The Daughter of Anderson Crow. George Barr McCutcheon

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СКАЧАТЬ off the soda, the stranger dried his lips with a blue-hemmed white handkerchief. "Is this the post-office?" he asked.

      "Yep," said Mr. Lamson, who was too penurious to waste words.

      "Anything here for me?" demanded the newcomer.

      "I'll see," said the postmaster, and from force of habit began looking through the pile of letters without asking the man's name. Mr. Lamson knew everybody in the county.

      "Nothing here," taking off his spectacles conclusively.

      "I didn't think there was," said the other complacently. "Give me a bottle of witch hazel, a package of invisible hair-pins and a box of parlor matches. Quick; I'm in a hurry!"

      "Did you say hat-pins?"

      "No, sir; I said hair-pins."

      "We haven't any that ain't visible. How would safety-pins do?"

      "Never mind; give me the bottle and the matches," said the other, glancing at a very handsome gold watch. "Is the old man still holding my horse?" he called to a citizen near the door. Seven necks stretched simultaneously to accommodate him, and seven voices answered in the affirmative. The stranger calmly opened the box of matches, filled his silver match-safe, and then threw the box back on the counter, an unheard-of piece of profligacy in those parts. "Needn't mind wrapping up the bottle," he said.

      "Don't you care for these matches?" asked Mr. Lamson in mild surprise.

      "I'll donate them to the church," said the other, tossing a coin upon the counter and dashing from the store. The crowd ebbed along behind him. "Gentle as a lamb, isn't he?" he called to Anderson Crow, who still clutched the bit. "Much obliged, sir; I'll do as much for you some day. If you're ever in New York, hunt me up and I'll see that you have a good time. What road do I take to Crow's Cliff?"

      "Turn to your left here," said Anderson Crow before he thought. Then he called himself a fool for being so obliging to the fellow.

      "How far is it from here?"

      "Mile and a half," again answered Mr. Crow helplessly. This time he almost swore under his breath.

      "But he can't get there," volunteered one of the bystanders.

      "Why can't he?" demanded the marshal.

      "Bridge over Turnip Creek is washed out. Did you forget that?"

      "Of course not," promptly replied Mr. Crow, who had forgotten it; "But, dang it, he c'n swim, can't he?"

      "You say the bridge is gone?" asked the stranger, visibly excited.

      "Yes, and the crick's too high to ford, too."

      "Well, how in thunder am I to get to Crow's Cliff?"

      "There's another bridge four miles upstream. It's still there," said George Ray. Anderson Crow had scornfully washed his hands of the affair.

      "Confound the luck! I haven't time to drive that far. I have to be there at half-past twelve. I'm late now! Is there no way to get across this miserable creek?" He was in the buggy now, whip in hand, and his eyes wore an anxious expression. Some of the men vowed later that he positively looked frightened.

      "There's a foot-log high and dry, and you can walk across, but you can't get the horse and buggy over," said one of the men.

      "Well, that's just what I'll have to do. Say, Mr. Officer, suppose you drive me down to the creek and then bring the horse back here to a livery stable. I'll pay you well for it. I must get to Crow's Cliff in fifteen minutes."

      "I'm no errant-boy!" cried Anderson Crow so wrathfully that two or three boys snickered.

      "You're a darned old crank, that's what you are!" exclaimed the stranger angrily. Everybody gasped, and Mr. Crow staggered back against the hitching-rail.

      "See here, young man, none o' that!" he sputtered. "You can't talk that way to an officer of the law. I'll—"

      "You won't do anything, do you hear that? But if you knew who I am you'd be doing something blamed quick." A dozen men heard him say it, and they remembered it word for word.

      "You go scratch yourself!" retorted Anderson Crow scornfully. That was supposed to be a terrible challenge, but the stranger took no notice of it.

      "What am I to do with this horse and buggy?" he growled, half to himself. "I bought the darned thing outright up in Boggs City, just because the liveryman didn't know me and wouldn't let me a rig. Now I suppose I'll have to take the old plug down to the creek and drown him in order to get rid of him."

      Nobody remonstrated. He looked a bit dangerous with his broad shoulders and square jaw.

      "What will you give me for the outfit, horse, buggy, harness and all? I'll sell cheap if some one makes a quick offer." The bystanders looked at one another blankly, and at last the concentrated gaze fell upon the Pooh-Bah of the town. The case seemed to be one that called for his attention; truly, it did not look like public property, this astounding proposition.

      "What you so derned anxious to sell for?" demanded Anderson Crow, listening from a distance to see if he could detect a blemish in the horse's breathing gear. At a glance, the buggy looked safe enough.

      "I'm anxious to sell for cash," replied the stranger; and Anderson was floored. The boy who snickered this time had cause to regret it, for Mr. Crow arrested him half an hour later for carrying a bean-shooter. "I paid a hundred dollars for the outfit in Boggs City," went on the stranger nervously. "Some one make an offer—and quick! I'm in a rush!"

      "I'll give five dollars!" said one of the onlookers with an apologetic laugh. This was the match that started fire in the thrifty noddles of Tinkletown's best citizens. Before they knew it they were bidding against each other with the true "horse-swapping" instinct, and the offers had reached $21.25 when the stranger unceremoniously closed the sale by crying out, "Sold!" There is no telling how high the bids might have gone if he could have waited half an hour or so. Uncle Gideon Luce afterward said that he could have had twenty-four dollars "just as well as not." They were bidding up a quarter at a time, and no one seemed willing to drop out. The successful bidder was Anderson Crow.

      "You can pay me as we drive along. Jump in!" cried the stranger, looking at his watch with considerable agitation. "All I ask is that you drive me to the foot-log that crosses the creek."

CHAPTER II

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The Pursuit Begins

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      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, СКАЧАТЬ