Part 12

After replacing what was left of the “bou’bon,” the Colonel stuffed some fragrant tobacco into a much darkened cob pipe, contemplated the ascending wreaths for a while, and reverted to his novel.

“The plot of that story is a pe’plexity to me, suh. I think of things to put in it when I am out on the rivah, and when I get back I fo’get what they ah. I am going to get some moah papeh and write the whole thing oveh. Maybe I will kill that infe’nal Pud Calkins and I will myself marry that female whose face is concealed. Somebody must marry her or she will be left without suppo’t at the end of the book. People will nevah buy my memoahs. They will look in the back, and if theah is no wedding theah, they will cast the volume aside.

“That Pud Calkins is much on my mind, suh. He is a predicament. He wakes me f’om my slumbehs, an’ sits beside me at my humble meals. He has dammed up the flow of my fancy in my novel, suh. I have nevah read a novel that had anything like him in it. He is a damned nuisance, suh, and he has got to go.

“The next time you come down I would like to read to you what I have written. It is too much mixed up now, but I will have it all in o’deh when you come again. And anotheh thing that bothehs me is my chestnut filly that I rode durin’ the wah. I have got to have her in the story. I rode her through battle smoke and oveh fields of ca’nage. I was at the head of my men, suh, an’ ev’ry fall of her hoofs was on dead Yankees that fell befoah ouah onslaught. It would break my heaht if Pud Calkins should evah ride that hawss, even in a story, and yet Pud Calkins was on the field where I fell covehed with wounds, and he rode some hawss home to tell the tale, and if he had some otheh hawss, I would have to leave my filly out, foh only one live hawss was left at the end of that cha’ge, and that was the one I fell f’om, an’ Great Gawd, man, I couldn’t kill my filly!

“Of co’se my hawss will succumb in my memoahs to the immutable laws of natcha, but that must appeah as the reco’d of the actual fact, afteh the wah was oveh. She will not die by my hand, even in fiction—no, suh! I will kill Pud Calkins a thousand times first, suh!

“The prepahation of all this written matteh has been a great labah to me, but it has occupied many houahs that would othe’wise be unbeahable in this Gawd fo’saken country. I sit heah by my fiah and wo’k with my pen, but this Pud Calkins is always by my side, suh.”

Barring a few unavoidable discomforts, I spent a very pleasant week with the Colonel. The fishing had been good, and there was a world of interest and joy in the stretches of the great marsh, teeming with wild life, and filled with the gentle melodies of hidden waters.

I paid mine host his modest bill, bade him good bye at the landing, rowed up stream, and, after spending a day with Tipton Posey at Bundy’s Bridge, left the river country.

It was six months before I returned. I sought the Colonel and found him much changed. A trouble had come upon him. His eye had lost its lustre, he had an air of listlessness and preoccupation, and he looked older.

It seemed that there had been great excitement in the county after my departure, and the Colonel had been the storm center.

When we had finished our simple evening meal, and had lighted our pipes before the fire, the Colonel handed me a copy of _The Index_, the weekly paper, published at the county seat. Its date was about four months old.

“I would like to have you read that, suh, and then I will hand you anotheh.”

On the front page were some glaring headlines: THE BURGLARY!!!—THE EXPLOSION!!!—THE PURSUIT!!! I read the account with deep interest, which was as follows:

“On Monday morning of June 10th a crowd assembled in front of the County Treasurer’s office at the Court House, amid very unusual circumstances. Nearly seven thousand dollars were known to have been in the safe Saturday night, and now as the anxious citizens crowded through the door, they saw a ruined open safe, and abundant evidences of a fearful explosion. A steel drill, some files, and an empty can that had probably contained the explosive compound, were scattered about on the floor. The rugs were in a pile near the safe, where they had probably been used to muffle the explosion. The money was gone.

“It was learned that a stranger of singular appearance, and marked individualities, with a gray coat, a heavy gray moustache and long chin whiskers, who entered the town last Friday, and had been observed by many of the citizens during Friday and Saturday, had deposited at the Treasurer’s office, for safe keeping, a box represented to contain valuables. This box, made of tin, some eight inches in length and five in width, was deposited on Friday, and taken out on Saturday morning. It was again deposited on Saturday afternoon, to be called for on Monday morning.

“The county treasurer, the Hon. Truman W. Pettibone, had gone fishing on Thursday and expected to remain away until Tuesday, as is his custom during the summer months.

“The mysterious stranger was waited on by Mr. J. Milton Tuttle, the courteous and well known clerk in the treasurer’s office. Mr. Tuttle’s charming daughter has just returned from a visit to her aunt in Oak Grove township—but we digress. J. Milton Tuttle had no suspicions, and retired at evening to his home and his interesting family.

“The stranger was thought by several citizens to have taken the evening train, but was seen lurking around town, with a slouch hat pulled well down over his eyes, at a late hour Saturday night. He entered the Busy Bee Buffet at eleven o’clock and was served by Mr. Oscar Sheets, the gentlemanly bartender. He immediately departed. It is supposed that he spent the night in some barn.

“It was ascertained that the tall and singular looking man, in the gray coat, who appeared to be disguised, was seen on Sunday morning to enter the front door of the Court House. This door, as is well known, is usually left open on Sunday for the convenience of Sunday callers who wish to read the legal notices on the bulletin board in the hallway.

“Miss Anastasia Simpson, an unmarried lady, living near the Court House, noticed particularly that the stranger was very distinguished looking. She watched from her window for his reappearance, which did not take place until three in the afternoon, when he departed seemingly in a state of great perturbation and excitement.

“It was ascertained that Mr. Wellington Peters, proprietor of the prominent and well known low priced hardware store bearing his name, and whose business is advertised in our columns, while standing on the corner talking with a traveling man near the hotel, heard a dull booming sound from the direction of the court house, at about 2:45 P.M., but thinking that it was boys making some kind of a racket, he paid no attention to it. Several other prominent and well known citizens heard the same sound at the same hour.

“The tall and mysterious stranger was seen by Miss Simpson to walk south after leaving the court house. She went to another window to further observe him, but he had disappeared.

“The little tin box which the artful and designing robber had left ‘for safe keeping’ with J. Milton Tuttle, and which he locked up in the safe, was opened and found to contain nothing but a bag of sand.

“It was evident to all that the tin box was a subterfuge. It was used as an excuse to visit and inspect the ‘lay of the land’ in the office of the treasurer of our county.

“About noon, on Monday, a posse was formed by the Hon. Cyrus Butts, our gentlemanly and efficient sheriff. The posse, consisting of three prominent and well known citizens, Oliver K. Gardner, Silas B. Kendall and Elmer Dinwiddie, accompanied by the sheriff, made a circuit of the town. They ascertained that the mysterious stranger had stopped at the pleasant little home of Mr. Mike Carney, the genial and well known butcher of our town, and asked for a drink of water, which was given him. He had then taken a southerly direction along the section line road. The posse procured Toppington Smith’s mottled blood hound and put the intelligent animal on the trail of the fleeing burglar. The pursuit continued for about twelve miles. The fugitive was evidently making a bee line along the section road for the river marshes. A team was met on the road, with a load of baled hay, and impressed into service. All of the bales but two were unloaded and left by the roadside. The two bales were retained on the wagon for use as a barricade in case of a revolver battle with the burglar.

“Drivers of teams, met along the route, reported seeing a man enter the woods before they met him, and go back into the road a long ways behind them after they had passed. The variations in the course taken by the hound confirmed this.

“About ten o’clock at night there was a full moon. The trail left the road and led into some thick underbrush, near a small slough. Some smoke issued from the brush, where the fugitive had evidently built a fire and expected to spend the night. The place was surrounded and the posse cautiously advanced, but the burglar was gone. It was thought that the cunning malefactor had got wind of his pursuers, that he had turned aside and lighted this fire in the brush with a view of delaying and baffling those behind him with artful strategy.

“The hound left the brush, and a few minutes later a tall figure, with a light gray coat, was seen a few hundred yards away on a bare ridge in the moonlight. It was unquestionably the fugitive and the hound was with him. The posse opened fire with revolvers, but at such a distance it was futile. The man and the dog disappeared over the ridge into the woods. The burglar had escaped, and the dog had evidently joined forces with him.

“Further pursuit that night was considered hopeless. The posse slept at a farm house and resumed the search Tuesday morning. They found the dog tied to a tree near the edge of the big marsh, there were tracks in the soft mud at the margin of the slough, and an old boat belonging to a farmer in the vicinity was gone. There were marks in the mud showing where the boat had been shoved out to the water.

“The pursuit was abandoned and the posse returned home. A full description of the robber was sent broadcast, and it is thought that his capture is only a matter of time.

“Up to the hour of going to press there are no further particulars to record, but we hope that before our next issue, justice will triumph, and the burglar with his ill gotten booty will be within its grasp.”

“And now, suh, will you please cast youah eye oveh this reco’d of infamy,” requested the Colonel, as he handed me a later copy of the same paper.

The next account was headed:

“ARRESTED!!!—PRELIMINARY HEARING!!!—HABEAS CORPUS!!!”

and it read as follows:

“We are able to announce that the crafty and resourceful robber of the county treasurer’s office, who so successfully eluded the grasp of his pursuers, and made good his retreat into the river marshes, has probably been apprehended.

“The evidence seems to indicate that one Col. Peets, who lives on a small farm on the river, above the marsh, is the culprit.

“He was captured there by the sheriff, the day after our last week’s issue was in the hands of the public. He offered no resistance. The information that led to his capture was received from Mr. Tipton Posey who keeps the well known general store near Bundy’s Bridge. Mr. Posey stated that the description of the robber, printed in this paper, exactly fitted Col. Peets, with the exception of the chin whiskers, which he thought were false.

“This paper is invariably modest and unassuming. It vaunteth not itself, but we may say, without undue self glorification, that it was the thoroughness of the journalistic work of this paper that made the description of the robber available, and that this capture is therefore exclusively due to the enterprise of _The Index_. Our circulation covers the entire county. Our advertising rates will be found on another page. Our subscription rates are two dollars a year, cash, or two fifty in produce—strictly in advance.

“Col. Peets claims to be an ex-officer in the Rebel Army. He bears a bad reputation along the river, and is said to be a man of immoral character.

“The prisoner was securely lodged in the county jail, and, after the usual legal forms, he was brought before the Justice of the Peace for preliminary hearing.

“When the morning of the examination came, the court was thronged as it never has been before. The ladies crowded the room as they had never done at any court during our existence as a county, while the trial progressed, manifesting a strange interest, which has never been exhibited till now, for or against any prisoner. And yet not so strange, for a remarkable prisoner appeared before them. He was tall, strongly built, with a heavy moustache, and pale—as though just recovering from an illness—marked in his individualities, a man of martial bearing, whom one would expect to recognize among ten thousand.

“Every female eye was uninterruptedly focussed on this striking looking man during the entire hearing. He was claimed to be the same stranger who had blown open the safe and abstracted the seven thousand dollars of the county’s money. The loss will of course have to be made good by the treasurer or his bondsmen, if the plunder is not recovered from the thief, and much sympathy is felt for the Hon. Truman W. Pettibone, who has long borne an enviable and unsullied reputation in our midst.

“Several of the ladies present were to appear among the witnesses in behalf of the state and for the defense. The question under consideration was the identity of this tall mysterious looking prisoner and that tall disguised stranger who was unquestionably responsible before the law for the astounding burglary.

“The counsel for the state was the Hon. John Wesley Watts, our brilliant and alert county attorney. The prisoner was represented by W. St. John Hopkins, whose very name smacks of irreverence for the Holy Writ. He is a young aspiring sprig of the law who has recently come into our midst.

“It seems that this man Hopkins, who parts both his name and his hair in the middle, volunteered to defend the prisoner without compensation, probably for the purpose of showing off his talents. The prisoner was without counsel, and claimed to have no funds with which to hire one. They seemed to be suspiciously good friends in court. Whether or not a part of the loot from the exploded safe has covertly changed hands in payment for certain legal services during the past few days, it is not within the province of this paper to determine, or even hint.

“The examination continued during Wednesday and Thursday, excellent order prevailing in the court room. Many citizens gave strong testimony both for and against the prisoner. The public were deeply interested in the solution of the question, and there were strong and conflicting opinions as to the identity of the prisoner in the minds of all present. The progress of the examination, as numerous witnesses were examined who had seen the prowling and disguised stranger, and who now saw the prisoner, brought distinctly to notice the great difference which exists in the observing power of different individuals. Many thought that if the prisoner had on a gray coat, and had a long chin beard, in addition to his moustache, they could absolutely swear to his identity. Others thought that the stranger had worn false whiskers and had particularly noticed it at the time.

“J. Milton Tuttle did not think that the chin whiskers were false, or that the prisoner was the man who left the tin box for safe keeping. He was quite positive that he would recognize the man if he ever saw him again.

“Miss Anastasia Simpson, the unmarried lady, whose eyes were glued on the mystic stranger in the vicinity of the court house, and whose eyes were glued on the prisoner during the entire course of the trial, swore absolutely that he was not the same man. Possibly the reasons that prompted such positive testimony may be best known to herself.

“The prisoner, under the whispered advice of young Hopkins, declined to go upon the stand, which in itself, in the opinion of most of those present, was conclusive evidence of guilt.

“The state’s attorney made an able and scholarly address to the court, and presented a masterly review of the evidence.

“Hopkins contented himself with claiming that no evidence had been adduced to justify the court in holding his client. No false whiskers or gray coat had been produced, and no witness had positively sworn to the prisoner’s identity. On the contrary, the only witness who had conversed with the alleged robber, Mr. J. Milton Tuttle, had failed to connect him with the crime, and Miss Simpson, who had long and carefully observed both men, had declared under her solemn oath that they were not the same.

“He claimed that the cord that held his client was a rope of sand, and had the effrontery to comment sarcastically on the account of the pursuit of the flying burglar that appeared exclusively in our last week’s issue. He indulged in sardonic levity at the expense of the public-spirited posse, and remarked that it was queer that its dog had shown a preference for the society of an alleged thief. He suggested that the two bales of hay, that were retained on the pursuit wagon, were better adapted for food for the posse than for a barricade.

“The outburst of indecent laughter that greeted this impudent sally was promptly suppressed by the court, who threatened to clear the room if anything of the kind was repeated. The court sternly rebuked the offending attorney, and cautioned him to confine his remarks strictly to the merits of the case before the court.

“Hopkins apologized to the court and claimed that humor was a malady of his early youth and that he had never been entirely cured.

“The court retired to its library and took the case under advisement for an hour, during which time the crowd waited in anxious suspense. When the court returned it held Col. Peets to the Circuit Court—placing his recognizance at three thousand dollars, in default of which the prisoner was remanded to the custody of the sheriff.

“Much satisfaction was expressed at the decision of the court. Judge Mark W. Giddings, our able and learned Justice of the Peace, is a man of lofty attainments and an ornament to the bench. He has one of the finest law libraries in the county. He is of fine old New England stock, his ancestors having come over in the Mayflower. He is one of the oldest and most valued subscribers to this newspaper.

“The press forms of this issue of our paper were held until proceedings in this case were disposed of, that the inchoate attorney representing the prisoner, began before the court now in session at the court house.

“He asked for a writ of _habeas corpus_, and his client has been turned loose on the community!

“We may say, that while it may be that no jury would have convicted this man Peets, who admits that he was once an enemy of his country, and while the testimony was strongly conflicting, the opinion is strong in this community that the honorable Justice of the Peace rendered a perfectly just decision.

“The opinions of this journal have always been impartial, and, under the circumstances it is far be it from us to express one, but not to mention any names, there is a certain fresh young lawyer in this town who has a tendency to be a smarty, and a cute Aleck, and to butt in on things that do not concern him.

“It may be to his interest to lay a little lower. A word to the wise is sufficient.

“In addition to this, there is a certain alien resident in this county, of military pretensions, who lives by the sobbing waters of a certain river—and again we do not mention names—who had better not be caught wearing false whiskers when he visits this town.”

“And now,” said the Colonel, with a patronizing wave of his hand after he had given me a still later copy of the paper, “I desiah you to look at this account of the sequel of this distressing affaiah.”

On the editorial page I read:

“A PUBLIC OUTRAGE!!!

“It is far from the desire of this journal to discuss the personal interests or affairs of its editor and proprietor. _The Index_, as the public well knows, has ever been the fearless advocate of fair play for every citizen, and for every human being, however humble, before the law. Its motives have always been above reproach. Notwithstanding the fact that it is the county’s greatest newspaper—unselfishly devoted to the public interest—it never blows its own horn. It rarely mentions itself in its own columns. It scorns to publish matter in its own interest, but the time has come when its clarion voice must be raised to such a pitch that it may be heard throughout the length and breadth of the county, so that the public conscience may be awakened, and forever make impossible a repetition of such an outrage as occurred in front of the post office on last Saturday afternoon.

“As is well known by all, the editor of this paper, who is also its proprietor, was publicly attacked by Col. Peets, the scoundrel and erstwhile prisoner at the bar of justice, who figured so prominently and so exclusively in the affair of the robbery of the safe in the county treasurer’s office some weeks ago.

“A handful of our whiskers was seized and twisted away by this vile miscreant, with the supposedly funny remark that he wanted them for a disguise.

“We were forced to our knees on the dirty sidewalk and commanded to apologize for certain statements that have appeared in our paper.

“We were belabored with a rawhide whip and kicked into the gutter by this burly old brute.

“As humiliating as these things are it is necessary to mention them in order to properly lay before the public the frightful enormity of the outrage.

“It is, and always has been the policy of this paper, to hew to the line and let the chips fall where they may. _The Index_ thinks before it strikes, and it never retracts.

“If editors are to be publicly assaulted—if their persons are not sacred—if the freedom of the press is to be trammelled and muzzled by supposed private rights of individuals, and their likes and dislikes—if publishers are to be beaten up or beaten down with impunity, or with rawhide whips, and are to be coerced into cowardly silence by fear of personal violence—then our republic, with its vaunted ideals, is a stupendous failure.

“Far be it from us to complain, or put forth our private wrongs, but we consider that we have been a martyr to the lawlessness of this community, and to the fearless and outspoken attitude of our paper.

“An attack upon the person of the editor of a newspaper is an attack upon the sacred foundations of human liberty.

“The public will be glad to know that the execrable villain and ruffian, who assaulted us, is now immured in the county jail, where he was sent by that wise and upright Justice of the Peace, the Hon. Mark W. Giddings.

“It is to be devoutly hoped that when the term of his just imprisonment expires, his presence in the county will be no longer tolerated.

“For the miserable cowards and loafers who witnessed the premeditated violence upon us in front of the post office, and did not interfere, this paper has the most withering contempt. Their craven names are known, and this journal will remember them.

“To Constable Hawkins, who arrested the assailant, this paper—on behalf of the public—extends its thanks. Constable Hawkins is an officer of whom our town may well be proud. We wish him a long life of health and happiness. We may mention, parenthetically, that Constable Hawkins and his charming wife Sundayed with us two weeks ago and a delightful time was had by one and all.