided that the banker's son should accompany one of the detectives to the tent of their intended victims, while the others followed at a distance that would not attract attention, and that when they reached their destination, young Rozier should conceal himself, allowing the sleuth to deliver the package alone. In the event of the absence of the miners, the package was to be put inside the tent and the detective was to find some place from which he could watch their return.
Confident of their ultimate success, the conspirators set out.
Had they had any inkling that the men they planned to trap were the terrible outlaws who had played so fast and loose with them in Kansas City, when they escaped from their clutches with the daughter of Banker Ormsby, their assurance would doubtless have been less great.
But in blissful ignorance of the fact, they descended upon the tent.
In the time consumed by these preparations the outlaws, themselves, had not been idle.
As soon as their caller had taken his departure, they put their heads together to decide upon their best move.
All doubt as to who had seen the incident of the beard-snatching removed by young Rozier's own words, and his purpose in calling evident in his questions regarding the mines, even Jesse was compelled to admit that nothing was to be gained, while everything might be lost, by a longer sojourn at the Springs.
When the method of their going was broached, the great outlaw declared that it must be on horseback, for to depart by train and leave the roan would be tacit admission that they had been driven to flight.
And accordingly they went out to purchase two horses and the necessary saddles and bridles.
As they emerged from their tent, they were agreeably surprised to find that the crowd had dispersed.
Picking their way among the outlying avenues of canvas, the bandits were able to reach the square almost unnoticed but immediately upon their arrival in the business part of the town they became the center of all eyes.
Smiling at the freely expressed comments upon their appearance, Jesse led the way into a harness shop and made his wants known.
Visions of exorbitant prices for his best saddles in his mind, the proprietor declared he could take them to the best animals in the Springs and, glancing proudly upon his friends and neighbours as he emerged from his store at the side of "Mr. Howard," he conducted the outlaws to where the horses were.
Apprised of the strangers' purpose, the owner brought out two splendid creatures from his stable and quickly the bargain was struck, though to the detriment of the bandits' bank rolls.
With instructions that the animals be fitted with saddles and bridles and delivered at their tent, they thanked the harness maker, paid him liberally and set out upon their return, arriving in their corner of the grove just in time to see young Rozier point out their camp to the detective and disappear.
"What do you suppose that means?" asked Cole.
But the actions of the man-hunter were his answer.
Approaching the tent, he shook the flap and, receiving no response, raised one corner, thrusting the package of doped wine underneath.
Their suspicions excited, especially as the intruder taking advantage of their absence to peer at everything he could see of their belongings, Jesse yelled:
"Hi there! Get out of that tent! What are you up to, anyhow?"
Springing back at the unexpected challenge the man-hunter turned to see who had hailed him.
"Dillaby, the Pinkerton superintendent in Kansas City, as I live," breathed the bandit-chieftain to his pals. "This is getting hot. Come on till we see what he's up to. If he tries to get away draw your guns." Then, raising his voice he cried:
"What are you doing, down on your hands and knees, spying into my camp?"
The shouts of the world-famous desperado quickly drew a crowd to the spot.
Turning to them, he complained bitterly:
"It seems strange that three gentlemen can't come to Monegaw Springs and live in quiet, without you all haunting them day and night and gawping at them. Why, we can't even leave our tent without some one trying to enter it.
"This man, here," and he pointed to the detective, "was just crawling in when we happened to come along and saw him."
"That's not so," protested Dillaby, realizing that his position was becoming uncomfortable.
"Then what were you doing? Are you in the habit of going 'round sticking your head into every camp you see?"
"I was merely delivering a package."
"That's a likely story."
"You can see for yourself by looking in. As I found no one at home, I stooped to place it under the canvas and—"
"Staid to see what you could see," interrupted Jesse. "Ted," looking at Cole, "find out if there is any bundle inside."
Eagerly the crowd awaited his reply.
"Yes, there is one," he called.
"Now will you believe me?" demanded the man-hunter, anxious to escape from his inquisitors.
"Not yet. That may be just a blind to be used in case we were at home or you were caught sneaking in, as you were.
"It's my opinion you are a thief!"
Crimsoning at the charge, Dillaby looked about him helplessly. No suspicion was there in his mind as to the true identity of the man before him. That he was the Mr. Howard he had no doubt from the clever manner in which the outlaw had twisted appearances against him and so serious was his predicament that he feared it would be necessary to call upon Mr. Rozier to extricate him—an event that would lay bare the whole plot.
Enjoying the man's misery, the world famous desperado determined to make him disclose his purpose.
"Do you know what's in the package?" he asked.
"I do."
"What?"
"Wine."
"There's some writing on the wrapper," interrupted Cole. "It says 'for Mr. Thomas Howard, with best wishes from an admirer.'"
"Ah! how romantic," grinned Jesse. "Can it be, sir, that you are the one who sent me the wine?"
The detective had gone too far to falter now and he replied:
"Yes."
"I don't seem to remember your face," purred the bandit-chieftain, "when did I ever see you before?"
"We have never met, but I saw your magnificent work yesterday afternoon and wished to show you my appreciation."
"Rubbish!" snapped Jesse. "I don't believe you were ever in Monegaw Springs in your life before this morning." Then turning again to the astounded onlookers, he asked: "Do any of you know this man? Have you ever seen him before?"
But nobody had and they said so in no uncertain terms.
"You hear what these gentlemen and ladies say," observed the bandit-chieftain. "None of them have ever laid eyes on you till just now.
"You're a slick talker, but you can't fool me. I owe it to the other sojourners at the Springs to see that you're taken care of so you can't try to work the gag on them.
"Will some of you gentlemen kindly send for the constable? I wish to have this man locked up as a thief. If he can establish his innocence, the judge will give him the opportunity."
The look of malignant hatred that Dillaby bestowed upon his tormentor as he heard the request made Jesse grin and he watched him with keen enjoyment as several of the men rushed off to summon a guardian of the law.
Standing On the edge of the crowd, young Rozier had been an indignant witness of all that had transpired.
Realizing that the tracing of the wine to his father would spell defeat for their second plan, he had held his tongue. But when he heard his foe's call for a constable and saw people start to get one, he could contain himself no longer.
Pushing his way to the side of the man-hunter, he exclaimed:
"I can vouch for this man, Mr. Howard. This is an outrage to treat him so."
"Is this one of your father's guests, the capitalists?" asked the great outlaw, innocently.
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you interfere before the matter had gone so far?"
"Because I only just got here."
"Where have you been since you pointed my tent out to your friend?"
This question was uttered in a voice inaudible to any save the banker's son and the man-hunter. But it told them that their connection had been known from the first and that the by-play had been indulged in merely for the purpose of compelling them to acknowledge it publicly.
Ere either could recover from the shock of the discovery, Jessie was saying to the crowd:
"Mr. Rosier says that a cruel mistake has been made and that the man I thought was a thief is in reality a special friend of his father—a capitalist, who is his house guest."
And then to their amazement, instead of apologizing to the stranger, he continued:
"I beg your pardon for having sent any of you after the constable. But there is so little difference between some men of wealth and thieves that my mistake is not unnatural."
With this parting shot, whose meaning there was no mistaking, the world-famous desperado turned his back on the banker's son and the detective who posed as a capitalist, motioned to Clell and Cole to enter the tent and followed, taking the wine from the latter, while the crowd gasped at the public affront and the startling innuendo.
For the second time Jesse had outwitted the banker. But he was playing a desperate game. And danger, of which he never dreamed, looming dark and terrible, was closing in on him even in the moment of his triumph!