Ted introduced Farnsworth as Mr. Dickson, whom he had met on the road, and the boys made the newcomer welcome in their usual characteristic style.
In a few minutes Major Caruthers rode up to the house, and Ted brought Farnsworth forward. From the question Farnsworth had put to him when he had first mentioned the owner of the Bubbly Well Ranch, Ted was anxious to see the meeting between the two men.
Major Caruthers received the young fellow cordially, and told him, with true Western hospitality, that he was welcome to stay as long as he wished.
But Ted was watching Farnsworth.
As he put out his hand to grasp the major's, a peculiar look crossed his face. It was rather wistful, too, and it seemed as if he wanted to say much more than the few formal words of thanks which he returned in exchange for the major's greeting.
Ted looked curiously at the two men, and started with surprise at a peculiar resemblance Farnsworth bore to the older man.
Ted had not particularly noticed the major's face and eyes before, but now he noticed that his eyes bore a remarkable resemblance to those of Farnsworth.
There was a resemblance, too, in the shape of the head and the turn of the jaw, but there it ended; and Ted surmised that the major must be at least fifteen or twenty years older than the stranger.
During the rest of the day there was much mystery about the house that always precedes Christmas.
Stella was particularly busy, and flew here and there, whispering with Bud, who seemed to be in some secret with her.
Behind the big ranch living room was a bedroom which had been used for casual guests.
Stella had possession of it, and had taken the bed down and banished it until after the holidays.
Within this room certain mysterious things were going on, and whenever Stella or Bud left it, the door was always locked behind them.
Not all the teasing of Ben and Kit, nor their efforts to get past the door, were successful in finding out what was going on.
Along toward evening, Bud, who had not met Farnsworth, or Dickson, as he was known to Bubbly Well, came across that young man pacing up and down the veranda alone.
When Bud saw him he stopped as if shot, took a long look, and then passed on.
But he set out to find Ted, which he did at last at the corral.
"See here, Ted," said the golden-haired cow-puncher, "whar did yer pick up ther maverick what's up at ther house? I hear he come with yer."
"I met him on the road, and he wanted to know if the major would put him up for the night, and I told him I thought he would be welcome," answered Ted.
"Of course he'd be welcome. Ther major would welcome a yaller dog with ther mange, out in this yere lonely place. But say, boy, does yer know what yer brought?"
"Why? I don't understand you exactly, I'm afraid."
"Yes, yer do. Who is that feller? He's not Dickson. Who is he?"
"Search me."
"That's what I'm tryin' ter do, an' if yer don't give up peaceful, I'm goin' through yer, minute."
"Do you know who he is?"
"I've got my suspicions. I see a feller up to Phoenix what's ther dead ringer fer him, an' his name wasn't Dickson then."
"What was it?"
"It was Fancy Farnsworth."
"I guess you're on, Bud. But Mr. Farnsworth asked me to keep it dark, and, as it is Christmas, I consented to do so. Remember, this is the time for brotherly love and peace toward all men. It wasn't much to do, and I invented the name of Dickson for him myself. What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothin', if yer like ter bring cattle like that ter our Chrismus festivities. Fer me, I wouldn't."
"I guess he's not as bad as that."
"He's worse."
"Explain."
"Well, if yer don't know, I will, an' let yer chew on it, an' see if yer want ter take any chances on him. Now, Farnsworth ain't his real name, neither. D'y'ever hear tell o' ther Somber Pass massacree, where a tenderfoot immigrant named Spooner an' his family was killed, an' their wagons an' horses, an' a pile o' money what Spooner had brought with him ter start a cattle ranch an' buy stock with, wuz taken? D'y'ever hear tell o' that?"
"Sure. It's part of the history of the Territory."
"D'y'ever hear any suspicions cast upon nobody?"
"I never did. That is, I never heard any one specifically charged with the crime. Did you?"
"I did, an' his other name was Farnsworth, only that wasn't ther name he went by at that time. He's ther feller who was p'inted out ter me as ther devil what led ther band o' cutthroats what killed ther Spooner family fer a measly few thousands o' dollars. That's what I meant if yer knew who yer was bringin' ter yer happy home."
"Why, that crime was committed five years ago, and Dickson or Farnsworth, as he calls himself, was too young then to be engaged in anything of that sort."
"He looks young, but he ain't. He's ther feller. Look out fer him, Ted."
"Don't you tip off who he is, Bud. I brought him here because it is Christmas, and he's going to stay. He's going to get a square deal here if I have to fight for him."
"Oh, I won't say nothin', but I'd like ter slip a pair o' handcuffs onto them smooth, white wrists o' hisn, jest ther same. But why is he here? What's he doin' in this part o' ther country?"
"I don't know, Bud. He asked me when he met me and knew who I was if I had heard the news about him. I hadn't, and told him so, but he did not volunteer any information on the subject."
"Whar did he come from? Did he tell you?"
"Yes, he said he had come from Rodeo; starting early this morning."
"Then look fer a big piece o' news from Rodeo right soon."
"How do you know?"
"I know this, if Farnsworth left Rodeo airly this mornin' thar was some good reason fer it. I reckon it's a killin'. But he's a chump ter stop off here. If anything has been pulled off at Rodeo, ther whole country will be out after him, fer Fancy, so called fer his passion fer good clothes an' high-colored poker chips, they don't like none too well, he's too almighty quick an' slick with his six-shooter, hez got a list o' killin's ter his credit as long as yer arm."
"Well, he's here; let's forget it until after breakfast. But as long as he's here as a guest, he gets all the protection I can give him."
Supper that night was a very merry function in the Bubbly Well ranch house, full of mysterious whisperings and jokes which were only understood by two or three at a time.
Mr. Dickson, as the latest guest, occupied a seat at the left hand of the host, and Ted again noticed the remarkable resemblance between the two, although it did not seem to be apparent to the others; at least, no one mentioned it.
After supper was over, and the Chinese cook and waiter had cleared the room, the major brought out a violin, and asked if any one could play it.
"Clay kin jest make a fiddle sing!" shouted Bud, dragging the modest Kentuckian forward.
There was a piano in the living room, and Stella and Clay went to it, and while Clay played the violin, Stella accompanied him.
Lively airs were demanded, and the ranch house fairly rang with the clapping of feet as Bud and Carl and Kit danced reels and jigs and cake walks, and the laughter of the boys at Bud's jokes and Carl's lingual mistakes.
But at last they became tired of music. It was ten o'clock, and the major disappeared for a few minutes, then entered, leading the way for the two Chinamen, who bore between them baskets of rosy apples, dishes of nuts and raisins and candies, and pitchers of cider.
Although the day had been warm enough in the sun, the night was cool, and the fire that leaped high in the fireplace made the room cozy and comfortable, and one could well imagine that outside was the snow glistening under the stars, and hear the far-away jingle of the sleigh bells.
They sat around the fireplace eating apples and cracking nuts, talking nonsense and laughing at Bud's comic antics, until even Farnsworth relaxed from the air of anxiety he had borne all evening, and once or twice laughed.
But Bud kept his eye on him, for he was distrustful of him, and believed that he was up to some trick.
At the end of the living room, between two massive deer heads, hung a big clock, and, while they were still cracking nuts and jokes it began to toll the hour of midnight.
Instantly every one was on his or her feet shouting "Merry Christmas!" and shaking hands all around. Farnsworth was not neglected because he was a stranger, and Stella was the very first to wish him happiness on this Christmas Day.
Ted was the last to press forward and with all sincerity wished him happiness, and, as he did so, he noticed that the young fellow was very pale, and that his eyes were filled with unshed tears as he looked from Ted to the major, who was fairly beaming with happiness and joy at the great success of his Christmas Eve party, which, he said, was the finest ever held in Arizona.
Then Clay sat down to the piano and began to play a march, and Bud, with a great flourish, unlocked and threw open the door of the guest room.
Every one started back in surprise, while a shout went up that shook the roof; but the old major hadn't a word to say. He simply stared, growing pale and red by turns. He was deeply affected, and Farnsworth had retired to a far corner, with his face buried in his hands. What memories stirred him that this desperate young man should be so shaken?
Inside the room all was aglow with myriads of candles which sparkled from a small pine tree, which was hung with numerous packages and strings of popcorn. Now every one understood the mysterious movements of Bud and Stella.
But the most marvelous thing of all was the enormous figure of Santa Claus, dressed in a coat of red, liberally trimmed with fur, and a long beard sweeping his breast, sitting on the back of a splendid little bay pony that was none too quiet in the midst of the light and noise.
"Where did it all come from?" asked Ted of Stella, as they were standing together admiring the tree.
"Oh, Bud and I thought it out for a surprise for you and the boys before we left Phoenix, and one afternoon, when you were busy, we went shopping and brought all these things. If we hadn't come here, we were going to have the tree in the dining room of the hotel," she answered.
"It was a great idea, and just like you, Stella. It has made this like Christmas, indeed. We couldn't have had a better one at Moon Valley."
"But look at Major Caruthers," said Stella, pulling Ted by the sleeve.
The old major was actually on the verge of tears.
"I have never been so near the dear home of my boyhood as this evening, with all you happy, generous young people around me," he said.
"Who in the world is Santa Claus?" asked Ted.
"Why, just Santa Claus, you goose," said Stella, laughing.
But now Santa Claus got down from the pony's back and stepped to the front of the tree. Every one gathered around and kept silent.
"Good evening, children," he said, in a gruff and husky voice.
"Ach, it iss Kris Krinkle!" shouted Carl Schwartz, in glee. "Py Chiminy, ain't he noble? How you vas, Kris?"
"Children, I have a few seasonable gifts for you which I will give you before I hurry away, for I have many more young friends whom I must visit before the dawn. But first I will turn over to my young friend Ted Strong this beautiful pony, which has been intrusted to me by Major Caruthers." He led the pony forward and thrust the bridle into Ted's hand.
Ted was so astonished that he did not know what to say, but managed at last to mumble his thanks to his host.
For Stella there was a beautiful necklace of New Mexican turquoises from the major, who also had not forgotten one of the boys.
Then mysterious packages, well wrapped, were handed off the tree, and as they were opened, shouts of laughter greeted them, for nearly every one of them contained something meant as a joke on the recipient.
Carl got a noble-looking parcel, and when he opened it, found a nice red bologna sausage. Every one screamed with laughter, but Carl promptly turned the joke by taking out his knife and cutting up and devouring the sausage.
There was a lemon for Kit from Ben, and a Joe Miller joke book, full of antiquated chestnuts, for Bud, who proceeded to get square by reading all the most ancient ones, such as the chicken crossing the road, and similar gems.
While the laughter and fun were at their height there was a sound on the veranda, and they all stopped to listen.
Ted instinctively turned to where Farnsworth was sitting alone in the corner, for there had been no presents for him, and saw him sitting up, listening intently.
Being a guilty man, or, at least, aware that he was being pursued, he was alert.
"What's the row out there?" asked the major, who was loath to have the evening's fun disturbed by outsiders.
"Don't know," said Ted. "Sounded like some one walking on the veranda and trying the door."
He had no sooner spoken when the door was thrust open and four men sprang into the room and looked around.
At the same instant, Farnsworth leaped to his feet, drawing his revolver and backing into the center of the room.
Farnsworth was as pale as paper, but his eyes flashed fire as he glanced swiftly around.
Apparently there was no way of escape, for the intruders barred the only outside door.
The sudden entrance into the brilliant light had temporarily blinded the men, so that they stood uncertainly for a few moments, looking from one to the other of the figures that almost filled the room.
Major Caruthers now stepped in front of them, his face red with anger.
"What do you mean by intruding on me like this?" he thundered.
For answer, one of the men threw back his coat and displayed the star of a deputy United States marshal.
"We're officers," he said gruffly, "an' we want Fancy Farnsworth."
"You've come to the wrong place," said the major.
"Oh, no, we haven't. We traced him right here, an' he's in this house."
"What crime has he committed?"
"He killed a woman over at Rodeo last night."
An exclamation of horror arose from all parts of the room.
"There he is! Get him!" almost screamed one of the men, pointing to the pale but resolute figure standing under the chandelier.
There was a rush, and confusion indescribable followed.
Crash went the chandelier, shattered into a thousand pieces by a dozen bullets.
Rushing, struggling forms turned the smoke-filled room into a perfect bedlam.
Two of the intruders went to the floor, sent there by swift and powerful right-handers from Ted.
But they were up and rushing through the room in the direction of the Christmas tree.
There Santa Claus met them, and again they were bowled over.
Ted saw the slender, black-clothed figure of Farnsworth slip past him in the smoke.
Then followed the sharp hoofbeats of a pony on the wooden floor, a crash of glass, and the swift patter on the earth outside, and all was still.
Farnsworth had leaped upon the back of Ted's Christmas-gift pony and escaped.
* * *
CHAPTER XV.
THE THUGGEE CORD.
Several moments following the dramatic and sensational escape of the Christmas guest passed in silence, to be broken at last by Kit.
"That was about the smoothest get-away I ever saw," he said, with a grin, for he had assisted in it by deftly tripping the chief deputy while he was on the way to intercept the pony.
"What in thunder did they want to stop my star performance for?" asked Santa Claus, pulling off his beard and revealing the rubicund face of Ben Tremont, who was slowly baking beneath the heavy robes and hairy disguise.
"Well, he's gone, and only taken a pony and a window with him," said the major, "and he's welcome to both. And now, you men, we'll try to dispense with your company. You see, this is a private party, and had I known that you were in this part of the country, I probably would have invited you to be present. But I regret to say that the guest list is full."
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The leader of the posse of deputy marshals looked up with a scowl. Apparently, he was mad clear through at the sudden and unexpected loss of his prospective prisoner.
As he looked about his eye encountered that of Ted Strong, in which he saw laughter, which did not tend to lessen his anger.
"I've a good mind to arrest the whole bunch of you for conspiring at the escape of a United States prisoner," he growled.
"You'd stand a fine show to do that," said Ted quietly. "On the other hand, I've a mind to arrest you for the forcible entry of this house."
"You have, have you?" sneered the other. "You make me laugh, young feller. You couldn't arrest a fly!"
Ted threw open his coat and showed that he, too, wore a star.
The leader of the posse leaned forward to read the authority on it.
"Who are you?" he asked huskily.
"I am Ted Strong."
"Then why didn't you stop Fancy Farnsworth?"
"What for? I have no knowledge of his having committed a crime, and, besides, I have no warrant for him. Have you?"
"No. Didn't have time to get one. But that makes no difference. He killed a woman, and as soon as I heard of it I got my posse together an' hit his trail. If it hadn't been for you fellows I'd have got him."
"I don't think you would."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because he'd have killed two or three of you first."
"What about this crime, and why are you so sure he committed it?" asked Major Caruthers. "I thought him a fine, gentlemanly, quiet young fellow, and I'm somewhat of a judge of men myself. I can hardly believe that a man of that stamp could commit so terrible a crime as woman murder. That is the lowest degree of killing."
"He done it, just the same," said the deputy marshal positively.
"Why are you so sure?" asked Ted, taking up the interrogation.
"Well, in the first place, he skipped the town just before the body of the woman was found. He was seen to ride out of town along the road on which her house stood."
"Is that all the evidence you have against him?"
"No; he was seen coming out of the house about three hours before he was seen leaving town."
Ted Strong in Montana Page 11
