Ted Strongs Motor Car

by Taylor, Edward C

  Ted had picked up the knife, which had fallen beneath the bed, and was looking at it.

  "I wonder where this came from," he said, turning it over in his hand.

  "Wherever it came from, it's a wicked-lookin' cuss," said Bud. "But what wuz ther feller goin' ter explore yer with it fer?"

  "This letter," said Ted, taking the crumpled paper from his pocket and handing it to Bud.

  "Jumpin' sand hills, ther plot thickens," said Bud, when he had finished reading it. "I don't seem ter be in it at all. What's it all erbout? Ye've got my coco whirlin' shore."

  CHAPTER XIV.

  THE ABANDONED MOTOR CAR.

  "I'll tell you," said Ted, "if you'll take a seat and keep quiet until I get the thing straightened out in my own mind, for the incidents of the past hour certainly have got me going."

  Bud sat down and waited patiently for Ted, who was thinking deeply.

  "I didn't tell you the precise object of our visit to St. Louis," began Ted, "not because I didn't trust your ability to keep a secret, but in order to keep every one else in the dark."

  "D'yer mean ter say that ye hev stalled me along ter this town ter give me a leetle airin', an' not ter sell hosses?" asked Bud indignantly.

  "Not exactly. I want to sell the horses for the top price, but there was something else behind it."

  "A large man astraddle o' ye with a keen an' bitin' bowie at yer throat. Yer must be hard up fer amoosement."

  "Not that, either," said Ted, laughing. "I manage to get all the amusement that's coming to me."

  "I'm still gropin' fer enlightenment."

  "Here goes, then. For a couple of months the trains on the Union Pacific, in Nebraska and Wyoming, have been running the gantlet between bands of train robbers. If a train missed being robbed at one place, it was almost sure to get it at another, especially if it carried wealth of any description."

  "But ther railroads is erbout ther biggest chumps ter stand fer all this monkeydoodle business o' train robbin' ez long ez they hev. Why don't they get inter ther exterminatin' business, an' clean up ther last o' them?"

  "Too busy making money, I guess. But this time it is not the railroads who are going after them."

  "Who is it, me an' you?"

  "Almost. By orders of the government."

  "That's more like it. I don't hev no love fer a train robber, fer all I ever come in contact with wuz a bunch o' cowardly murderers, who fight like rats when they're cornered, an' kill innercent express messengers fer amoosement er devilment. But if Uncle Sammy sez so, an' needs my help, he's got it right swift an' willin'."

  "Well, he seems to need it, for just before we left Moon Valley I received a letter from the United States secret service, telling me about the robberies, of which I had heard something, but not much, as they have been kept away from the newspapers as much as possible."

  "Hev there been so many of them?"

  "As I tell you, they have been so numerous as to lead one to believe that there was a chain of train robbers clear across the continent, and strong and capable robbers they have proved themselves to be."

  "Did they git much?"

  "They have got away with a vast amount of money belonging to individuals. They seem to have had information in advance of all the big shipments of treasure leaving San Francisco and Carson City, Nevada, as well as of private shipments."

  "Wise Injuns, eh?"

  "I should say so. They have even been able to spot shipments of United States gold en route from the mints in Frisco and Carson to Washington, and in two instances have got away with it."

  "Wow! There's where your Uncle Samuel reaches out his long arms and takes a hand in the game. How much did they get away with?"

  "The chief did not say. That is not for us to know, I guess, or he doesn't think it will make any difference with us in our enthusiasm for our work of running down and capturing that gang, or gangs, as the ease may be."

  "But it wouldn't do a feller no harm ter know. I'd feel a heap more skittish if I wuz runnin' after a million than if it wuz thirty cents."

  "There's something in that, but we won't let it interfere with the performance of our duty."

  "How does the chief put it up to us?"

  "He tells the facts briefly, and says: 'Go and get the robbers.'"

  "That's short an' ter ther p'int. Anything else?"

  "He says that the worst bunch of train robbers in ten years has been organized, with men operating on various railroads, and that from past performances it would seem that they had inside and powerful friends who were keeping them informed as to what trains to rob. In other words, the thing seems to be a syndicate of robbers operated and directed from a central point by men of brains and resource."

  "An' whar's ther central p'int?"

  "St. Louis."

  "Ah, I begins ter smell a mice. So yer gradooly led up ter this place, pretendin' ter sell hosses, eh?"

  "No; we'll kill two birds with one stone. We'll sell the horses if we can get our price for them, and it will be an excellent cloak to hide our real purpose, which is to try to get next to the headquarters of the train robbers."

  "Good idee. But how aire yer goin' ter go erbout it?"

  "To tell you the truth, I haven't an idea. We will have to do our own scouting. If the chief knew, it is not likely that he would employ us to find out."

  "Thet's so. Well, let's be on ther scout."

  "We'll still pose as ranchers with pony stock to sell, and let folks know it. We'll go over to the stockyards right now."

  "All right, but the stunt is ter keep our eyes peeled fer ther train-robber syndicate's office."

  "That's it. One never can tell when he will run onto just the thing he's looking for when he least expects it."

  "We're being shadowed," said Ted, a short time after they had left their hotel and were walking through the streets toward the bridge that spans the Mississippi River to East St. Louis.

  "How d'yer know?" asked Bud, sending a cautious eye around.

  "See that fellow with the checked suit, on the opposite side of the street?"

  "Uh-huh!"

  "He's on our trail. Don't give him a hint that we're on to him, and if he chases us all day he'll see that we are what we represent ourselves to be, just plain cow-punchers."

  "I'm on."

  The man in the checked suit got on the same trolley car with them at the bridge, and while they were walking through the stockyards they saw him frequently, not always in evidence, but always somewhere in their vicinity.

  They visited the offices of the commission merchants who dealt in horseflesh, and got their prices for the sort of stock the boys had to sell, and before the day was over they had disposed of six carloads of horses for immediate delivery.

  While they were talking the deal over with the purchaser, they noticed that the man in the checked suit hovered around, and Ted purposely permitted him to overhear part of the conversation about the delivery of the ponies.

  Ted then sent a telegram to Kit Summers, informing him of the sale, and telling him to select the sort of horses from the herds that were wanted, and to come through with them, bringing a sufficient number of the boys with him to protect the stock and deliver it.

  When the operator took the message and began to send it, Ted noticed that the man with the checked suit was leaning against the wall, apparently not paying any attention to what was going on. But Ted knew by the way he was holding his head that he was a telegraph operator also, and that he was reading the message as it went onto the wire.

  "Say, Bud, we've had enough of that gentleman for one day, haven't we?"

  "I shore hev."

  "Then let's give him the slip."

  "Easier said than done. Thet thar feller sticks like a leech ter a black eye."

  "I think we can do it."

  "And how?"

  "See that automobile over there? In front of that office."

  "I see a long, low, rakish craft painted like an Eyetalian sunset. If th
et is yer means o' communication with ther other side o' ther river, oxcuse me."

  "Why, what's the matter with that? That's a mighty fine car."

  "I reckon it is, but walkin's good ernuf fer me."

  "But you'll never walk away from that shadow."

  "I'll bet I kin run erway from 'his checkers' before we're halfway ter St. Looey, even if I am a cow-puncher, an' muscle bound from straddlin' a saddle fer so many years."

  "What's the use, when we can run away from him in a gasoline wagon. That machine is standing in front of the office of Truax & Wells, and they have sold a lot of cattle for us in times past. It wouldn't surprise me if the car belonged to one or the other of them, and that if we asked for a lift to the other side they would be glad to let us have it."

  "All right, if you're so keen on it, tackle 'em. You'll find me game ter ride ther ole thing. I've rid everything from a goat ter a huffier, an' yer kin bet yer gold-plugged tooth I ain't goin' ter welsh fer no ole piece o' machinery."

  They entered the office, and were at once greeted by an elderly man, Mr. Truax, in a warm manner. After talking over things in general, Ted said:

  "That's a fine car of yours out there, Mr. Truax."

  "Funny thing about that car," said the commission merchant. "That's not my car, and nobody seems to know whose car it is."

  "That certainly is strange," said Ted. "How does it come to be standing out there?"

  "It was this way, and it's a good story, but none of the newspaper boys have been in to-day, and so I couldn't give it out: Right back of us here is a railroad station. There's an eastbound train through here at seven-thirty every morning. She was just pulling into the station this morning as I was unlocking the office door, and I heard a chugging behind me. I looked up, and here came the car with only one man in it. He pulls up short, picks up a bag, which was very heavy, for it was all he could do to stagger along with it.

  "The bell on the engine was ringing for the start when he runs through the arcade there as fast as he could with the heavy bag, and just catches the rear of the train as it comes along. He manages to hoist the bag onto the rear platform steps, and is running along trying to get on, and the train picking up speed with every revolution of the wheels. I thought sure he would be left, or killed, for he wouldn't let go, when the conductor came out on the rear platform, saw him, and jerked him aboard by the collar."

  "Didn't he say anything about his machine?" asked Ted.

  "Not a word. That's what I thought so strange about it. But, thinks I, some one will come for it after a while. Perhaps, thinks I, he was in such a hurry to make the train that he left home without a chauffeur, who will be along when he wakes up."

  "And no one has appeared?"

  "There she lays, just as he left her. When my partner came down, I spoke to him about it. He's a fan on motoring. That's his car over there; that white one. When I spoke to him about it, he went out and looked it over.

  "'That car don't belong here,' says he. 'There's no number of the maker on it, and everything that would serve to identify it has been taken off. Besides, I don't think the license number is on the square.'

  "That excited my curiosity, and I called up the license collector's office and asked him whose motor car No. 118 was. In a few minutes he calls me and says it belongs to Mr. Henry Inchcliffe, the banker. I gets Mr. Inchcliffe on the phone and asks him if his car is missing, and he says he can look out of the window as he is talking and see it beside the curb with his wife sitting in it. 'What is the color of your car?' says I. 'Dark green, picked in crimson. Why do you ask?' says he. I tells him that an abandoned car is standing in front of our place with his number on it. But he says he guesses not, for his number looms up like a sore thumb, hanging on the axle of his car in front of the bank, and I rings off. That's the story of the car."

  "Since it belongs to no one in particular, I've a mind to borrow it, and put it in a garage over on the other side. It'll be ruined if it stays out here in the weather," said Ted.

  "I don't care," said Mr. Truax. "It wasn't left in my care, and I haven't got much use for the blamed thing, anyhow. Take it along. If the owner comes and proves property, I suppose you'll give it up?"

  "Sure thing. I'll telephone you the name and address of the garage where I leave it, so that if there is any inquiry for it you may direct inquirers there. But I've got a hunch that this car was thrown away, having served its purpose."

  "Great Scott! that's a valuable thing to throw away."

  "Yes, but the man who abandoned it probably thought it a good sacrifice."

  "How is that?"

  "What do you suppose was in that bag he carried?"

  "Couldn't say, but it was pretty heavy."

  "It would hold a good deal of paper money, wouldn't it?"

  "If the bills were of big enough denomination, I should say you could pack away a million in it, for it was a powerful big sack."

  "Well, suppose the man whom you saw jump out of the car and get aboard the train had stolen the car, or even if he had owned it, and had made a big haul, and it was contingent upon his getting away with the money that he abandon the car."

  "That's possible. But there has been no big robbery to cover that part of the theory."

  "You don't know. There may have been a big robbery, and it has not been made public. Not all robberies are reported to the public. If they were, there would be slim chance for the authorities to catch the thieves."

  "Perhaps so. Say, Mr. Strong, you're a deputy United States marshal, ain't you?"

  "Yes. Both Mr. Morgan and I are in the government service."

  "I've been thinking over what you said about a possible robbery, and perhaps you've got it right. I believe you'd better take that car along. You might need it as evidence some day."

  "That occurred to me."

  "Can you run the pesky thing."

  "Yes; I learned to run a motor car long ago. It is, like everything else a fellow can know, mighty useful to me in my business."

  "All right, take her along."

  The man in the checked suit was nowhere in sight, but as Ted started up the abandoned motor car he came running out of a doorway.

  "Hi, there! Come back with that car!" he yelled, running after them in the middle of the road. But Ted let her out a couple of links, and in a moment the man in checks was out of sight.

  CHAPTER XV.

  THE LODGING-HOUSE BATTLE.

  "What aire ye goin' ter do with ther blamed thing, now yer got it?" asked Bud, as they sped across the Eads Bridge into St. Louis.

  "I haven't made up my mind yet. It certainly doesn't belong in this town, and if we use it here we will have to get a local license."

  "Jumpin' sand hills, yer not goin' ter run it yere?"

  "Why not?"

  "Whoever owns it is li'ble ter come erlong some day, an—"

  "Then I'll give it to him, if he can prove it is his, but I don't think it will ever be claimed."

  "How's that?"

  "Because the owner is a thief, and if he finds it is in the hands of an officer he will let it go rather than face an investigation. Besides, I need it."

  "Ted Strong, aire yer goin' dotty over them derned smell wagons, too?"

  "No, I can't say that I am, but if I lived in a town like this, and could afford it, you bet I'd have one."

  "But where aire yer goin' ter keep it? We shore can't take it up ter our room."

  "Not exactly," laughed Ted. "You forget that we have friends in this man's town."

  "Not a whole heap."

  "What's the matter with Don Dorrington?"

  "By ginger, that's so. Ther young feller what was with us down in Mexico when we found ther jewels and things under ther president's palace."

  "Yes, and we're heading right for his house now."

  "What fer? Goin' ter try ter git him inter trouble, too?"

  Ted piloted the machine through the thronged downtown streets, and coming at last to Pine Street Boulevard, he let her out,
and went skimming over the smooth pavement until he came to Newstead Avenue, and was ringing the bell of Don Dorrington's flat before the astonished Bud could recover his breath from the swift ride.

  Dorrington himself came to the door, having looked through the window and seen Ted arrive.

  "Well, by all that's glorious," exclaimed Don, as he grasped Ted by the hand. "Where are you from, and why? Hello, Bud, you old rascal! Get out of that car and come in. Where did you get the bubble?"

  Ted and Bud entered the house and were taken into Don's workroom, where he was soon put in possession of the facts concerning the motor car, although Ted said nothing about the real object of his visit lo St. Louis.

  "Well, what can I do for you?" asked Don.

  "Have you a place where I can store this car for a while?" asked Ted.

  "I sure have," said Don. "You can run it right into the basement from the back yard. When these flats were built it was intended that the basement be used as a garage, but so far none of the tenants have shown a disposition to get rich enough to buy one. No one will be able to get the machine out of there,"

  "That's the only thing I fear," said Ted. "It's a cinch that the owner, if he is a thief who has escaped with a pot of money, as I strongly suspect, will have his pals try to get it back. And I don't want them to get it until I have used it to try to trace them."

  "I'll bet a cooky ther feller with ther checked suit wuz after ther machine himself," said Bud. "When we eloped with it he came holler in' after us ter bring it back, but we gave him the glazed look an' left him fannin' ther air in our wake."

  The boys rolled the motor car into the basement, which was securely locked. Then Ted and Bud returned to town on a street car.

  As they got closer to the downtown section, they could hear the shouts of the newsboys announcing an "extra" newspaper in all the varieties of pronunciation of that word as it issues from the mouths of city "newsies."

  "Wonder what the 'extra' is all about?" said Ted.

  "Oh, same old thing, I reckon," said Bud. "'All erbout ther turribul disaster.' An' when yer buys a paper yer see in big letters at ther top, 'Man Kills,' and down below it, 'Mother-in-law!' But in little type between them yer read ther follerin', to wit, 'Cat to spite.' I've been stung by them things before."