Part 46 (1/2)

”She's the old stock--the old frontier stock! And Sandy, locking the detective in the harness room!” He chuckled. ”Go down and let them out, Casey, and give them breakfast. A fine pair of children we've got, mother.”

”Sandy can take care of himself,” said Mrs. McCrae practically. ”He always did, since he could walk, and he took his own ways, asking n.o.body. And Sheila, for a girl, is the same. They take after you, Donald, not me. But now, Casey, Mrs. Wade is at Chakchak, isn't she?”

”Mrs. Wade and Miss Burnaby,” Casey replied. ”It's all right, Mrs.

McCrae.”

”Sheila needs no chaperon,” said her father.

”Not with Casey,” said her mother. ”But there's the gossip, Donald, and the dirty tongues. It's not like the old days.”

”True enough, maybe,” McCrae admitted. And he added, when his wife had left the room: ”What have they got hold of to arrest the boy, Casey?”

”I don't know,” Casey replied. ”But we'll face the music, Donald.”

When Casey entered the harness room Gla.s.s and another man, a stranger, lay in one corner on a heap of sacks. Sandy had done a most workmanlike job, and he had put a neat finish to it by strapping each man to a stanchion with a pair of driving reins.

”Good morning, gentlemen,” said Casey.

”Is it?” said Gla.s.s, sourly. His old hesitating manner had quite vanished.

”Beautiful,” Casey replied. ”Sun s.h.i.+ning, birds singing, crops growing.

'G.o.d's in His heaven; all's well with the world.' Like to take a look at it? Or are you too much attached to your present surroundings?”

”You can cut out the funny stuff,” said Gla.s.s. ”I don't ever laugh before breakfast.”

”Quite right, too,” Casey replied. ”Just roll over a little till I get at those knots. There you are, Mr. Gla.s.s. Now your friend here. Don't think I know him.”

”Jack Pugh, sheriff's officer,” said Gla.s.s, rising stiffly, with considerable difficulty.

”I'll have him in shape to shake hands in a minute,” said Casey, as he worried at the knots. ”And so, Mr. Gla.s.s, instead of an innocent landlooker you are a real live, mysterious detective. You don't look the part. Or perhaps you are still disguised.”

”I can stand a josh better now,” said Gla.s.s. ”Maybe I'm not such a live proposition as I might be. When two grown men let a kid hogtie them it sort of starts them thinking.”

”It sure does,” Pugh agreed. He was a saturnine gentleman, with a humorous eye. ”I been wantin' to scratch my nose for eight solid hours,” he affirmed irrelevantly, rubbing that organ violently with his free hand.

”He's some kid,” said Gla.s.s. ”Where is he?”

”I haven't seen him. He left word where to find you.”

”Beat it somewhere, I suppose,” Gla.s.s commented. ”He fooled us up in great style, I'll say that much. At first he acted about the way you'd expect a country kid to act--scared to death. He wanted to change his overalls for pants before we took him anywhere. Said they were hanging up in here. We fell for it. We came in, and there was a pair of pants hanging on a nail. He walked over to them, and the next thing we knew he had a gun on us. I hope I know when a man means business--and he did. He had half a notion to shoot anyway.”

”That's right,” Pugh confirmed. ”He's one of them kids that makes gunmen. No bluff. I know the kind.”

”So when he told me to tie Pugh I did it,” Gla.s.s continued. ”Then he dropped a loop over me, and that's all there is to tell. The joke's on us just now.”

”So it is,” said Casey. ”Whatever made you think that kid had anything to do with blowing up the dam?”

”Hadn't he?”

Casey smiled genially. ”Why, how should I know, Mr. Gla.s.s? I was just asking what you were going on.”