Out of a Labyrinth, Page 3

  CHAPTER III.

  SCENTING A MYSTERY.

  That is how I chanced to be rolling city-ward on that phlegmatic,oft-stopping, slow going, accomodation train, and that is why I was outof temper, and out of tune.

  My operation had been retarded. Instead of working swiftly on to asuccessful issue, this must be a case of waiting, of wit against wit,and I must report to my chief a balk in the very beginning.

  Nevertheless, as I said in the outset, fifty miles of monotonous rumble,together with the soothing influence of a good cigar, had blunted theedge of my self-disgust; my arm was quite easy, only warning me now andthen that it was a crippled arm; I was beginning to feel phlegmatic andcomfortable.

  I had formed a habit of not thinking about my work when the thinkingwould be useless, and there was little room for effective thought inthis case. My future movements were a foregone conclusion. So I rested,and fell almost asleep, and then it was that the single passenger ofwhom I made mention, came on board.

  I had not noticed the name of the station, but as I roused myself andlooked out, I saw that we were moving along the outskirts of a prettylittle town, and then I turned my eyes toward the new passenger.

  He was coming down the aisle towards me, and was a plain, somewhatheavy-featured man, with a small, bright, twinkling eye. Certainly itwas not a prepossessing countenance, but, just as certainly, it was anhonest one. He was dressed in some gray stuff, the usual "second best"of a thriving farmer or mechanic, and might have been either.

  By the time I had arrived at this stage in my observations, there wasrustle and stir behind me, and a man who had been lounging, silent,moveless, and, as I had supposed, asleep, stretched forward a brownfist, exclaiming:

  "Hallo, old boy! Stop right here. Harding, how are ye?"

  Of course the "old boy" stopped. There was the usual hand shaking, andmutual exclamations of surprise and pleasure, not unmixed withprofanity. Evidently they had been sometime friends and neighbors, andhad not met before for years.

  They talked very fast and, it seemed to me, unnecessarily loud; the oneasking, the other answering, questions concerning a certain village,which, because it would not be wise to give its real name we will callTrafton.

  Evidently Trafton was the station we had just left, and where we tookon this voluble passenger. They talked of its inhabitants, itsimprovements, its business; of births, and deaths, and marriages. It wasvery uninteresting; I was beginning to feel bored, and was meditating achange of seat, when the tone of the conversation changed somewhat, and,before I could sufficiently overcome my laziness to move, I found myselfgetting interested.

  "No, Trafton ain't a prosperous town. For the few rich ones it's wellenough, but the poor--well, the only ones that prosper are those wholive without work."

  "Oh! the rich?"

  "No! the poor. 'Nuff said."

  "Oh! I see; some of the old lot there yet; wood piles suffer?"

  "_Wood piles!_"

  "And hen roosts."

  "_Hen roosts!_" in a still deeper tone of disgust.

  "Clothes lines, too, of course."

  "_Clothes lines!_" Evidently this was the last straw. "Thunder andlightning, man, that's baby talk; there's more deviltry going on aboutTrafton than you could scoop up in forty ordinary towns."

  "No! you don't tell me. What's the mischief?"

  "Well, it's easy enough to tell _what_ the mischief is, but _where_ itis, is the poser; but there's a good many in Trafton that wouldn'tbelieve you if you told them there was no such thing as an organizedgang of marauders near the place."

  "An organized gang!"

  "Yes, sir."

  "But, good Lord, that's pretty strong for Trafton. Do you believe it?"

  "Rather," with Yankee dryness.

  "Well, I'm blessed! Come, old man, tell us some of the particulars. Whatmakes you suspect blacklegs about that little town?"

  "I've figured the thing down pretty close, and I've had reason to. Thething has been going on for a number of years, and I've been a loser,and ever since the beginning it has moved like clock-work. Five yearsago a horse thief had not been heard of in Trafton for Lord knows howlong, until one night Judge Barnes lost a valuable span, taken from hisstable, slick and clean, and never heard of afterwards. Since then, fromthe town and country, say for twenty-five miles around, they haveaveraged over twenty horses every year, and they are always the verybest; picked every time, no guess work."

  The companion listener gave a long, shrill whistle, and I, supposed bythem to be asleep, became very wide awake and attentive.

  "But," said the astonished man, "you found some of them?"

  "No, sir; horses that leave Trafton between two days never come backagain."

  "Good Lord!"

  There was a moment's silence and then the Traftonite said:

  "But that ain't all; we can beat the city itself for burglars."

  "But that ain't all; we can beat the city itself forburglars."--page 36.]

  "Burglars, too!"

  "Yes, _burglars_!" This the gentleman emphasized very freely. "And cuteones; they never get caught, and they seldom miss a figure."

  "How's that?"

  "They always know where to strike. If a man goes away to be absent for anight or two, they know it. If a man draws money from the bank, or sellscattle, they know that. And if some of our farmers, who like to go homedrunk once in a while, travel the road alone, they are liable to berelieved of a part of their load."

  "And who do the folks suspect of doing the mischief?"

  "They talk among themselves, and very carefully, about _having_suspicions and _being_ on the watch; but very few dare breathe a name.And after all, there is no clear reason for suspecting anyone."

  "But _you_ suspect some one, or I miss my guess."

  "Well, and so I do, but I ain't the man to lay myself liable to anaction for damages, so I say nothing, but _I'm watching_."

  Little more was said on the subject that interested me, and presentlythe Traftonite took leave of his friend, and quitted the train at astation, not more than twenty miles east of Trafton; the other was goingto the city, like myself.

  When quiet was restored in my vicinity, I settled myself for a freshcogitation, and now I gave no thought to the fate of Mamie Rutger and'Squire Ewing's daughter. My mind was absorbed entirely with what I hadjust heard.

  The pretty, stupid-looking little town of Trafton had suddenly become tome what the great Hippodrome is to small boys. I wanted to see it; Iwanted to explore it, and to find the mainspring that moved its mystery.

  The words that had fallen from the lips of the Trafton man, had revealedto my practiced ear a more comprehensive story than he had supposedhimself relating.

  Systematic thieving and burglary for five years! Systematic, and alwayssuccessful. What a masterful rogue must be the founder of this system!How secure he must be in his place, and his scheming, and what a foemanto encounter. It would be something to thwart, to baffle, and bring tojustice a villain of such caliber.

  After a while my thoughts turned back to Groveland. Certainly themystery there was quite as deep, and the solution of it of more vitalimportance. But--Groveland was the mystery that I had touched andhandled; Trafton was the mystery unseen.

  So my mind returned to the latter subject, and when, hours later, weran into the city, Groveland was still absent, and Trafton present, inmy thoughts.