Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 21, Number 60, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 April 1900 — The Swamp Secret [ARTICLE]

The Swamp Secret

CHAPTER XlV.—(Continued.) “By crow, I hadn’t thought o’ that,” aaid Bill, scratching his head. “I’ll bet anything you’ve hit the nail right squar’ •on the head. I tell you that Dick Brayton’s a bad un an’ no mistake, but we’ve got him cornered, I reckon. “I wouldn’t have taken him for a horse thief,” said Wayne. “I can’t believe it •of him yet, and still —-*” The break in his sentence implied that It was impossible for him to believe anything else. “No, nor I, nuther,” responded Bill, ’“but I tell you he is one.” “It certainly looks as if he were,” said Wayne, turning away as if to put an end to the conversation in which he failed to take a great deal of interest. He was satisfied that he had said enough to set Bill going, and, that being done, he could keep in the background and let the other stir the matter up. “What’s up now?” asked one of half a •dozen men who had been trying to overhear the conversation taking place between Wayne and Bill. “Suthin’ new in the wind, eh?” Here was an opportunity for Bill to •display himself to good advantage. He could cover himself with glory. He could ■stand forth before his neighbors, who had not heretofore had a very exalted opinion of him, as a hero in the detective line. “See here, neighbors, I’ve got suthin’ to say to ye," said Bill, mounting a stump. “Draw ’round, all on ye.” By this time rumors that Bill had discovered something very important, and was about to divulge it', were current,, and the crowd surged about him, eager, ■excited, anxious to know what it was that he had to tell. Bill was not what could be truthfully called a natural orator. But it did notrequirc that he should be, on this occasion, for the audience was already at a white heat of excitement. He began by telling of having seen Brayton passing his father’s place some time after midnight on the night' of the robbery at Averill’s. “An’ there’s some here as heerd me twit him of bein’ off supnners that night,” said Bill, “an’ they hoerd him deny it, too, or try to, anyhow. Ain’t that so, Josh Balcomb?” Mr. Balcomb, thus being called on, admitted that lie- had been a witness of the conversation to which Bill alluded. “I thought so,” said Bill. “1 don’t want nobody to take my word fer it Alone.” Then he went on to tell of his following Dick into the woods, and of seeing hjm at work at something by the old cottonwood, and of the discovery he had made there, after Dick had taken his ■departure from the place. “Here’s the thing, jest precisely as you’ll find it there now, ’less somebody’s meddled with it sense I see it,” he said, holding up the piece of birch bark on which fie had made a diagram of the marks on the tree, nt Wayne’s request. “You see these lines a-crossin’ each other, don’t ye? Wall, me ah' Mr. Wayne, we’ve studied it out like this: These here lines a-crossin’ each other, they stan’ fer these here cross roads. This here spot, it stau’s fer the very identical place where we air now—Deacon Snyder’s farm, in the northwest corner o’ the cross roads. An’ these here figgers, we take ’em to mean some o’ the gang o’ hoss thieves, an’ we b’leeve Dick Brayton’s at the head of it, we do so; an’ this contrivance is a kind o’ map fer the rest on ’em to go by. What du y’u think about it, neighbors?” The crowd about the stump was ominously quiet for a moment.. Then the spell was broken by some one calling out; “You say you see Dick Brayton make that on the tree?” “I did so,” answered Bill, solemnly. “1 see him make that ou the tree.” —~ ~— Let me do him the justice to say again that I think he was honest when he made this statement. He believed that Dick I had left the diagram on the cottonwood, and that he had seen him making it there. “Then Dick Brayton’s a hoss thief,” the man said, with a grim decision that told his mind was fully made up regarding the matter. “Sarcumstances show him to be jest that, ’cordin’ to Bill Oreeu’s story, an’ I reckon Bill wouldn’t lie ’bout sich things.” “Yer jest right there, neighbor,” said Bill.

‘hpeak out, neighbors, an’ let’s hear what the rest of ye hev tu say about it,” said the man who had professed his belief ia Dick’s guilt. „ Tho 1 u * h ther , e was not a great deal of speaking out, ’ it was Quite evident that f rowd indorsed his opinion. But Dick had some friends left Both Mr. Boone and Mr. Porter were strong and earnest in their protestations of belief id his innocence. "Huin t I had a chance to know suthin’ about the boy, seein’s he’s worked for me right along sence lie come to Browns- , ville?” demanded Mr. Boone. “I tell you what it is,neighbors: Dick Brayton didn’t steal them bosses no inore’n I did or you did. 1 wouldn’t be a bit more s'prised es you’d laid it onto me.” “How do you explain things, then?” asked Bill, resenting Mr. Boone's championing of Dock as a personal affront. “I don’t pertend to explnin ’em,” answered Mr. Boone. “I perpose to let Dick do that himself. Give him a chance, an’ I’ll warrant ye he’ll satisfy ye he hain’t no hoss thief.” At this juncture a man who had been looking the barn over with the hope of discovering some clue, came up with the air of having made a discovery which he considered of some importance. “Doe. “ny one know whose knife this is? he asked, holding up a large, bonehandled pocketknife for identification. Mr. Boone turned pale and looked at' Mr. Porter with alarm expressed in his face. For he recognised the knife as Dick’s. “I know the knire an’ could sw’ar to it anywheres,” spoke up a young ipan, crowding toward the possessor of the article under consideration. “It’s Dick Brayton’s knife. I swapped it to him fer this one,” displaying a knife which he took from his pocket. “To prove it, jest you look at the small blade an’ see es there hain’t a crack in it, dost down to the rivet.” “Yer right—there is,” said the man who held the knife, after looking it over.

“Here’s the crack, neighbors, jest as he said.” “Where did- ye find tho knife?” asked Bill Green. “I found it in the straw nigh the manger where the hoss stood whose halter was ent,” was the reply. Such was the excitement of the crowd at that moment that, had t>ick Brayton been there, he would doubtless have been strung up to the nearest'‘tree without the farce of a trial. At length a plan of search was decided on and the crowd dispersed in different directions. The night had been rainy, like the night when Averill’s horses had been stolen, and if was impossible to tell definitely in what direction the missing horses had been taken. “It's blind work,” said Mr. Stevens, “but we can’t stan’ roun’ an’ do nothin’. Es we keep a-huhtin’ we may find suthin’ that’ll help us out o’ the quand’ry,” “It seems strange to me that they are able to conceal all traces of their coming and going so completely,” saul Wayne. “I think I heard some of you say that in the Averill case not a single clue was found by which you could tell in what direction they went even." “Not a one,” answered Mr. l’ortor. “It is curi’s, ns you say. The rain helps ’em, but it does seem as es there orter be suthin’ left fer us to ketch on to. Seems as es we hunted everywhere for the Averill bosses, an’ we knowed no more about ’em when we got thr’u’ huntin’ than we did wh'en we begun.” “Do you think Brayton had anything to do with it?” asked Wayne. “No, sir-ee, I don’t,” answered Mr. Porter, with an - emphasis that left no doubt of his belief in the innocence of Dick Brayton. “But the knife and the writing that Bill Green says he saw him make on the tree —how do yon explain those things?” “I don’t explain ’em.' 1 replied Mr. .Porter, looking as if he wished he could do so. “But I don’t b’leeve Dick Brayton stole them bosses.” “N'or I, nuther,” said Samanthy, that night at the supper table, when the matter came up for consideration. “Nobody need tell me that Dick Brayton’s took to stealin’ hosses fer a livin’.” “It seems to me that you are quite a champion of his,” said Wayne, with a sarcastic smile. “I iluiuio’ it's anybody’s bisness es 1 be,” responded Samanthy. “I know you wouldn’t stick up His mark shows ’twixt yer eyes now onct in a while, where he left his opinyun o’ you in black an’ blue.”

"I’(l thank you to inind your own business.”' said Wayne, angrily. “Sho, now —would ye?” replied Samanthy, provokingly; “I ruther recken I’ll do jest about as I take a notion to about it. I hain’t the least idee -o’ bein’ bossed ’round by you, es you do come from down below, .an’ air fust cousin to the Lord, ’eordin’ to yer opinyun o’ yerself. I’d a ’nough sight sooner think you’re the hoss thief that’s makin’ all this how-de-low ’round these parts than Dick Braydon. I would so!” Wayne looked at her sharply and suspiciously. Samanthy stood the scrutiny bravely. "Have ye got any more pitch on yer sleeve, or hain’t ye be’n where the pitch is, sence?” she asked, as Wayne turned away. “I wouldn’t be a great sight s’prised es ye went' where they keep kettles o’ pitch bailin’ hot all the time one o’ these days.” With which pnrting shot she made her retreat to the kitchen. That afternoon the coolness which had existed "for y>me days between Nunnie and the singing teacher culminated in open hostilities on Nannie’s part. Wayne made some sneering remark about Dick in the roll of horse thief. The reaction which had been setting in in Nannie’s mind for some time disposed her to think remorsefully of poor Dick and her treatment of him, and when she heard of the suspicions afloat regarding him, she took up weapons in his defense at once. The result was that when Mr. Wayne took his departure that afternoon she gave him to understand in very plain terms that he need not take the trouble to call again. “Dick Brayton a horse thief!” she said to herself indignantly. "The idea!” But the thought troubled her, and as soon as her father came home she began to talk about it. “Do you mean to say, father, that anybody believes a word of it? It can’t be! Nobody but a fool would think of such a thing twice.”

“But some folks that can’t be called fools do,” replied her father. “ ’Tain’t no use to mince matters. We’ve got to look things squar’ in the face. We’ve got to own up that' what Bill Green says he see does look bad ag’in the boy. I don’t know what .to think, myself. 1 don’t b’leeve he stole the hosses, but I can’t deny that ’twas his knife they found in the deacon’s barn. It’s bad, mighty bad, all ’round.” “I wish Dick’d come back,’’ said Nannie. “If he’d only come back and 'explain things, now ” “I dunno as I want him to come back,” said Mr. Boone, with a troubled look in his face. “Why?” asked Nnnnie. “Mebbe he’s safer where he is jest at this pertickler time,” answered Mr. Boone. “You don’t think they’d dare to do anything to him, do you?” asked Nunnie, with a startled look. She was just beginning to realize the gratify of the situation. ”\es, I do,” was her father’s reply. “ 'Most everybody ’round here thinks he’s An’ you know how they deal with hoss thieves. That’s why I say that mebbe he’s safer where he is, jest now.” At that Nannie turned very pale and ran out of the room, saying to herself: "Poor Pick in such awful danger, and I used him so meanly! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” Then she sat down on the step of the woodshed and threw her apron over her head and began to cry.

CHAPTER XV. On Monday night Dick came back from “down below,” little dreaming of what had taken place during his absence.

On bis way to Mr. Boone’s he met several men. It was about nine o’clock, and so dark that he did not recognize any of them. But they recognized him. They halted shortly after they passed him and held a hurried consultation. Then they turned and followed him. "Hello!” eallcd out one of them as they came near‘him. Dick knew the voice. It was Bill Green’s. “Hello, yourself,” responded Dick, stopping for them to come up. “What’s wanted?” “I reckon you be,” answered Bill, as they came up to where he stood. “We’ve been waitin’ to see ye, bad, ever sence day afore yestid’y.” “Well, here I am; what do you want of me?” asked Dick, scenting trouble in the air.

“Wall, there hain’t no use o’ wastin’ words an’ time, ’s I know on,” said Bill, with a nervous sound in his voice. The truth was that he would have been very glad to shift this part of the business upon sohie one else, but the others had insisted that he was the man to do the talking, and as he had them to back him, he felt' a thousandfold braver than he would if alone. Indeed, if he had been alone, he wouldn’t have dared to say anything to Dick. Talking about horse thieves was an entirely different thing from talking to them. But lie felt obliged to go on, and blurted out in desperation that sounded almost like bravery: o "It’s jest like this, Dick Brayton; we’ve found ye out at last, an’ I reckon ye won’t steal no more bosses ’round these diggin’s.” - “What do you mean?” cried Dick, with flashing eyes. "See here, Mr. Bill Green, that may be a sharp joke in your opinion, but it’s my opinion that you’ve gone a little too far. 1 don’t appreciate such jokes.” “Don’t, hey?” said Bill, waxing a trifle more courageous as the men crowded around him. “W.all, I dunno as I wonder much. I s’pose it ain’t any laughin' matter.”

‘i_dfinT_know what yon mean,” said Dick. “But Ido know this: Neither you nor any one else can call me a horse thief and not get hurt.” “I dunno about that,” said Bill, feeling tolerably safe as he looked at the four men beside him. “I wa’n’t jokin’, an’ you know it as well as I do, I reckon. I meant jest what I said. ’Taiu’t no kind o’ use in yer tryin’ to play off. I sec you write that' mess o’ stuff on the ol’ cottonwood tree, an’ we’ve found out what most of it stood for now.” “If you say you saw me make a mark on the cottonwood tree, you lie,” cried Dick. He did not stop to consider the lack of politeness in the words, but said just' what he meant. “What’s that?” cried Bill, really astonished at Dick’s effrontery in denying the charge. “Do you have the brass to say you didn’t write that stuff on the tree when I tell ye that I foll’ed ye that night an’ was hid behind some bushes, an’ see you to work at the tree, seratchin’ matches to see to do it by, an’ went an’ read it arter you had gone? Do you deny it when I toil ye all that, hey?” “I do deny just that,” answered Dick, beginning to understand that there was trouble in store. “You may have followed me to the tree. I don’t deny that I went there. But that you saw me write a word or make a mark on that tree J do deny. That’s all there is about that, Bill Green. And if you say I did, you’re a liar!” “Now see here,” said Bill, after taking a look to see that his backers were ready for action in case of emergency. “Tain’t no kind o’ use fer ye to play up innercent an’ think ye’r’ goin’ to gif off by brassin’ it out. I know what I see. If you hadn’t nothin’ to do _with stealin’ hosses, what was ye there fer, I’d like tu know?” “I went there because I took the notion into my head to do so,” answered Dick. “In other words, it’s none of your business what I was there for.” “We’ll make it some of our business afore we git thr’u’ with ye,” said Bill, grimly. “Don’t ye forgit that, Dick Brayton! An’ that ain’t all, nuther. We’ve found the jackknife ye lost when ye cut ol’ Deacon Snyder’s halter strap. Likely story ’bout yer goin’ down b’low, wa’n’t it? We ain’t so gol-durned green we can’t tell a hoss thief ” What the remainder of the sentence was to be no one will ever know. Bill’s eloquence was cut short by n sledge-ham-mer blow between the eyes, and he tumbled over into mud puddle in a most' summary and limp fashion. “Grab him, fellers,” cried one of the men, "an’ be quick about if, or he’ll give us the slip!” One of them sprang at Dick, who was entirely unprepared for the general attack which followed.

The first man he flung aside. The others at that instant caught him about the body and by the arms, and in spite of his desperate efforts to get loose, he was soon overpowered. One of the men had a stout cord tied about his waist. This he wound about Dick’s wrists, while the others held him.

Dick was their prisoner. “I’d like to know what you mean by this!” he cried, with blazing eyes. “Ah, but you’re a brave lot! Five to one! Untie my hands, and I’ll fight all of you, you cowards! Wait till I get loose, and I’ll make it warm for you!” “Yes, wait till you get loose,” responded one of them, meaningly. “See here, men!” said Dick, trying to smother his wrath sufficiently to gain a knowledge of the situation. “Do you pretend to say that you take me for a horse thief?” “We do so,” answered the man who had tied the rope around his wrists. “Ye see yer found out.” “What’s ‘found out?’ ” “What’s the use o’ askin’ sich foolish questions? You know jest is well as we do. We’ve found out the truth, an’ that’s what’s found out. You’ve had your fun, an’ now I reckon we’re a-goin’ to hev our’n.” Dick felt himself turning pale. He began to realize at last that there was no “joke” about it. Bilb had struggled to his feet by this time, and was wiping off the mud and blood with which his face was pretty well covered. “Cuss ye, Dick Brayton!” he cried, shaking his fist in Dick’s face, all his evil passions aroused and showing themselves in his sinister eyes. “You’ve struck yer last blow, got durn ye! Es I didn't know they’d hang ye, I vum I’d pummel the life out o’ ye!” ( “Try it.” said Dick, contemptuously. “My* hands are tied. You’re safe.” The men withdrew to a little distance •ml held a hurried consultation.

It was decided to take the prisoner w Mr. Porter’s. „ (To be continued.) Copyright, 1804, by Robert Itonner's Sons.