Ted Strongs Motor Car

by Taylor, Edward C

  "But I want to say that I think I got the bunkie-doodelest show that ever paced the glimmering, gleaming, gloaming grass of Moon Valley."

  "Listen to the hombre explode," said Bud. "He's tryin' ter be a feeble imitation o' a real showman. I'll bet he shows up ter-morrer like a ringmaster in a sucuss, with high, shiny boots an' a long whip an a tall, slick hat, an' crack his whip an' say: 'What will ther leetle lady hev next?'"

  Ben blushed, for his ambitions in the show line, now that he had had a taste of it, had really been in that direction, only he wouldn't have had the boys know it for the world.

  "How about the show, anyhow, Ben?" asked Ted.

  "What have you got? You might as well let us know now."

  "Not on your autobiography," answered Ben haughtily. "I want to say, though, that your eyes will bulge like the knobs on a washstand drawer when you see what I've got, and then come to look at the bill for such a stupendous, striking, and singularly successful aggregation of freaks, acts, and divertisements embodied in this colossal and cataclysmic congregation of—"

  "Oh, cheese it," said Kit. "You give me the pip."

  "All right, have it your own way," sighed Ben. "This is what a fellow gets for serving his country, from Thomas Jefferson to John D. Rockefeller."

  "Come on," said Ted persuasively. "Loosen up and tell us what we are to have to-morrow. This is an executive session of the whole."

  "You're like a lot of kids the day before Christmas. You've just got to see what mamma's hidden in the closet," said Ben. "Well, I'll let you in on a little of it."

  "Shoot when you're ready," said Kit.

  "I was over at Strongburg about a month ago, and, knowing that I'd have to rustle up a show soon, I wrote to a theatrical agent in Chicago to let me know if he could furnish me with a good amusement company at small cost. He wrote me that he had the very thing, and offered me one of these bum 'wild west' shows, with a bunch of spavined ponies, a lot of imitation cowboys, fake Indians, and Coney Island target shooters."

  "An' yer didn't take 'em?" asked Bud, in surprise.

  "Tush! Well, I was up against it, when Morrison, the hotel man, told me that there was a showman in town, and perhaps I might get something out of him.

  "I hunted him up. He was a typical showman. Big fellow, large as a Noah's ark, dressed like a sunset, and loud as an eighteen-inch gun."

  "I saw the fellow in Soldier Butte the other day. He was talking to Wiley Creviss in the bank," said Ted. "You've described him more picturesquely than I should, but I'm convinced he's the same man."

  "I asked him what he had, and he told me he could furnish me on short notice anything from a three-ring circus to a hand organ and monkey," continued Ben. "I told him how much money I wanted to spend, and he said he'd fix me up a show that would make everybody delighted, and I told him to go ahead. The show blew in to-night, and ran up their tents down near the corral."

  "How many have you got in it?"

  "I've got a balloon ascension for the afternoon, a giant and a midget, a magician, an Egyptian fortune teller, a trick mule, a Circassian beauty, and a strong man." Ben looked around proudly, and the boys burst into peals of laughter.

  "Have you scraped the mold off of them yet?" asked Kit.

  "How's that?" asked Ben haughtily.

  "Have you pulled the burs off the chestnuts?"

  "See here, what do you mean? Are you casting aspersions on my show?"

  "Not exactly, but I think you've been stung by some old stranded side show that was taking the tie route back home. Circassian beaut! Ho-ho, likewise ha-ha! and some more."

  "Ter say nothin' o' a Egyptian fortune teller from Popodunk, Ioway, an' a wild man from ther Quaker village. Oh! give me ther smellin' salts. I'm goin' ter hev ther histrikes," laughed Bud.

  "Haf you not got a echukated vooly pig und a feller vot 'eats 'em alife'?" asked Carl.

  "That's right, Dutchy. It's a bum show what ain't got them," laughed Bud.

  The boys were laughing until the house rang with it, and Stella poked her pretty head out of the door to ask to be told the joke. Bud complied, with many humorous embellishments.

  "Don't pay any attention to them, Ben," said Stella sympathetically, "I'll take in the show from start to finish."

  "Could friendship go any farther than that?" asked Kit pathetically.

  "Oh, you fellows give me a pain," said Ben, rising and stalking off to bed.

  He was soon followed by the others, Ted and Kit remaining behind to gather up the money and slip rubber bands around each of the packages of currency.

  "We ought to have a safe in the house, Ted," said Kit, looking over the pile of money. "We often have large sums of money in the house, and some time we might get robbed."

  "There's not much danger of that, Kit," answered Ted. "There are not many fellows who would have the nerve to come into this house. Too many guns, and too many fellows who are not afraid to shoot them. I'm not afraid."

  "What was that?"

  Kit was staring at the rear window.

  "What?"

  "I just looked up and thought I saw a face at the window."

  "You're getting imaginative."

  Just then the clock struck twelve.

  "No, I don't think so. I heard a slight cracking noise and looked up. Something white appeared at the window for an instant. It looked like the face of a child."

  "Nonsense. A child couldn't look through that window. It's seven feet from the ground."

  "Well, I suppose I was mistaken. Let's hide that money and go to bed."

  "Where shall we put it?"

  Kit looked around the room, then smiled.

  "Why, in the cubby-hole, of course. There's a safe for you. We haven't used it for so long that I'd almost forgotten it."

  "The very thing. Nobody'd find it there in a blue moon."

  They crossed over to a corner of the room and threw back the corner of a rug. Where the baseboard was mortised at the corner there appeared to have been a patch put in. Ted placed his hand against this, near the top, and it tipped back. It was hung on a pivot, and, as its top went in and the bottom came out, there was revealed a boxlike receptacle about two feet long and six inches deep.

  "This is a bully place," said Ted, placing the packages of money within it. "It is known to only five of us, and I'll bet that most of us have forgotten its very existence."

  The board was turned back into place and the rug spread out again.

  "Safe as in the Strongburg Bank," said Kit. "Well, me for the feathers. We're going to be kept humping to-morrow. Buenas noches."

  In a few minutes the big ranch house was dark and quiet; every person in it was sound asleep.

  Ted Strong had sunk into a deep and untroubled sleep, for his day had been very active, and he was tired when he lay down.

  But he had not been sleeping more than a half hour when he found himself sitting straight up in bed, very wide-awake, and wondering why.

  "Something wrong in the house," he muttered to himself.

  He sniffed the air to discover the smell of smoke. But it was not that.

  Had he locked up? He went over his actions just before retiring, and was sure that he had attended faithfully to everything.

  The money! The thought came to him like a blow.

  Something had happened to the money.

  He was out of bed in a jiffy and slipped into his trousers, and, grabbing his revolver from beneath his pillow, he opened the door and walked softly along the hall in his bare feet.

  The hall opened into the living room through an arch in which a portière, made of small pieces of bamboo strung together, was hung.

  As he looked cautiously into the living room his elbow struck this, and it rattled sharply in the stillness.

  He had heard a faint creak, and, as he peeped around the corner of the arch, he saw dimly the figure of a man near the door, evidently just in the act of opening it.

  With a succession of noiseless leaps Ted was across the room, an
d arrived at the door just as it swung open and the man was about to depart.

  But Ted was upon his back with the swiftness of a bobcat, and they came together to the floor with? a crash.

  The burglar was beneath, but this did not prevent him from fighting with a desperation that lent strength to his already strong and lithe body.

  He was slenderer and younger than Ted, who could feel it in the fellow's build as they struggled.

  "Let me out, or I'll kill you," said the burglar, and Ted saw the flash of a knife.

  At the same moment something rushed past them in the dark, and out of the door.

  As Ted saw it dimly it was small, and its motions were awkward and lumbering. He thought it was a dog, and was about to raise his revolver to fire at it when he thought better of it, as he did not want to arouse the household if he could conquer his man without making a noise.

  "Don't shoot," said the man, who had observed Ted's motion with the gun.

  At this extraordinary request Ted paused.

  He had twisted the man's wrist until he dropped the knife, and then shoved it beyond reach with the muzzle of his revolver.

  His strong left hand was in the nape of the fellow's neck, and Ted had his nose ground into the rug. He had found a gun in the fellow's hip pocket, and relieved him of it.

  Then Ted rose, and told his captive to get up

  Slowly he did so, and Ted made him move to the center of the room.

  Bud's golden head appeared around the corner of the doorway.

  Ted could just distinguish it.

  "Who's that?" asked Bud.

  "It's Ted. Come in and strike a light. I've caught something."

  In a moment a light flared up.

  "Jack Farley!" exclaimed Ted, in astonishment.

  "Yes, blast you, Jack Farley," replied the youth.

  "Couldn't keep away, eh?"

  "A feller'd think thet once was enough," said Bud.

  "I couldn't help myself. I had to come," growled Farley.

  "Well, this time you'll stay. You shan't abuse our hospitality again. Bud, get a rope and tie our friend. He's skittish, and is likely to run away if he's turned loose."

  Farley was soon tied securely.

  "Keep an eye on him, Bud," said Ted. "I want to look over the premises."

  Ted went directly to the corner and pushed back the pivot door, struck a match, and looked into the box.

  It was empty.

  Then, turning back to Farley, he searched him thoroughly.

  There was no money in his pockets.

  Ted called up Kit, and the three of them ransacked the living room thoroughly, but not a dollar could be found. "What did you do with the money you stole from that hole?" said Ted, gazing fiercely into Farley's eyes.

  "I haven't seen a dollar of it," was the reply.

  CHAPTER XI.

  TED STRONG HAS A THEORY.

  After Farley had been securely locked up in a storeroom without windows, they went to bed, feeling secure that there would be no further attempt to enter the house that night.

  At breakfast they discussed the robbery after their guests had left the house.

  "I don't understand what became of the money," said Ted. "It looks to me like one of those mysterious robberies, and the capture of Farley puts it up to the Riley and Creviss gang. Now that we've been touched personally we will take some interest in the gang, and I have a large crayon picture of about a dozen hitherto respectable young fellows learning useful trades in a reformatory institution."

  "But that doesn't bring back our money, neither does it tell us how it was stolen or what became of it," said Ben.

  "I can't get a thing out of Farley," said Ted. "I tackled him this morning as soon as I got up, but he wouldn't open his mouth. My belief is that he is in deadly fear of some one, probably Skip Riley."

  "Well, we've got him where the hair is short, anyway," said Kit. "He was caught in the act, and will come out of prison an older and a wiser man."

  "What else besides Farley did you see in the room, Ted?" asked Stella.

  "I really couldn't say what it was," said Ted. "It was dark, and there was only the faintest kind of light outside from the stars. The room was perfectly dark. I was sitting on Farley's back holding him down. He had thrown the door open, and we were in the doorway, but there was a space between us and the door-jamb.

  "Suddenly I heard a faint noise beside me and could just see something scud past me onto the veranda."

  "What did it look like?"

  "It was about as high as a small dog, only shorter and thicker than a dog, and ran with a clumsy, heavy, sideways motion."

  "Are you sure it was a dog?"

  "No, I'm not sure, for I didn't see it plainly. All I could see was that it looked like some kind of an animal, but just what kind I couldn't determine."

  "Your description would lead me to believe that it was a coon."

  "No, I don't think it was a coon, or I would have been able to distinguish it by its smell."

  "I didn't know but that it might be a coon trained to steal and sneak out. I've heard of such things, and it is by no means impossible, for you know that coons, like crows, are natural-born thieves."

  "By Jove, that gives me an idea. I think it was a dog, and that its strange gait was due to the fact that the money had been tied upon him so that he would get away with it in case Farley was caught."

  "No, the dog theory is wrong. What about a trained monkey?" Stella looked around the table to see how this was taken.

  "C'rect!" shouted Bud. "Stella, yer struck ther problem a solar plexus thet time."

  "That does seem reasonable, and if it is true it solves the mysterious robberies of the Strongburg Trust Company's office, the post office, and Creviss' bank," said Ted.

  "It's worth looking into, anyway," said Ben. "Now I wonder if there is such a thing as a trained monkey in my marvelous and magnificent gathering of the splendors of the Orient out there. By Jove, I'm going through that camp with a fine-tooth comb, and if I find a monk, I'll habeas-corpus him, and we'll hang him to the rafters."

  "Well, mum's the word about the money," warned Ted. "We don't want this thing to leak out. If it does, there's a chance against us."

  Although they all felt pretty blue about the loss of the money, they had nothing but hearty welcomes and smiles for their guests, who began to arrive from all parts of the county, and from far-distant States and Territories, to help rejoice with the boys for a prosperous year, not knowing that all the prosperity had fallen into the hands of thieves.

  The grounds about the ranch house had been gayly decorated for the occasion. An enormous American flag flapped and snapped in the fresh breeze from the top of a tall staff in front of the house, and the Belle Fourche band was playing in a gayly decorated stand. The showmen had erected their tents, and already the boys and girls from the ranches and towns were going in and out, witnessing the wonders to be beheld in them.

  Stella was receiving her girl guests on the veranda, for she was a great favorite among the cowgirls in the country on account of her friendliness and unaffected ways.

  Mrs. Graham was welcoming the older women, while Ted and Jack Slate were shaking hands with the ranchmen and cowboys.

  Clay's fires were going well, and the steer and sheep were being roasted for the noontime feast.

  Ben had gone on a still-hunt among the tents belonging to the showman, and, while he found three small dogs, there was no sign of a monkey, and by adroit questioning he learned that they had had a monkey, but that it had died at Leadville, because the air in that altitude was too cold and rare for it.

  These facts he communicated to Ted, and seemed to explode the monkey-thief theory.

  During the morning there was a baseball game between the cowboys and the clerks from the stores in Soldier Butte and Strongburg, in which the score was forty-one to three in favor of the clerks. The cowboys couldn't play ball any more than a rabbit, encumbered as they were by their chaps, high-hee
led boots, and spurs. It took a home-run hit to get one of them to first base.

  After dinner the cowboy sports were to come off.

  When Ted could get away from his duties as host for a few minutes he sauntered through the crowd, extending greetings to all whom he knew, but at the same time keeping a close watch over everything.

  The theft of the money from the cubby-hole had aroused in him all his detective instincts.

  He saw two or three of the young fellows who had been with Wiley Creviss the night of the ball, but he paid no attention to them. They were welcome to come to the festivities, and to remain so long as they behaved themselves.

  But he determined to have them watched.

  Soon he came upon some more of the Creviss gang and saw them mingle with several boys, whom he knew to be tough characters, from Strongburg.

  "The clan is gathering," he said to himself. "We're likely to have trouble with those fellows before the day is over. I'll put Bud next to them, and have the boys watch them."

  "Whom do you suppose I saw just now?"

  It was Stella's voice, and she was standing at his elbow.

  "Who?" he asked.

  "Wiley Creviss."

  "Is that so? I have been watching for him to come along. A lot of his fellows are here, and they are sticking pretty well together. Where did you see him?"

  "I told Ben I'd take in his show even if no one else did, and I've kept my promise. When I was in that biggest tent I suddenly came upon Creviss in close conversation with the boss showman. When they saw me looking at them they separated in a hurry, and Creviss left the tent."

  "H'm! I wonder if Ben knows this fellow who owns the show."

  "Don't know, I'm sure. It wouldn't be a bad scheme to find out something about him in view of the robbery last night."

  "You're right, Stella. Another thing I've been thinking about: I've been looking for Skip Riley, the Strongburg fireman, the supposed leader of the Flying Demons. If they are going to try any of their monkey business to-day he ought to be here."

  "Haven't you heard the news? I intended to tell you, but must have forgotten. The last time I was in Strongburg I heard that Riley had resigned, and left the town for the East."