Chapter 25

As the Heart Grows Older

Bonner's eagerness to begin probing into the mystery grew as his strength came back to him. He volunteered to interest his uncle in the matter, and through him to begin a systematic effort to unravel the tangled ends of Rosalie's life. Money was not to be spared; time and intelligence were to be devoted to the cause. He knew that Rosalie was in reality a creature of good birth and worthy of the name that any man might seek to bestow upon her--a name given in love by a man to the woman who would share it with him forever.

The days and nights were teaching him the sacredness of a growing attachment. He was not closing his eyes to the truth. It was quite as impossible for big, worldly Wick Bonner to be near her and not fall a victim, as it was for the crude, humble youth of Tinkletown. His heart was just as fragile as theirs when it bared itself to her attack. Her beauty attracted him, her natural refinement of character appealed to him; her pureness, her tenderness, her goodness, wrought havoc with his impressions. Fresh, bright, as clear-headed as the June sunshine, she was a revelation to him--to Bonner, who had known her sex in all its environments. His heart was full of her, day and night; for day and night he was wondering whether she could care for him as he knew he was coming to care for her.

One day he received a telegram. It was from his mother and his sister, who had just reached Boston from Bermuda, and it carried the brief though emphatic information that they were starting to Tinkletown to nurse and care for him. Bonner was thrown into a panic. He realised in the instant that it would be impossible for them to come to Mr. Crow's home, and he knew they could not be deceived as to his real condition. His mother would naturally insist upon his going at once to Bonner Place, across the river, and on to Boston as soon as he was able; his clever sister would see through his motives like a flash of lightning. Young Mr. Bonner loved them, but he was distinctly bored by the prospect of their coming. In some haste and confusion, he sent for "Doc" Smith.

"Doctor, how soon will I be able to navigate?" he asked anxiously.

"Right now."

"You don't say so! I don't feel strong, you know."

"Well, your leg's doing well and all danger is past. Of course, you won't be as spry as usual for some time, and you can't walk without crutches, but I don't see any sense in your loafing around here on that account. You'd be safe to go at any time, Mr. Bonner."

"Look here, doctor, I'm afraid to change doctors. You've handled this case mighty well, and if I went to some other chap, he might undo it all. I've made up my mind to have you look out for me until this wound is completely healed. That's all right, now. I know what I'm talking about. I'll take no chances. How long will it be until it is completely healed?"

"A couple of weeks, I suppose."

"Well, I'll stay right here and have you look at it every day. It's too serious a matter for me to trifle with. By the way, my mother is coming up, and I dare say she'll want me to go to Boston. Our family doctor is an old fossil and I don't like to trust him with this thing. You'll be doing me a favour, doctor, if you keep me here until I'm thoroughly well. I intend to tell my mother that it will not be wise to move me until all danger of blood poisoning is past."

"Blood poisoning? There's no danger now, sir."

"You never can tell," said Bonner sagely.

"But I'd be a perfect fool, Mr. Bonner, if there were still danger of that," complained the doctor. "What sort of a doctor would they consider me?"

"They'd certainly give you credit for being careful, and that's what appeals to a mother, you know," said Bonner still more sagely. "Besides, it's _my_ leg, doctor, and I'll have it treated my way. I think a couple of weeks more under your care will put me straight. Mother has to consider me, that's all. I wish you'd stop in to-morrow and change these bandages, doctor; if you don't mind--"

"Doc" Smith was not slow. He saw more than Bonner thought, so he winked to himself as he crossed over to his office. At the corner he met Anderson Crow.

"Say, Anderson," he said, half chuckling, "that young Bonner has had a relapse."

"Thunderation!"

"He can't be moved for a week or two."

"Will you have to cut it off?"

"The leg?"

"Certainly. That's the only thing that pains him, ain't it?"

"I think not. I'm going to put his heart in a sling," said Smith, laughing heartily at what he thought would be taken as a brilliant piece of jesting. But he erred. Anderson went home in a great flurry and privately cautioned every member of the household, including Rosalie, to treat Bonner with every consideration, as his heart was weak and liable to give him great trouble. Above all, he cautioned them to keep the distressing news from Bonner. It would discourage him mightily. For a full week Anderson watched Bonner with anxious eyes, writhing every time the big fellow exerted himself, groaning when he gave vent to his hearty laugh.

"Have you heard anything?" asked Bonner with faithful regularity when Anderson came home each night. He referred to the chase for the fugitives.

"Nothin' worth while," replied Anderson dismally. "Uncle Jimmy Borton had a letter from Albany to-day, an' his son-in-law said three strange men had been seen in the Albany depot the other day. I had Uncle Jimmy write an' ast him if he had seen anybody answerin' the description, you know. But the three men he spoke of took a train for New York, so I suppose they're lost by this time. It's the most bafflin' case I ever worked on."

"Has it occurred to you that the real leader was in this neighbourhood at the time? In Boggs City, let us say. According to Rosa--Miss Gray's story, the man Sam went out nightly for instructions. Well, he either went to Boggs City or to a meeting place agreed upon between him and his superior. It is possible that he saw this person on the very night of my own adventure. Now, the thing for us to do is to find out if a stranger was seen in these parts on that night. The hotel registers in Boggs City may give us a clew. If you don't mind, Mr. Crow, I'll have this New York detective, who is coming up to-morrow, take a look into this phase of the case. It won't interfere with your plans, will it?" asked Bonner, always considerate of the feelings of the good-hearted, simple-minded old marshal.

"Not at all, an' I'll help him all I can, sir," responded Anderson magnanimously. "Here, Eva, here's a letter fer Rosalie. It's the second she's had from New York in three days."

"It's from Miss Banks. They correspond, Anderson," said Mrs. Crow.

"And say, Eva, I've decided on one thing. We've got to calculate on gittin' along without that thousand dollars after this."

"Why, An--der--son Crow!"

"Yep. We're goin' to find her folks, no matter if we do have to give up the thousand. It's no more'n right. She'll be twenty-one in March, an' I'll have to settle the guardeenship business anyhow. But, doggone it, Mr. Bonner, she says she won't take the money we've saved fer her."

"She has told me as much, Mr. Crow. I think she's partly right. If she takes my advice she will divide it with you. You are entitled to all of it, you know--it was to be your pay--and she will not listen to your plan to give all of it to her. Still, I feel that she should not be penniless at this time. She may never need it--she certainly will not as long as you are alive--but it seems a wise thing for her to be protected against emergencies. But I dare say you can arrange that between yourselves. I have no right to interfere. Was there any mail for me?"

"Yep. I almost fergot to fork it over. Here's one from your mother, I figger. This is from your sister, an' here's one from your--your sweetheart, I reckon. I deduce all this by sizin' up the--" and he went on to tell how he reached his conclusions, all of which were wrong. They were invitations to social affairs in Boston. "But I got somethin' important to tell you, Mr. Bonner. I think a trap is bein' set fer me by the desperadoes we're after. I guess I'm gittin' too hot on their trail. I had an ananymous letter to-day."

"A what?"

"Ananymous letter. Didn't you ever hear of one? This one was writ fer the express purpose of lurin' me into a trap. They want to git me out of the way. But I'll fool 'em. I'll not pay any attention to it."

"Goodness, Anderson, I bet you'll be assassinated yet!" cried his poor wife. "I wish you'd give up chasin' people down."

"May I have a look at the letter, Mr. Crow?" asked Bonner. Anderson stealthily drew the square envelope from his inside pocket and passed it over.

"They've got to git up purty early to ketch me asleep," he said proudly. Bonner drew the enclosure from the envelope. As he read, his eyes twinkled and the corners of his mouth twitched, but his face was politely sober as he handed the missive back to the marshal. "Looks like a trap, don't it?" said Anderson. "You see there ain't no signature. The raskils were afraid to sign a name."

"I wouldn't say anything to Miss Gray about this if I were you, Mr. Crow. It might disturb her, you know," said Bonner.

"That means you, too, Eva," commanded Anderson in turn. "Don't worry the girl. She mustn't know anything about this."

"I don't think it's a trap," remarked Eva as she finished reading the missive. Bonner took this opportunity to laugh heartily. He had held it back as long as possible. What Anderson described as an "ananymous" letter was nothing more than a polite, formal invitation to attend a "house warming" at Colonel Randall's on the opposite side of the river. It read:

"Mr. and Mrs. D.F. Randall request the honour of your presence at a house warming, Friday evening, January 30, 190--, at eight o'clock. Rockden-of-the-Hills."

"It is addressed to me, too, Anderson," said his wife, pointing to the envelope. "It's the new house they finished last fall. Anonymous letter! Fiddlesticks! I bet there's one at the post-office fer each one of the girls."

"Roscoe got some of the mail," murmured the marshal sheepishly. "Where is that infernal boy? He'd oughter be strapped good and hard fer holdin' back letters like this," growled he, eager to run the subject into another channel. After pondering all evening, he screwed up the courage and asked Bonner not to tell any one of his error in regard to the invitation. Roscoe produced invitations for his sister and Rosalie. He furthermore announced that half the people in town had received them.

"There's a telegram comin' up fer you after a while, Mr. Bonner," he said. "Bud's out delivering one to Mr. Grimes, and he's going to stop here on the way back. I was at the station when it come in. It's from your ma, and it says she'll be over from Boggs City early in the morning."

"Thanks, Roscoe," said Bonner with an amused glance at Rosalie; "you've saved me the trouble of reading it."

"They are coming to-morrow," said Rosalie long afterward, as the last of the Crows straggled off to bed. "You will have to go away with them, won't you?"

"I'm an awful nuisance about here, I fancy, and you'll be glad to be rid of me," he said softly, his gaze on the blazing "back-log."

"No more so than you will be to go," she said so coolly that his pride suffered a distinct shock. He stole a shy glance at the face of the girl opposite. It was as calm and serene as a May morning. Her eyes likewise were gazing into the blaze, and her fingers were idly toying with the fringe on the arm of the chair.

"By George!" he thought, a weakness assailing his heart suddenly; "I don't believe she cares a rap!"