Return of the Great Brain

by John D. Fitzgerald

Mr. Forester was alone in his barber shop when we got there. He was standing before the back mirror staring at his bald head. Papa sometimes joked about Mr. Forester because the barber bought every new hair tonic he saw advertised that was supposed to grow hair. But he still had just a fringe of hair around the edges and a big bald spot on top. For my money Papa had a lot of nerve, because our attic was filled with crazy inventions Papa had seen advertised and bought. And none of them worked.

  Mr. Forester had never been friendly with Tom because The Great Brain had swindled his son Danny so many times. But he was very friendly now believing Tom had reformed.

  “Hello, Tom and John,” he said. “I know you aren’t here for a haircut because I gave both of you a haircut just before school started. What can I do for you?”

  “We came to ask you a question to settle a bet,” Tom

  said.

  Mr. Forester frowned. “I thought you gave up betting when you reformed,” he said.

  Tom showed him the scar on his hand. “We aren’t betting money,” he said. “J.D, and I got to talking about peo-ple who have scars on their hands and faces. I bet him that

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  you could name ten men in town who had scars because you are a barber.”

  “I can name you several men who have scars on their races,” Mr. Forester said, “but not on their hands. I have to watch the scars on the faces of men I shave. Hal Benson has a scar on his right cheek, Fred Harvey on his chin, Matt Gillis just under his right eye. Jerry Stout on his cheek, Lem Carter a nasty scar on his throat, and Frank Collopy a scar on his nose. Reckon you lose the bet, Tom, because I can’t think of any more offhand.”

  “How about people living on farms and ranches?” Tom asked.

  “Let me see,” Mr. Forester said. “Peter Gunderson and Charlie Smedly have cheek scars. And Dave Ecord’s whole face is scarred. Got it from being kicked by a horse. Wonder it didn’t kill him. Gave a shave and a haircut to two more just yesterday, Grant and Hutchinson from the Flying W ranch. Couple of wild ones those two buckeroos. Herb Grant has a scar from a knife fight that split his lips, and Hutch has a scar over his right eyebrow and just above it. Got hit with a broken bottle in a saloon fight one night.” “Thank you very much,” Tom said. We ran all the way to the marshal’s office. Sheriff Baker had returned and was sitting at his desk. He was a very big man, taller and heavier and quite a bit older than Uncle Mark. He had the biggest gray walrus mustache of any man in town.

  “Howdy, boys,” he said. “If you are looking for your uncle he will be back in a few minutes.”

  “I guess Uncle Mark told you all about the train robbery and murder of Mr. Simpson,” Tom said as we sat down. “Yep,” Sheriff Baker said. “Figure your uncle is right

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  about it not being Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch.”

  We talked about the train robbery until Uncle Mark arrived a few minutes later. He said hello to Tom and me and then spoke to the sheriff.

  “Checked the livery stable,” he said. “No horses were rented out the morning of the train robbery. Wouldn’t have done us much good anyway. The outlaws hid the horses be-hind some trees and bushes.”

  “Didn’t the engineer and fireman get a look at the brands on the horses when the outlaws took them along?” Sheriff Baker asked.

  “Couldn’t,” Uncle Mark said. “The outlaws blindfolded them and told them not to look back when they let them go.”

  “Just another thing that indicates it must have been somebody around here who did the job,” Sheriff Baker said. “They were afraid somebody on the train from Adenville might recognize one or more of the horses.”

  Tom stood up. “If I can help you find the outlaws will I get the reward?” he asked.

  ^eriff Baker leaned forward in his chair. “Your uncle has told me some fantastic stories about that great brain of yours,” he said. “You help us catch and convict these outlaws and you can have any reward money there might be.”

  “First,” Tom said, “what can you tell me about a man named Hutchinson who works at the Flying W ranch?”

  “He is the nephew of Fred Pearson who owns the ranch,” Sheriff Baker said. “His mother died when the boy was just a youngster and his father was killed in an accident soon after. Pearson took the boy in to raise and spoiled him rotten. Your uncle can tell you more about that than I can.”

  Uncle Mark sat down at his desk. “Ever since he was old enough to enter a saloon,” he said, “Hutch has been nothing

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  but trouble. He started a saloon fight every time he came to town and he began gambling and running up debts. His uncle paid for the damages and the fines and settled the gambling debts for about three years. Then about a month ago I guess Pearson got fed up. He notified the saloon keep-ers he wouldn’t be responsible for any more of his nephew’s gambling debts. And he told Judge Potter and me he would let his nephew rot in jail before he would pay any more fines.” Uncle Mark shook his head. “But I knew it wouldn’t last.”

  “Why do you say that?” Tom asked.

  “Because Hutch has been gambling and losing heavily at the Fairplay Saloon for the past two nights,” Uncle Mark answered.

  “Just one more question,” Tom said, “and I think my great brain will have the train robbery solved. Mr. Simpson would know Hutchinson, wouldn’t he?”

  “Of course,” Uncle Mark said. “Hutch has been coming into town with his uncle since he was about sixteen to tally cattle sold to Simpson.” Then Uncle Mark came out of his chair as if he had been sitting on a tack. “I know what you are leading up to but go on.”

  “You called him Hutch,” Tom said. “And Mr. Forester called him Hutch. And there is nobody around here with a name that sounds like Butch except him. And Mr. Forester said Hutch had a scar over his left eyebrow. A scar like that could be seen above a bandanna mask. I think Mr. Simpson recognized Hutch by the scar, and what Mrs. Parker heard him say before he was shot was Hutch and not Butch. And Hutch, knowing he’d been recognized, had to kill Mr. Simpson. And if Mr. Pearson isn’t making his nephew’s gambling debts good, that must mean that the money Hutch is los-66

  ing playing poker was stolen from Mr. Simpson.”

  Uncle Mark turned to Sheriff Baker. “Tom could be right,” he said.

  “It is a damn good theory,” Sheriff Baker said. “And while we are at it let’s get Calvin Whitlock to keep a record of all Kansas City bank notes deposited in his bank. If local people pulled this train robbery the money will start burn-ing a hole in their pockets, and they will start spending it. Simpson has always paid for cattle with Kansas City bank notes. About the only time they show up around here is when he is in town. And while we’re at it let’s send the Bruford Brothers a telegram asking them if they can furnish us with the serial numbers of the Kansas City bank notes Simpson was carrying.”

  I guess I’d better explain about paper money back in those days. Each bank issued its own bank notes which were redeemable in gold at that particular bank. It wasn’t until 1913 when the Federal Reserve System was established that the Government of the United States started printing its own paper money and banks stopped issuing their own bank notes. Most of the bank notes in Adenville were on Utah banks.

  I figured for sure Tom’s great brain had failed him when we entered the marshal’s office the next day after school. Both Uncle Mark and Sheriff Baker really looked down in the dumps.

  “I was wrong?” Tom asked as if he’d just lost the ball game.

  “No,” Uncle Mark replied- “You were dead right. We found out Fred Pearson hasn’t changed his mind about mak-ing good his nephew’s gambling debts. He thinks Hutch has got a lucky streak going for him at the Fairplay Saloon.”

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  Tom got a puzzled look on his freckled face. “But doesn’t that mean the money Hutch is losing came from the train robbery?” he asked.

  “No doubt about it,” Uncle Mark said. “Bob Daniels, the proprietor of the Fairplay Saloon, told us that Hutch
has lost over two hundred dollars. He still had the money in his safe and it was all in Kansas City bank notes. We’ve got leads on the whole gang. Sam Ludell is sweet on a dance hall girl named Rose at the Fairplay Saloon. He bought her several expensive dresses at Pearl Addison’s Dress Shop and paid for them with Kansas City bank notes.”

  Tom nodded. “No wonder he tried to put the blame on Cassidy and the Wild Bunch.”

  “That ties Ludell in on it all right,” Uncle Mark said. “And Herb Grant bought a new saddle from Jerry Stout’s place paying for it with Kansas City bank notes. Curly Davis, a cowboy Pearson fired a couple of weeks .ago, has lost more than a hundred dollars playing poker at the Whitehorse Sa-loon, all of it in Kansas City bank notes. Earl Eggerson who runs the dice table at the Fairplay Saloon bought an expensive watch and gold chain at the jewelry store with Kansas City bank notes. The sheriff and I are convinced that Hutch, Grant, Davis, and Eggerson held up the train and that Lu-dell was in on it.”

  Tom stared at the three empty cells. “Then why didn’t you arrest them?” he asked.

  Sheriff Baker cleared his throat. “Because District Attorney Vickers told us that he can’t convict the men just because they are spending Kansas City bank notes,” he said.

  No wonder Uncle Mark and Sheriff Baker looked so down in the dumps.

  Tom was shaking his head. “But don’t they have to

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  prove where they got the money?” he asked the sheriff.

  “The law doesn’t work that way,” Sheriff Baker said. “To get a conviction we would have to have the serial numbers of the bank notes Simpson was carrying in his money belt. We got an answer to the telegram we sent to the Bruford Brothers. They don’t keep a record of the serial numbers themselves. But they did say it has been company policy for the cattle buyers themselves to keep a list of serial numbers since two o( them were robbed. But . - -” he didn’t finish the sentence, just shrugged helplessly.

  “But what?” Tom asked.

  “Your uncle removed all personal effects from the clothing Simpson was wearing before the body was shipped to Kansas City,” Sheriff Baker said. “He did not find any list. After receiving the telegram your uncle and I searched Simpson’s satchel and suitcase which we are holding for Mr. Perkins to take back to Kansas City. We didn’t find any list of serial numbers.”

  “Then what happened to it?” Tom asked.

  “My guess is that Simpson just forgot to make out a list of the serial numbers,” Sheriff Baker said.

  Just then Papa came into the office holding a telegram and looking excited. “I sent a copy of the Advocate with the story of the train robbery and murder to the editor of the Hanksville Bugle,” he said. “I knew Cassidy and his gang make Hanksville a sort of second home and thought the editor would be interested in knowing Cassidy had been identified as the man who killed Simpson. I just received this telegram from the editor. He wired me that Cassidy was seen in Hanksville the day of the train robbery by several people including himself.”

  Papa handed the telegram to Sheriff Baker who read it

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  and then handed it to Uncle Mark to read.

  “This,” Uncle Mark said, “makes a liar out of Sam Ludell. I think our best bet is to arrest Ludell and see if we can’t get a confession out of him on the strength of this telegram and him spending Kansas City bank notes.”

  Sheriff Baker shook his head. “Ludell is a cool customer,” he said. “He has to be or he couldn’t be a blackjack dealer. He can always say the outlaw looked like Cassidy. And the bank notes mean nothing without the serial numbers.”

  “We have no choice,” Uncle Mark said. “We’ve got to arrest Ludell before Saturday. Perkins will be in town buy-ing cattle, and Adenville will be flooded with Kansas City bank notes by Saturday night.”

  Tom had been sitting with wrinkles in his forehead and concentrating with his great brain so hard that he wasn’t even listening. Papa stared at him.

  “What’s on your mind, T.D.?” he asked.

  Tom didn’t answer. Just sat there. I nudged him with my elbow.

  “Papa asked you a question,” I said.

  Tom blinked his eyes and then looked at our father. “I’m sorry, Papa,” he said. “I was thinking.”

  “I know that look on your face,” Papa said. “What were you thinking?”

  Tom looked at Sheriff Baker. “Let Papa read that telegram from the Bruford Brothers about their cattle buyers keeping a list of serial numbers,” he said.

  Tom waited until Papa had read the telegram. “What kind of a man was Mr. Simpson?” he asked. “I mean was he a conscientious kind of man?”

  “I’ve known Paul Simpson for about a dozen years,”

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  Papa said. “I would say he was a very conscientious man. Why do you ask?”

  “Because if Mr. Simpson was a conscientious man,” Tom said, “and knew it was company policy to keep a list of the serial numbers of bank notes he was carrying, then he must have made a list. Maybe he didn’t want to carry the list on his person in case robbers searched him. Maybe he didn’t want to put the list in his satchel or suitcase in case robbers took them believing he might have more money in them. My great brain has figured out there was only one way Mr. Simpson could make sure nobody but him ever got that list of serial numbers.”

  Uncle Mark and Sheriff Baker came up from their chairs as we stared at Tom.

  Tom stood up. “The only way Mr. Simpson could make sure,” Tom said, “was to mail the list to himself at the Sheepmen’s Hotel. Did you ask if there was any mail tor him at the hotel?”

  Sheriff Baker slapped his hand on his hip. “No, we didn’t,” he said, “but by cracky we will now.”

  I don’t believe Uncle Mark, Sheriff Baker, and Papa ever walked so fast in their lives. Tom and I had to run to keep up with them all the way to the hotel-Mr. Ricker was behind the desk. He had the longest neck and biggest Adam’s apple of anybody in town.

  Sheriff Baker spoke to him. “Are you holding any mail for Paul Simpson?” he asked.

  Mr. Picker’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he talked- “I have a letter addressed to him in a Bruford Brothers envelope,” he said. “Figured it must be company business, so I decided to hold it and give it to Mr. Perkins when he arrives Saturday.”

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  “Give me the letter,” Sheriff Baker ordered.

  Mr Ricker removed the letter from a box and handed it to the sheriff, who opened it. Sheriff Baker was grinning as he looked at the letter and then showed it to us. Across the top was written, “ADENVILLE, UTAH, TRIP BANK NOTE SERIAL NUMBERS,” and below were listed the serial numbers.

  Sheriff Baker patted Tom on the shoulder. “Thanks to your great brain we’ve got these outlaws cold,” he said. Then he spoke to Uncle Mark. “We’ll get Calvin Whitlock to open the bank so we can check the serial numbers of the Kansas City bank notes the gang has spent. And if they match any of the serial numbers written here, which I’m sure they will, we will arrest Hutch, Grant, Davis, Eggerson, and Ludell.”

  Papa said it was time for Tom and me to go home and do the evening chores-Then he added, “I’ll be home late. Tell your mother to go ahead and have supper.”

  Tom and I started for homev “Boy, oh, boy,” I said, “what a rotten deal. Your great brairi solved the train robbery and murder and you can’t be in on the most exciting part,”

  “It wouldn’t look right,” Tom said. “The outlaws know Sheriff Baker is a bachelor and that we aren’t Uncle Mark’s kids. They would wonder why the sheriff and marshal would let Papa bring along a couple of his kids.”

  But I couldn’t help noticing that Tom was just as nervous as I was until Papa finally came home a little after seven o’clock and told us what had happened.

  Uncle Mark and Sheriff Baker arrested the five men with the help of three deputies. They found a money belt on Hutch with over a thousand dollars in it in Kansas City bank notes. Herb Grant was also wearing a money belt wi
th his

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  share of the notes. Earl Eggerson had his share hidden in the toes of a pair of boots in his room at the Sheepmen’s Hotel. Curly Davis had a receipt on him for an envelope he had deposited in the Whitehorse Saloon safe containing Kansas City bank notes. They didn’t find any of the stolen money in Ludell’s possession or in his room. But when they searched the room of his girl, Rose, they found Ludell’s share of the bank notes he hadn’t spent-She admitted Ludell had given her the money to hold for him.

  With Curly Davis and Sam Ludell locked up in one cell and Herb Grant and Earl Eggerson in another and Hutch in a cell by himself, Sheriff Baker began the questioning with District Attorney Vickers and Papa present along with Uncle Mark. First Sheriff Baker showed Ludell the telegram Papa had received from the editor of the Hanksville Bugle.

  “This proves you lied,” Sheriff Baker said.

  Ludell just shrugged- “I didn’t lie,” he said. “The man looked like Butch Cassidy, and I honestly believed it was him. And you can’t send a man to prison for that.”

  Then Sheriff Baker showed all the outlaws the telegram from the Bruford Brothers about their cattle buyers keeping records of the serial numbers of bank notes they carried. Sheriff Baker then showed them the list of serial numbers Mr. Simpson had mailed to himself at the hotel.

  “We knew all we had to do was wait until the gang who held up the train started spending Kansas City bank notes,” Sheriff Baker said. “The serial numbers you see checked off are from bank notes that Davis and Hutchinson lost playing poker in the two saloons, that Grant used to buy a saddle from Jerry Stout, that Eggerson used to buy a watch and chain, and that Ludell used to buy dresses for Rose at Pearl Addison’s Dress Shop.”

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  Sheriff Baker then walked in front of the cell Hutch was in. “We also know,” he said, “that you killed Simpson. He recognized you from that scar above your right eyebrow which the bandanna mask didn’t cover-And when he called you Hutch you knew he’d recognized you and you killed him.”