“We’ve done all we could to get the authorities on the trail of Ward Porton,” announced Dave’s father; “but we have been much hindered on account of this awful blizzard. The telegraph and telephone wires are down in all directions, so it has been practically impossible to send word any great distance.”
“With such a storm it may be possible that Porton and his confederate are still in Crumville,” suggested Roger.
“I hardly think that,” said Dunston Porter. “More than likely they did everything they could to put distance between themselves and this town after they got their hands on the miniatures.”
“I suppose you know we found out that Porton’s 164 confederate managed to get a horse and cutter from Bryson’s livery stable,” said Dave’s father.
“No, we didn’t know that!” cried Ben.
“Well, it’s true. The confederate, who gave his name as Frank Carson, said he wanted the turnout to go for a doctor. He said he had been sent by Mr. Jamison, the minister. Of course, it was all a trick and Mr. Jamison knew absolutely nothing about it.”
“Did they return the horse and cutter?”
“They did not. And Bryson is mourning the loss of a good horse. The cutter he says did not amount to so much. He would not have let the animal go out, only the fellow begged so hard, stating that it was practically a case of life or death––and he offered to pay double money for the horse’s use.”
“Were they seen at all?” questioned Ben.
“Oh, yes! A number of people who were stormbound saw them pass down the street and stop at your house. Then others saw the cutter turn in the direction of Hacklebury.”