"Yep—fer murder—only he wasn't the murderer. We follered him down the river—him an' the girl—to Bracken's place, but they were married afore we got there. Doggone, that was a busy day! Some blamed good detective work was did, too. I—"
"And Mr. Barnes was interested in Rosalie?" asked Bonner suddenly. "How could he have known anything about her?"
"That's what puzzles me. She came here about two years after the elopement more er less, but I don't remember ever seein' him after that time."
"It's very strange, Mr. Crow," reflected Bonner soberly. "He has a son, I know. His wife died a year or so after the boy's birth. Young Barnes is about twenty-one, I think at this time. By George! I've heard it said that Barnes and his wife were not hitting it off very well. They say she died of a broken heart. I've heard mother speak of it often. I wonder—great heavens, it isn't possible that Rosalie can be connected in any way with John Barnes? Anderson Crow, I—I wonder if there is a possibility?" Bonner was quivering with excitement, wonder—and—unbelief.
"I'm workin' on that clew," said Anderson as calmly as his tremors would permit. He was thrilled by the mere suggestion, but it was second nature for him to act as if every discovery were his own. "Ever sence I saw him on the road up there, I've been trackin' him. I tell you, Wick, he's my man. I've got it almost worked out. Just as soon as these blamed robbers are moved to Boggs City, er buried, I'm goin' over an' git the truth out of Mr. Barnes. I've been huntin' him fer twenty-one years." Anderson, of course, was forgetting that Barnes had slipped from his mind completely until Bonner nudged his memory into life.
"It's a delicate matter, Mr. Crow. We must go about it carefully," said Bonner severely. "If Mr. Barnes is really interested in her, we can't find it out by blundering; if he is not interested, we can't afford to drag him into it. It will require tact—"
"Thunderation, don't you suppose I know that?" exploded Anderson. "Detectives are allers tackin'. They got to, y' see, ef they're goin' to foller half a dozen clews at oncet. Gee whiz, Wick, leave this thing to me! I'll git at the bottom of it inside o' no time."
"Wait a few days, Mr. Crow," argued Bonner, playing for time. "Don't hurry. We've got all we can do now to take care of the fellows you and that young actor captured last night." The young man's plan was to keep Anderson off the trail entirely and give the seemingly impossible clew into the possession of the New York bureau.
"I don't know what I'd 'a' done ef it hadn't been fer that young feller," said the marshal. "He was right smart help to me last night." Bonner, who knew the true story, suppressed a smile and loved the old man none the less for his mild deception.
They entered the "calaboose," which now had all the looks and odours of a hospital. A half-dozen doctors had made the four injured men as comfortable as possible. They were stretched on mattresses in the jail dining-room, guarded by a curious horde of citizens.