"H'm! Is that all?"
"It comes pretty near enough. But, besides that, it was known that the woman, who was young and beautiful, had recently received a lot of money as her share in a mine, and that the money had been taken to her that morning by one of her partners."
"And it is believed that the young fellow you call Fancy Farnsworth killed the woman for her money?"
"Sure."
"In what shape was the money? Currency, gold dust, ingots, or gold coins?"
"It was in ingots."
"Anybody know how much of it there was?"
"Yes; her partner, Billy Slocum, was at the hotel, intendin' to go back to the mine to-day, and I went to see him."
"And did he give you any idea of how much the gold weighed?"
"Yes, it weighed about thirty pounds. Billy brought it in on his saddle, and he said it weighed quite considerable."
"But Farnsworth, as you call him, had nothing of the sort when he arrived here."
"That may be. He'd be too foxy to do that. He's cached it somewhere in the mountains, most likely."
"How was the woman killed?"
"She was strangled by a cord."
"What was her name?"
"Helen Mowbray."
"What sort of a woman was she?"
"She was a mystery to most the folks at Rodeo, an' all over the mountains, for that matter. Nobody knew where she came from. She didn't mix much with the folks, but lived in a swell house, what she had built for herself, with only two servants, a Japanese man and woman."
"Was she rich?"
"Said to be. Had interests in a good many mines, an' owned the Cristobal Turquoise Mine."
"Anybody ever learn where her mail came from?"
"Yes, she frequently got letters from England, and occasionally sent large drafts to a bank in London to her credit."
"How do you know this?"
"Early this morning, when the crime was discovered, and every one was talking about it, Mr. Rossington, the banker, told that much to a crowd at the hotel."
"Had she any particular friend in Rodeo?"
"Only Farnsworth, who came to the town at intervals and put up at the hotel. When he was in town he generally spent an hour or two at her house in the afternoon or evening, and then faded away as mysteriously as he came."
"Did he appear to be in love with her?"
"All I know about that is what I have heard since Miss Mowbray's death."
"There has been gossip, then?"
"Not what you would call gossip, exactly. Only folks who had seen them riding and driving together a few times seemed to think that, while she was very much in love with him, he never made any fuss over her."
"How long have you known Farnsworth?"
"About three years. Ever since he has been traveling through this part of Arizona."
"Don't you know that he is a very undemonstrative man, and that if he really cared for any one he is not the sort to exhibit it?"
"Yes, I reckon Fancy is a cold sort of a proposition."
"How have you got him sized up?"
"I'd hardly know how to tell it. He's some of a mystery to me, and he ain't never let no one as I know of snuggle beneath his jacket."
"But, as an officer, you must have kept some sort of tab on him."
"Sure. I know Fancy as well as most. I always looked upon him as a crook, and a very dangerous man with a gun."
"Has he ever been convicted of a crime?"
"Ain't never been able to land him. Generally he gets away by some slick trick, just as he did to-night, or he bluffs off the fellows who go after him with his guns."
"Has any crime ever been fastened on him so positively that there was no doubt that he committed it?"
"Can't say there was; but that don't cut no ice, for he's been in several killings where no gun got busy but his, an' we've been able to track him right up to crimes, but there we lose him. He's too slick to get caught."
"Something like the murder of Miss Mowbray? He is seen leaving the vicinity of the murder, and is immediately suspected of the crime, although probably fifty other men in the town were near the house or on the road before the murder was discovered, eh?"
"That's true enough. I passed the house myself on my way home, just before midnight."
"Why don't you arrest yourself as a suspect? But how was the murder discovered?"
"Some one passing saw a flame at the corner of the house, and, looking through a window, saw that the house was afire. He gave the alarm, and the blaze, which was in a corner of the library, was put out before much damage was done."
"Then the body was discovered, I suppose?"
"Yes; a fireman found it in the bedroom on the floor."
"In what condition?"
"She was dressed for bed, and around her neck a cord was tied so tightly, in a peculiar slipknot, that she could not breathe, and her face was black and her tongue protruding."
"Simply strangled to death, eh?"
"That's about it, I reckon."
"What became of the two Japanese?"
"Disappeared."
"Where are the ingots of gold?"
"Gone."
"What became of the cord by which she was strangled?"
"I have it."
"How does it happen that you have it?"
"At the alarm of fire I left my home and ran to the scene. As I entered the house by the front door, one of the firemen came running out of the bedroom, crying that he had found a dead woman. I ran into the room, and saw Miss Mowbray lying on her face on the floor, at the foot of the bed."
"She was dead then, I suppose?"
"I thought so. I placed my hand on her bare shoulder, and it was cold."
"She had been dead several hours, then?"
"Two or three hours, perhaps, but maybe less, for the room in which she lay was cold, there being no fire in it or in the adjoining rooms."
"What did you do when you found that she was dead?"
"I turned the body over, and saw by the discoloration of her face and the protruding tongue that she had been strangled. Then I discovered the cord, which was sunken deeply into the flesh of her throat, and so hidden that I would not have discovered it had I not seen the end of it."
"What did you do with it?"
"In the hope that she might not be dead, and that something might be done to revive her, I managed, with great difficulty, to get the cord untied and off her neck."
"What authority did you have for that? I suppose you know that it is the coroner's duty to do things of that sort?"
"Yes; but, besides being a deputy marshal, I am also deputy coroner."
"I see. What did you do with the cord?"
"I don't remember. Oh, yes. I think I put it in my pocket. Yes, here it is."
"Let me see it. Why, this is very peculiar. Do you know what sort of a cord this is?"
"I don't. I never saw one like it before."
"I have. Notice its thickness, and how closely it is woven, and that it is strong as a piece of wire."
"Yes, I noticed that when I found it. What sort of cord is it?"
"Japanese."
"Japanese, eh?"
"Yes, and a very rare sort of Japanese cord, too, fortunately."
"Why fortunately?"
"This is the cord that is used by the Japanese and East Indian secret societies known as the Thugs or Thuggees."
"How do you know?"
"I have seen cords like this before in the Orient, where they were used by Japanese murderers."
The cord passed from hand to hand as the major and the boys examined it with curiosity and some degree of horror, while Stella positively refused to handle it, or even look at it.
"Tell me more about Miss Mowbray's servants," said Ted, again taking up his line of interrogation. "What were the names of the two Japanese?"
"The man was called Ban Joy, but generally was known as Joy."
"Was he pretty well known in the town?"
"No, he was
uncommunicative, and spoke very little English. The only persons who had much to do with him were the storekeepers of whom he bought supplies for the house."
"And the woman?"
"Her name was Itsu San, I believe. I only saw her once, and that was in the yard back of the house. She appeared young, and was very pretty for a Jap, I guess. She is the first Jap woman I ever saw."
"What were her duties?"
"She was Miss Mowbray's maid, while Joy was the cook."
"And you say they are gone?"
"Yes. I saw Joy about eight o'clock, but when I searched the house after the discovery of the body they were not there, and I could find nothing that belonged to them."
"What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to hit Farnsworth's trail, and I won't leave it till I run him down and send him to the gallows."
"I don't think you will."
"I won't, eh? Why shouldn't I?"
"Because Farnsworth did not murder Miss Mowbray."
"Then who did?"
"I don't know; probably the Japanese, but I'm not too sure of that. I believe you will pick up a surprise at the end of the string you are following. At any rate, me for Farnsworth, and I give you fair warning that I'm going to help him all I can until I am persuaded of his guilt."
"That's a fine way for a deputy United States marshal to talk."
"A better way than you are talking, for it is as much our duty to protect men from injustice as it is to bring them to justice."
"That's enough of you for me then. I'll say good night. Come on, boys."
The four deputy United States marshals marched in single file from the house, mounted their horses, and rode away into the west just as the sun poked its head above the eastern horizon.
* * *
CHAPTER XVI.
A LETTER FROM THE DEAD.
Ted was brooding over the appearance of Farnsworth, and the startling events which followed, and particularly the crime at Rodeo, of which the young fellow had fallen under suspicion.
Ted believed that Farnsworth was innocent of the crime.
But his flight from the town, and the question he had put to Ted when they met in the road, as to whether Ted had heard the news from Rodeo, were enough to convict him in the mind of any person prone to suspicion.
But Ted looked at matters of this sort differently than most people. In the first place, his experience had taught him that actions which seemed most suspicious often proved most innocent.
That Farnsworth knew of the murder of Helen Mowbray before he quitted Rodeo his question to Ted left no doubt, and the shadow of suspicion under which he had lived was reason enough for him to leave the town before its discovery. He knew the dangerous temper of the people, and that it would take very little to arouse them against him, and precipitate them into a lynching, with himself as the central figure.
Ted had heard that Fancy Farnsworth was the worst man in Arizona, and that he had the most ungovernable temper, the quickest eye, and swiftest "draw" of a gun in the Territory.
He was a gambler against whom nobody seemed to be able to cope, for he invariably won. It had been said that he was not a straight gambler, but those who said it did so only once, as they were incapable of saying it twice, for by that time they had been shot full of holes by the card sharper.
Why it was that Farnsworth always escaped punishment at the hands of the authorities no one knew, except that they lacked the nerve to force prosecution against him, and that he invariably had a good excuse for killing a man; at least, one that made good in that rough country, where every man was of a size because all carried revolvers.
But even while Ted believed that Farnsworth was innocent of the murder of Miss Mowbray, he felt that some day he and the dashing young fellow would meet on the battlefield as enemies.
But it was the strange resemblance between him and Major Caruthers that affected Ted more than anything else, and he often wondered that the major had not noticed it himself.
Major Caruthers found Ted on the veranda turning these things over in his mind after breakfast. Coming to his side, the old gentleman threw his arm around Ted's shoulder and said:
"Ted, I'm rather worried about that young chap Dickson, or Farnsworth, whichever he is. I was greatly attracted to him, and intended to invite him to stay with us several days, when those deputy marshals entered and accused him of a crime that horrifies me. Somehow, I feel that he is guilty, although I want to believe in his innocence, as you so bravely advocated when we all were too cowardly to do so. But if he was innocent, why did he not stay and face his accusers, and go back to Rodeo with the marshals and prove himself innocent?"
"He never would have got as far as Rodeo," said Ted quietly.
"Why not? He was under arrest and in the guard and custody of four deputy marshals, officers of the United States."
"They would have prevailed no more than if they had been dummies, which I strongly suspect they were."
"Um, how is that?"
"They were sent out from Rodeo as marshals, but the mob that would have met Farnsworth at the outskirts of the town, to hang him, was the real boss. Those marshals would no more dare defy that mob than they would fly. In the first place, they were not of the real stuff, as was proved by their conduct when they entered your house and saw Farnsworth in the middle of the floor and dared not go to him."
"Well, I'm glad he got away, but I am sorry he had to steal your pony to do it."
"That's all right about the pony. I'm betting I'll get it back one of these days. And, besides, there was nothing else for him to do."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the major. "That was the neatest thing I ever saw, the way he got into that saddle and deliberately put that pony at the window."
"It sure was nervy," said Ted, with a reminiscent smile.
"Wasn't it the most dramatic thing you ever saw? I can see it yet. Farnsworth dodging those deputies and their bullets, and before any one knew what his plan was, leaping upon the pony and jumping through the glass. By Jove, it was fine. I never was so excited in my life."
"It certainly was very dramatic. Almost like a thing one would see in the theater."
"Yes, but a lot more exciting, because it was the real thing. By the way, Ted, there was something about that young fellow that I cannot explain to myself. I was quite strangely affected when he took me by the hand. And every time I looked at him it gave me a feeling as if he was somehow mixed up in my life, or would be in the future."
"That is strange. I wonder who he is. His name is not Dickson, nor is it Farnsworth. Of course, there is a mystery behind him somewhere, and he has a name which he is concealing. Suppose we take a look through his effects. He had a saddlebag in which there may be something by which we can identify him."
"Very well. I don't believe it would be unfair to him to do so. You know, we might be able to help him if we know his real name and address."
They went into the room which had been assigned to Farnsworth, but which he had had no opportunity to occupy.
In one corner they found his saddle, a very ornamental and expensive piece of horse furniture, trimmed with silver and made of the most expensive leather.
Beside it lay a bag which could be fastened to the cantle of the saddle.
It fastened with a snap lock, which was easily opened, and then Ted, at a nod from the major, began to turn out its contents.
First came a pair of silver-mounted hairbrushes and several toilet articles, showing that even in the desert young Farnsworth did not neglect his personal appearance. There were some clean shirts and handkerchiefs, and in the bottom of the bag another leather case.
"If he has anything by which he may be identified, it is in here," said Ted. "But this is locked. Shall I force it?"
"I believe you'd better," answered the major.
"I don't care much about doing it," said Ted, "but as it is to help him I suppose I might as well."
The major nodded, and with the blade of his knife Ted
soon had the bag open.
The first thing he came to was a photograph of a beautiful woman, at which he looked intently for a few moments.
It seemed to him that he had seen her, or some one very like her, somewhere before.
Then he passed it over to the major, and reached his hand into the bag once more.
Suddenly he was interrupted by a startled cry, in which there was a tone of pain and surprise, from the major.
Looking up, he saw that the major was as white as a sheet, and that his hand trembled violently.
"What is it?" Ted asked, striding to the major's side.
But Major Caruthers was too shaken by emotion to reply at once.
He continued to stare at the picture with devouring eyes, his face alternately flushing and paling. He was gasping as if he would speak, but the words would not come.
"Do you know her?" asked Ted gently.
The major nodded his head for reply.
"What else do you find?" he managed to ask finally.
Ted emptied the contents of the bag upon the bed.
Among them was a package of old letters carefully tied.
"Look at those letters," commanded the major hoarsely.
Ted untied the string, and took one letter from the pack and opened it. It had been opened and folded so many times that it was with difficulty that Ted could open it now without having it fall to pieces.
"You read it before I do," said the major, who was suffering from a great, nervous strain, and showed it in his face and trembling hand.
Ted spread it on the bed and bent over it.
In the upper left-hand corner was a faded crest of a tower, over which was a coronet.
"My dear, wandering boy," the letter began, "I do not know where you are, or if you are well and alive, or are in trouble, for I have not heard from you for many months. I am sending this at random into that great America in the hope that it may reach you some day to tell you that your mother is constantly thinking of you. Your brother Jack is still in India with his regiment, but will soon retire and come home. Your sister Helen and her husband are I know not where. Mowbray turned out very badly, as your father believed he would, and he had to run from his creditors, and the enemies he had made through his dishonest practices. I don't know where they are, but it is my belief that they have gone to America. I wonder if you will ever run across them? If you do, tell Helen to leave the beast and come home, and both her father and I will forgive, and she can take her place here as if she had never met him. And this leads me to tell you that your father has greatly changed since you left us, and has even said that he was sorry for his harshness, and wished you had stayed with us. We are very lonely with all of our children away from us. Come back to your mother, and all will be different."
Ted Strong in Montana Page 12
