Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 21, Number 53, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 March 1900 — The Swamp Secret [ARTICLE]

The Swamp Secret

CHAPTER X.—(Continued.) “Dick Brayton, when you found that writing ou the old tree, you found something that referred, in some way, to what was done last night,” he told himself. 'Tm sure of it," he added, aloud. f “Did you speak to ineV” asked the man. “No,” answered Dick, rousing himself from the abstraction into which his train of thought had thrown him. “About what time do you think the horses were stolen?” “Wall, we don’t say right out that we think they was stole,” answered the mam ‘•But I allow it kin’ o’ looks that a way. Whether they were stole or got out o’ their own accord, it must ha’ happened summers ’twixt ten an' daylight. They was there, all right, when ol’ man Aver--141 went to bed. an’ they whs missin’ when be got up this uionun’.-That’s ’bout all 1 can tell ye, ’eept the fence that they must 'a' got out through, or to’en helped through, whs a good one, an’ the bosses never was kuowed to be onruly, au’ we don't see how they come to take it into their heads to git breachy all to onct. The fact is, we don't b’leeve they ever got out o’ the field ’thout- help; but b'leevin’ ain’t knowin’, you know.” “Hare you found any track of them yet?” asked Dick. ‘’Nothin’, ’cept as fur as the road,’’ was the reply. “It rained about daylight—-a reg’lar, right-smart lectio pour-down while it lasted —an’ you can't track nothin’ this mornin’, on that account, only here an' there, where the ground’s so hard it don’t wash easy.” “Hare yon any suspicions of who could have taken them?” “No more’n (he man in the moon.” was the reply. “They’re gone, an’ that’s all I can tell ye. I’ve met nigh on to a dozen men this morniu’, and none of ’em lias seen hide or hair o’ the critters. It’s mighty queer. Seems jest as of the airth had opened an’ swallered ’em.” “It is queer,” said Dick. “Do you want help in looking for them?” “Yes, all we can git,” was the answer. “Averill, he's a poor man. an’ can't afford to lose his team. Mebbe we’re worryin’ ’thout' any reason, an ’they’ll turn up summers ’round the kentry; but 1 allow it look’s es they was took. Anyhow, ’tain’t no more’n neighborly fer us to turn out an’ help him huut fer ’em.” “Of course, we’ll all help,” said Dick. “Is there to be au organized search, or is every one to work independently?” “Wall, von see, vve hain’t got so fur as that yit,” was the reply. “We hain’t knowed what to do, ’cause we haiu’t knowed what to think. They’re to meet at Averill’s at noon or thereabout and fix up some plan, es the horses don't turn up afore that time.” Fifteen minutes later. Dick. Mr. Boone and the messenger from Averill’s rode away together. , As they came opposite Mr. Porter’s they saw Wayne sifting in the "doorway, with a singing book in his hand, humming over the tnnes to be sung at the next -session of the singing school. “Hello!” called out Dick to Samanthy, who was standing at the kitchen window, evidently wondering about the cavalcade she beheld. “Did ytm know there were horse thieves about this morning?” He watched Wayne as he asked the question to see what effect the words had -on him. The singing teacher look?d lip from his book for a moment as indifferently as he might at the sound of any voice heard unexpectedly, But either did not understand what had been said or felt no interest in it, for, when he saw who the speaker was, he dropped his eyes upon his bcok again and went on with his singing. “You don’t say’.” cried Samanthy, coming to the door, all excitement in a moment. “Whose hosses have h’en took?” “Averill’s, near Deer Creek,” answered Dick, with his eyes on Wayne’s face. But its quiet, unconcerned look baffled him. "Wall, I nius’ say that’s coinin’ purty elus home,” remarked Samanthy. “1 wouldn’t wonder a hit es they got ’round these diggin’s ’fore long. Hope they’ll ketch ’em an' string ’em up.” “Tell Ezra,” called out Mr. Boone. “Mebbe he'll want to turn out and help hunt.” “I will so,” answered Samanthy. Then the party rode off. It was joined by several others before they reached Averill’s, where they found quite a crowd assembled. Old men, young men and boys were there. It seemed as if all the male portion of the community had turn■ed out to help hunt horse thieves. The excitement was intense. Each person had a theory of his own to offer. Euch person also had a plan of his own to propose and advoente respecting the search. The consequence was that it was nearly two o'clock before they began to do anything. “You didn’t see or hear nothin’ o’ strangers las’ night, did ye?” asked Bill Green of Dick as they stood together, waiting for some plan of action to be decided on. “No? How would I be likely to see anything of them?” asked- Dick. ’’ ”1 isn't likely they came around Mr. Boone’s.” “I didn't s'pose they did come ’round Mr. Boone’s," responded Bill. "But you wa'u’t there all the time. 1 didn't know \but you might ha’ heenl suthiu’ when you was down this way last night.” ‘\ "Aren’t you mistaken about tuy being <Jk>vn this way?” asked Dick. ‘Vv'o, I hain’t,” answered Bill, stoutly. “I kind o’ reckon that you s’picioued 1 «ce ye. Was you out sparkin’?” Bill asked his question at random. When lie asked it, Dick 'thought of the idea he had had of calling on lUtoda, and taking tliat knowledge of his intention into consideration, along with the fact -of his having accompanied her liotjie several times from singing school, on the strength of which occurrence Bill Green had prophesied a match, it seemed to hint that Bill must, in some way, hare an inkling of what his intentions of the night before had been, and he could not keep llotfu the color front bis fare. He saw that Bill's auspicious were aroused in .shine vague way, and, disliking (lie felJow as he did, that made him indignant, ind he turned away with the remark that be didn’t know thnt it was anybody’s business where hs bad been or what his business was. A most unfortunate remark to make, under the circumstances, as he had to admit, later. 'i “|r-look* mighty guri s to me,” Bill

said ta the men who had been standing by, listening to the conversation. "He’s jes’ as good as denied bein’ out las’ night, when I tackled him about it. Ye heerd what he said about it, I reckon. Now I’m willin’ to swear oil a stack o’ Bibles big's a meetin’ house, that he went by our house about two o’clock, fer I was up a-drivin’ the cow out o’ the gardiu, an’ I see a man a-skulkin’ along the road, an’ when he see me he kind o’ sheered off into the shadder, as es he didn’t want to be seen. But I see hint, fer all that, jest as plain’s day, an’ it was Dick Brayton, an’ he knows if. S'posen we find out whether lie was to anybody’s house las’ night. Jest you make inquiries, kind o’ sly, so's t’ not git him to mistrustin’ anything. Es he was anywhere I’d like to know it. Es he wa’n't I’d like to know where he'd be’n to at that time o’ night. He tried to bamboozle me by pretendin’ I was mistaken. But I tell ye I wasn’t. When I see a man I kupw him, and he can’t cram the con-tra-ry down my throat! No, sirree, not by a goldaru sight. My name’s Bill Green, an’ I’m willin’ to hack up what Bill Green says, any day. Y’cs. sir; I be, an’ ye can bet yer bottom dollar on’t, es ye want to,” and by way of making the assertion more emphatic Bill expectorated a great mouthful of, tobacco juice at the head of an unlucky chicken which happened to pass. It takes but little to arouse a person’s curiosity and excite suspicion. There were plenty who were willing and ready to inquire if Dick Brayton had been at any one’s house on Wednesday evening. No one had seen him after singing school, except Bill Green. But the excitement of the search made .everything else secondary for the time, and Bill let the ball he had set rolling rest for the present; but he had not got through with it by any means. He would set it in motion again, if necessary, and he always felt it obligatory upon him to do anything that would annoy a person against whom he had a grudge. The search began. The woods were scoured in all directions. Everything was done that men who have no clue to work from could do. For two days the sea,rch was kept up faithfully. But not a trace was found of horses or horse thieves. Everybody was completely mystified. It seemed very much, as the man who spread the news of the theft had said, as if the 'earth had opened - "and - swallowed them up. “It’s no use to look longer,” said Averill, on the evening of the second day. “We’ve done all we could. We’ve be’n everywhere, ’ceptin’ in the Big Swamp, an’ there hain’t no use o’ goin’ there, ’cause a man can’t travel in it, much less a hoss. So we know they can’t be there, ’thout takin’ the trouble to look- We’ll have to give it up as a had job, boys,”*, he added with a little quaver in his voice. To lose one’s horses in those dnys was to lose the greater share of one’s dependence. “I’m much obleeged to ye fer yer kindness, an’ I hope tu hev a chance tu pay ye back, some day, but not in the same way.” So the search ended and nothing had been accomplished by it. “I don’t understand about Dick Brayton’s tryin’ to lie out o’ bein’ off summers that night,” said Bill Green to his particular cronies. “I’m a-goin’ to look inter the matter a leetle. Mebbe it’s all right, but what puzzles me is, why sh’d he try to deny it when lie knows I.see him?” Of course, this hint of Bill’s that there was something wrong was a subject of frequent conversation among his friends after that, and it' was but a short time before Dick was tinder a suspicion which was to culminate in a cliafge of villainy against him. CHAPTER XI. A day or two went by. The excitement began to lull a little. But there was no danger of its dying out for a long time to come, even if nothing more of the kind which had aroused it were to happen, for the recollection of a horse stealing transaction was to the early settlers what our late war is to those who took part in it—something to be talked over and wondered about every time two or three interested neighbors get together. Monday morning Dick happened to be wanting an iron of some sort to make a repair on his plow. Not finding one about Mr. Boone’s house or barn, he went over to Mr. Porter’s to see if he could find what he wanted there. Samanthy was in the front yard, giving little vicious dabs at a coat which was hanging ou the clothes line. She had a basin of soapsuds ou a block of wood beside her, and with, this solution, applied with a rag, she was endeavoring to accomplish something with the garment before her. “Have you taken to cleaning old clothes?” asked Dick, coming up behind her, unobserved. Samanthy gave a little piping cry, that was first cousin to a fashionable young lady’s shriek, and nearly jumped out of her shoes, she was so startled. “Land o’ goodness, how you scairt nte!” she cried. “I didn’t know as there was a man anywheres ’round the diggiu’s.” "I don't believe you’re as much afraid of the men as you’d like to make me think you are,” laughed Dick. “I’d like to know what you’re doing.” "I'm cleanin’ up that feller’s coat,” answered Snniuutliy, with a vicious, emphasis on “that feller” and au accompanying vicious twitch of the garment belonging to him. “Can’t he clean his own clothes?” asked Dick, eying the coat closely. “Is he so busy he can’t find time to do it himself?” “I s’pose so,” answered Samanthy, spitefully. “Es he had a couple more gals to make fools of, we’d hev to wait on him the whole endurin’ time.” “Meaning Nannie and ” “Alt’ Ithody,” said Samanthy, finishing the sentence for Dick. “Oh, 1 ain’t blind by no means! Bless yr, I’ve seen how things was n-goitt’ fer a good spell back, au’ I jest keep a-puttiu’ in my say whenever I git a chance, in' you jest mark my words an’ see i/ that feller don’t have a fallin’-out with V»th o’ them gals afore long. I've talked to Nancy, an* I’ve talked to Ithody, ajt’ ’twon’t he

sich a great while afore I git ’em worked up'ao’t they’ll give Mr. Singiu’ Teacher to, understand that he can!t palaver ’round ’em both in the way he’s doin’ now. Ye see, the way 'tis now, he’s a niakin’ Rhody b’lceve she’s playin’ fust fiddle when he’s with her, an’ when he’s with Nancy, why, she’s the one. Gals don’t put up with the idee o’ playin’ second fiddle for nobody, so there’s a-goin’ to be the i biggest kind of a rumpus afore if great spell, an’ I ain’t a mite ashamed to own up that I’m a-doiu’ all I can to help-it along. Consarn his picter, I don’t like him, an’ never did. He was a-say-in’ suthin’ he thought awful sharp about ol’ maids, t’other day, but I didn’t let on I heerd hint, though I knew he was a-say-in’ it fer my 'special benefit, but, thinks I, jest you wait an’ see if there hain’t one ol’ ntaid that’s-enough for ye. when she gits a chance to do suthin’.” “I have been considerably worried on Rhoda’s account,” said Dick. “Having no mother to advise her, he has a greater chance to influence her than Nannie. And I think, too, that Rhofia cares more for him than Nannie does.” “I guess you’re right about that,” responded Samanthy, “hut ye needn’t worry. Rhody’s smart enough to look out fer herself, I reckon, though she’s kind o’ soft about' some things, like ’most all gals.” "Well, I hope so/’ said Dick, rather skeptically, however. “Blit it scents to me that that coat must be uncommonly dirty, judging front the amount of labor you are laying out on it,” “’Tain’t exactly dirt,” explained Samanthy. “It’s pitch. He's daubed one sleeve cleay up to the elbow.” “I’d like to know where he’s been 1o get pitch on his clothes?” wondered Dick. “There isn’t a pine tree anywhere about the neighborhood, though there may be some small ones near the Big Swamp.” “I dunno where he got it from, but it's there, sure enough,” responded Samanthy. “He come a-fetchin’ out the coat it little spell ago as pomp'us as a kurnel o’ m’lishy, traipin’ day, an’ sez he: T want this cleaned,’ as es I was obleeged to trot ’round ‘when lie told me to. ‘l’ll give you a quarter es you’ll clean it,’ says he, a-seein’ that I was goin’ to git huffy ’bout' bein’ ordered ’round. That made .a difference. I couldn’t airn a quarter any quicker, so I said I’d do it, an’ that’s what I'm up to now.” “Samanthy,” said Dick, in a low and mysterious whisper, “I believe I could toil where that pitch came front.” “Why—what d’ye mean?” asked Samanthy, her woman’s curiosity all aroused in an instant by the air of mystery about Dick’s words and manner. “I mean just this: That 1 belidve Wayne’s a rascal,” answered Dick, "1 believe he could tell us who stole those horses if he saw fit to.” “Good land o’ deliverance!” cried Samanthy. “Hev you any idee who under the sun an’ airth it was? Hey?” “I,have,” answered Dick. "But 1 don’t want to say anything more now. I ought not to have said as much as I have, but I know you can keep things to yourself. I haven’t told you anything that amounts to much, but it may set you to thinking, and if you keep your eyes and ears open yon may see and hear something that will help to straighten things out. I think, as I said, that I know where that pitch came from, and to-night I’m going to find out whether I am right or wrong about it. If I am, I shall feel sure that I kuow who one of the men is that helped to steal Averill’s horses.” “Do you s'picion him?” asked Samanthy, in a whisper, with a furtive look abont them, as if she half expected to find Mr. Wayne listening to their conversation. “Yes, I do,” answered Dick. “But 1 wasn’t going to say anything more about it, was I? I’ll tell you more about what I think before long. In the meantime keep what I’ve hinted to yourself, Samanthy.” "I will so,” responded Samanthy. “But how d’ye come to mistrust ” But Dick was resolute in his determination to say no more about the matter then. “Wait a while,” he said, and then went back to his work. “Fer goodness’ sake!” Samanthy kept saying to herself, by spells, all day. “I’d like to know if it can be so! The idee! A hoss thief in the house! My goodness!”

CHAPTER XII. It was after nine o’clock, and the singing class was in the middle of a new tune, when Bill Green, who was sitting by the window of the school house, looked out and saw a man going down the path leading to the crossroads from Mr. Boone’s. “ ’Pears to mo that looks like Dick Brayton,” thought Bill. “Wonder what he’s skulkin’ ’round a’ter uowY” Dick had stopped in the path and was listening to the singing. As Bill watched him from the window he started on. “lie's goin’ from home,” said Bill to himself. "I'm n-goin’ to foller him an’ see where he goes this time—or my name ain’t Bill Green!” lie contrived to slip out of the school house without being observed and crept cautiously along the path toward the place where he had seen Dick last. It was a cloudy night and one could see but a little way into the gloom, except when the clouds broke away for a moment and let the moon shine through. There had been one of these breaks in the clouds when Dick paused to listen, and Bill, looking out just at that time, had had no trouble in recognizing him. 11 is curiosity was'excited at once when he saw Dick going away from Mr. Boone’s. But one settler lived in that direction, a German, unable to talk a dozen words of English, and with him Dick would be unlikely to have any business. Bill had been keenly suspicious of Dick ever since the conversation which took place at Averill’s on the first day of the search, and it was therefore quite natural, and but the work of a moment, for him to decide to play the spy. Dick had started for the cottonwood tree, on which he expected to find something new, by a route somewhat more roundabout than the one he had taken on the day of the discovery of the writing, but part of the way would run on higher ground, where the underbrush was thinner, and traveling in a clo'idy night would thus be rendered easier. Bill Green crept along the road swiftly in shadow till lie could faintly discern Dick’s figure aheud. Then he slackened his pace and kept along at a safe distance behind. About a mile from the school bouse Dick struck off into the woods. Bill followed him with oil the eager-

ness of a bloodhound on the scent of a fleeing fugitive. “This is gettia’ to be mighty excitin’,” whispered Bill to himself. “I wonder wliat it’s goin’ to amount to?” Two or throe drops of cold perspiration broke out on Bill’s forehead as the thought of horse thieves came into his mind. At heart he was a coward. Horse thieves stood to him for all that was desperate and dangerous. To be near them was to be on the brink of a precipice. He fully realized the awful danger he might be in should Dick prove to be one of those dare-devil characters and happed to discover him. But he wasn’t going to back out now. He hated Dick too much to give up while there was a chance of discovering something against him. (To bp continued.! . Copyright, 1894; by Robert Bonner’s Sons.