A DOU BLE
BARRELLED
DETECTIVE
STORY
h
MARK TWAIN
Author of
"Huckleberry Finn" "Life on the Mississippi"
"A Yankee in King Arthur's Court" etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
LUCIUS HITCHCOCK

NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS
PUBLISHERS MCM1I



Copyright, 1902, by Harper & Brothers.
All rights reserved.
Published April, 1902.



ILLUSTRATIONS
"IT'S A BIRTH-MARK !". . . - Frontispieo,
HE PROCEEDED TO LASH HER
TO A TREE Facing page 8
i caught the familiar whiff " 34
he backed against the wall
as tightly as he could . " 68
"yes, i'll save you ". ... " 134
in a moment i was at his
SIDE "158
"THE SHERIFF I" "172
hov is wb 234899—





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part I
We ought never to do torong
when people are looking





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I
SJfc^^^SHE first scene is in the
Sk T~* §£& country» m Virginia; the
jy^T Mtime- l88°- There has
elilisiiSiss been a wedding, between
a handsome young man of slender
means and a rich young girl — a
case of love at first sight and a
precipitate marriage; a marriage
bitterly opposed by the girl's wid-
owed father.
A
<wcddtng
Jacob Fuller, the bridegroom, is
twenty-six years old, is of an old
but unconsidered family which had


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The
•wife's
surprise
there was a sad surprise for her.
Her husband put aside her proffered
caresses, and said:
"Sit down. I have something to
say to you. I loved you. That was
before I asked your father to give
you to me. His refusal is not my
grievance—I could have endured that.
But the things he said of me to you—
that is a different matter. There—
you needn't speak; I know quite
well what they were; I got them
from authentic sources. Among oth-
er things he said that my character
was written in my face; that I was
treacherous, a dissembler, a coward,
and a brute without sense of pity or
compassion: the 'Sedgemoor trade-
mark,' he called it—and 'white-sleeve
The
Sedge-
moor
trade
mark


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DETECTIVE S TO R Y
Now and then the husband said,
"Why don't you go to your father
and tell him?" Then he invented
new tortures, applied them, and asked -
again. She always answered, "He
shall never know by my mouth,"
and taunted him with his origin;
said she was the lawful slave of a
scion of slaves, and must obey, and
would — up to that point, but no
further; he could kill her if he liked,
but he could not break her; it was not
in the Sedgemoor breed to do it. At
the end of the three months he said,
with a dark significance in his man-
ner, "I have tried all things but one"
—and waited for her reply. "Try
that," she said, and curled her lip
in mockery.
New
tortures


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A
fiend's
frenzy
The
husband
dis-
appears
That night he rose at midnight and
put on his clothes, then said to her,
"Get up and dress!"
She obeyed—as always, without a
word. He led her half a mile from
the house, and proceeded to lash her
to a tree by the side of the public road;
and succeeded, she screaming and
struggling. He gagged her then,
struck her across the face with his
cowhide, and set his blood-hounds
on her. They tore the clothes off
her, and she was naked. He called
the dogs off, and said:
"You will be found—by the passing
public. They will be dropping along
about three hours from now, and will
spread the news—do you hear? Good-
by. You have seen the last of me."


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He went away then. She moaned
to herself:
Wife's
ay for
•ven-
geance
"I shall bear a child — to html
God grant it may be a boy!"
The farmers released her by-and-
by—and spread the news, which was
natural. They raised the country
with lynching intentions, but the
bird had flown. The young wife
shut herself up in her father's house;
he shut himself up with her, and
thenceforth would see no one. His
pride was broken, and his heart; so
he wasted away, day by day, and
even his daughter rejoiced when death
relieved him.
Then she sold the estate and dis-
appeared.


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with no company but a little boy
about five years old. She did", her
own work, she discouraged acquaint-
anceships, and had none. The butch-
er, the baker, and the others that
served her could tell the villagers
nothing about her further than that
her name was Stillman, and that she
called the child Archy. Whence she
n
The
new life

N 1886 a young woman
was living in a modest
house near a secluded
New England village,
10 l&isg©


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came they had not been able to find
out, but they said she talked like a
A
lonely
Southerner. The child had no play-
child
mates and no comrade, and no teacher
but the mother. She taught him dili-
gently and intelligently, and was sat-
isfied with the results — even a little
proud of them. One day Archy said,
"Mamma, am I different from other
children?"
"Well, I suppose not. Why?"
"There was a child going along
out there and asked me if the post-
man had been by and I said yes, and
she said how long since I saw him
and I said I hadn't seen him at all,
and she said how did I know he'd
He smelt
been by, then, and I said because I
a man's
tracks
smelt his track on the sidewalk, and
©SSsLS! ii t^sS©


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she said I was a dum fool and made
The
a mouth at me. What did she do
scent
of the
that for?"
blood-
hound
The young woman turned white,
and said to herself, "It's a birth-
mark! The gift of the blood-hound
is in him." She snatched the boy to
her breast and hugged him passion-
ately, saying, "God has appointed
the way!" Her eyes were burning
with a fierce light and her breath
came short and quick with excite-
ment. She said to herself: "The
puzzle is solved now; many a time
it has been a mystery to me, the im-
possible things the child has done in
the dark, but it is all clear to me now."
She set him in his small chair, and
said,


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During his absence she had stepped
to the bookcase, taken several books
from the bottom shelf, opened each,
passed her hand over a page, noting
its number in her memory, then re-
stored them to their places. Now
she said:
The trial
"I have been doing something
at home
while you have been gone, Archy.
Do you think you can find out what
it was?"
The boy went to the bookcase and
got out the books that had been touch-
ed, and opened them at the pages
which had been stroked.
The mother took him in her lap,
and said:
"I will answer your question now,
dear. I have found out that in one


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Uncanny
plans
y
To break
his heart
All the rest of the day the mother's
brain was busy with excited think-
ings; with plans, projects, schemes,
each and all of them uncanny, grim,
and dark. Yet they lit up her face;
lit it with a fell light of their own;
lit it with vague fires of hell. She
was in a fever of unrest; she could
not sit, stand, read, sew; there was
no relief for her but in movement.
She tested her boy's gift in twenty
ways, and kept saying to herself all
the time, with her mind in the past:
"He broke my father's heart, and
night and day all these years I have
tried, and all in vain, to think out a
way to break his. I have found it
now—I have found it now."
When night fell, the demon of un-
16


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rest still possessed her. She went
on with her tests; with a candle she
traversed the house from garret to
cellar, hiding pins, needles, thimbles,
spools, under pillows, under carpets,
in cracks in the walls, under the coal
in the bin; then sent the little fellow
in the dark to find them; which he
did, and was happy and proud when
she praised him and smothered him
with caresses.
Further
tests
From this time forward life took
on a new complexion for her. She
said, "The future is secure—I can
wait, and enjoy the waiting." The
most of her lost interests revived.
She took up music again, and lan-
guages, drawing, painting, and the
other long-discarded delights of her


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maidenhood. She was happy once
more, and felt again the zest of life.
As the years drifted by she watched
the development of her boy, and was
contented with it. Not altogether,
but nearly that. The soft side of
his heart was larger than the other
side of it. It was his only defect, in
her eyes. But she considered that
his love for her and worship of her
made up for it. He was a good hater
—that was well; but it was a question
if the materials of his hatreds were
of as tough and enduring a quality
as those of his friendships—and that
was not so well.
A heart
too soft
The years drifted on. Archy was
become a handsome, shapely, ath-


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"Kill him? No! Death is release,
emancipation; death is a favor. Do
I owe him favors? You must not
hurt a hair of his head."
Worse
than
death
The boy was lost in thought awhile;
then he said:
"You are all the world to me, and
your desire is my law and my pleasure.
Tell me what to do and I will do it."
The mother's eyes beamed with
satisfaction, and she said:
"You will go and find him. I
have known his hiding-place for eleven
years; it cost me five years and more
of inquiry, and much money, to locate
it. He is a quartz-miner in Colorado,
and well-to-do. He lives in Denver.
His name is Jacob Fuller. There—it
is the first time I have spoken it since
Jacob
Fuller


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that unforgettable night. Think!
That name could have been yours
if I had not saved you that shame
and furnished you a cleaner one.
You will drive him from that place;
you will hunt him down and drive
him again; and yet again, and again,
and again, persistently, relentlessly,
poisoning his life, filling it with mys-
terious terrors, loading it with weari-
ness and misery, making him wish
for death, and that he had a suicide's
courage; you will make of him an-
other wandering Jew; he shall know
no rest any more, no peace of mind,
no placid sleep; you shall shadow
him, cling to him, persecute him, till
you break his heart, as he broke my
father's and mine."
Another
wander-
ing Jew
@g=&M 21 feisS©


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"I will obey, mother."
Money
and dis-
guises
"I believe it, my child. The prep-
arations are all made; everything is
ready. Here is a letter of credit;
spend freely, there is no lack of mon-
ey. At times you may need disguises.
I have provided them; also some oth-
er conveniences." She took from the
drawer of the type-writer table several
squares of paper. They all bore these
type-written words:
$10,000 REWARD.
It is believed that a certain
man who is wanted in an East-
ern State is sojourning here.
In l8§0, in the night, he tied
his young wife to a tree by
the public road, cut her across
<§fei3 22 feisSg®


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the face with a cowhide, and
made his dogs tear her clothes
from her, leaving her naked.
He left her there, and fled
the country. A blood-relative
of hers has searched for him
The
for seventeen years. Address
first
placard
, Post-office. The
above reward will be paid in
cash to the person who will
furnish the seeker, in a per-
sonal interview, the crimi-
nal's address.
"When you have found him and
acquainted yourself with his scent,
you will go in the night and placard
one of these upon the building he
occupies, and another one upon the
post-office or in some other prominent
23 sysg©


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You must then MOVE ON.
If you are still in the place
after the named hour, I will
The
second
placard
placard you on all the dead
walls, detailing your crime
once more, and adding the date,
also the scene of it, with all
names concerned, including
your own. Have no fear of
bodily injury—it will in no
circumstances ever be in-
flicted upon you. You brought
misery upon an old man, and
ruined his life and broke his
heart. What he suffered, you
are to suffer.
"You will add no signature. He
must receive this before he learns of
the reward - placard — before he rises
25 fe&sg©


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in the morning—lest he lose his head
and fly the place penniless."
Mowing
on
"I shall not forget."
"You will need to use these forms
only in the beginning—once may
be enough. Afterward, when you are
ready for him to vanish out of a
place, see that he gets a copy of this
form, which merely says:
MOVE ON. You have days.
"He will obey. That is sure."


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m
Extracts from Letters to the Mother.
Denver, April 3, 1897.
HAVE now been living
1 several days in the same
hotel with Jacob Fuller.
I have his scent; I could
track him through ten divisions of in-
fantry and find him. I have often been
near him and heard him talk. He owns
a good mine, and has a fair income
from it; but he is not rich. He learned
mining in a good way—by working
at it for wages. He is a cheerful
<^=iJi 27 &y=g®
Close to
his prey


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And for my help, a sharp resent-
ment rises in me when I reflect that Happy
criminalhe who committed that odious crime
is the only one who has not suffered
by it. The lesson of it has mani-
festly reformed his character, and in
the change he is happy. He, the
guilty party, is absolved from all suf-
fering; you, the innocent, are borne
down with it. But be comforted—he
shall harvest his share.
Silver Gulch, May 19.
I placarded Form No. 1 at midnight
of April 3; an hour later I slipped
Form No. 2 under his chamber door, tpam-
notifying him to leave Denver at or tng
before I 1.50 the night of the 14th.
Some late bird of a reporter stole
<^&i^ 29 feisss©


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one of my placards, then hunted the
town over and found the other one,
and stole that. In this manner he
accomplished what the profession call
a "scoop "—that is, he got a valuable
item, and saw to it that no other pa-
per got it. And so his paper — the
principal one in the town—had it in
glaring type on the editorial page in
the morning, followed by a Vesuvian
opinion of our wretch a column long,
which wound up by adding a thou-
sand dollars to our reward on the
paper's account! The journals out
here know how to do the noble thing
—when there's business in it.
The
"scoop"
At breakfast I occupied my usual
seat—selected because it afforded a
view of papa Fuller's face, and was
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near enough for me to hear the talk
that went on at his table. Seventy-
five or a hundred people were in the
room, and all discussing that item,
and saying they hoped the seeker
would find that rascal and remove
the pollution of his presence from
the town—with a rail, or a bullet, or
something.
Re-
moval
by rail
or
bullet
When Fuller came in he had the
Notice to Leave—folded up—in one
hand, and the newspaper in the other;
and it gave me more than half a pang
to see him. His cheerfulness was all
gone, and he looked old and pinched
and ashy. And then—only think of
the things he had to listen to! Mam-
ma, he heard his own unsuspecting
friends describe him with epithets


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During several days he gave out
that he had bought a mine in Mexico,
and wanted to sell out and go down
there as soon as he could, and give
the property his personal attention.
He played his cards well; said he
would take $40,000 — a quarter in
cash, the rest in safe notes; but that
as he greatly needed money on ac-
count of his new purchase, he would
diminish his terms for cash in full.
He sold out for $30,000. And then,
what do you think he did? He asked
for greenbacks, and took them, say-
ing the man in Mexico was a New-
Englander, with a head full of crotch-
ets, and preferred greenbacks to gold
or drafts. People thought it queer,
since a draft on New York could pro-
He sells
out


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duce greenbacks quite conveniently.
There was talk of this odd thing, but
only for a day; that is as long as any
topic lasts in Denver.
I was watching, all the time. As
soon as the sale was completed and
the money paid—which was on the
Ilth — I began to stick to Fuller's
track without dropping it for a mo-
ment. That night—no, 12th, for it
was a little past midnight—I tracked
him to his room, which was four doors
from mine in the same hall, then I
went back and put on my muddy
day-laborer disguise, darkened my
complexion, and sat down in my room
in the gloom, with a gripsack handy,
with a change in it, and my door ajar.
For I suspected that the bird would
Sticking
to his
trail
1








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office. Fuller bought no ticket; I
bought none. Presently the train
On the
train came along, and he boarded a car;
I entered the same car at the other
end, and came down the aisle and
took the seat behind him. When
he paid the conductor and named
his objective point, I dropped back
several seats, while the conductor
was changing a bill, and when he
came to me I paid to the same place
—about a hundred miles westward.
From that time for a week on end
he led me a dance. He travelled here
and there and yonder—always on a
general westward trend—but he was
False
whisk- not a woman after the first day. He
era
was a laborer, like myself, and wore
bushy false whiskers. His outfit was
36


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till I should send for it. I need noth-
ing here but a change of army shirts,
and I brought that with me.
Silver Gulch, June 12.
The Denver episode has never found
its way here, I think. I know the
most of the men in camp, and they
have never referred to it, at least in
my hearing. Fuller doubtless feels
quite safe in these conditions. He
has located a claim, two miles away,
in an out-of-the-way place in the
mountains; it promises very well,
and he is working it diligently. Ah,
but the change in him I He never
smiles, and he keeps quite to him-
self, consorting with no one—he who
was so fond of company and so cheery
Fuller
feels
safe


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only two months ago. I have seen
him passing along several times re-
cently—drooping, forlorn, the spring
gone from his step, a pathetic figure.
He calls himself David Wilson.
Droop-
ing and
forlorn
I can trust him to remain here until
we disturb him. Since you insist, I
will banish him again, but I do not
see how he can be unhappier than he
already is. I will go back to Denver
and treat myself to a little season of
comfort, and edible food, and endur-
able beds, and bodily decency; then
I will fetch my things, and notify
poor papa Wilson to move on.
Denver, June 19.
They miss him here. They all hope
he is prospering in Mexico, and they
\ 


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They
are all
sorry
I Hunting
the
iurong
man
do not say it just with their mouths,
but out of their hearts. You know
you can always tell. I am loitering
here overlong, I confess it. But if
you were in my place you would have
charity for me. Yes, I know what
you will say, and you are right: if
I were in your place, and carried your
scalding memories in my heart—
I will take the night train back to-
morrow.
Denver, June 20.
God forgive us, mother, we are
hunting the wrong man! I have not
slept any all night. I am now wait-
ing, at dawn, for the morning train
—and how the minutes drag, how
they drag!
This Jacob Fuller is a cousin of


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the guilty one. How stupid we have
been not to reflect that the guilty
one would never again wear his own
name after that fiendish deed! The
Denver Fuller is four years younger
than the other one; he came here a
young widower in '79, aged twenty-
one—a year before you were married;
and the documents to prove it are in-
numerable. Last night I talked with
familiar friends of his who have known
him from the day of his arrival. I
said nothing, but a few days from
now I will land him in this town again,
with the loss upon his mine made
good; and there will be a banquet,
and a torch-light procession, and there
will not be any expense on anybody
but me. Do you call this "gush"?
Not the
criminal


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I am only a boy, as you well know;
it is my privilege. By-and-by I shall
not be a boy any more.
Silver Gulch, July 3.
Mother, he is gone! Gone, and left
no trace. The scent was cold when
I came. To-day I am out of bed for
the first time since. I wish I were
not a boy; then I could stand shocks
better. They all think he went west.
I start to-night, in a wagon—two or
three hours of that, then I get a train.
I don't know where I'm going, but I
must go; to try to keep still would be
torture.
Gone
and
left no
dew
Of course he has effaced himself
with a new name and a disguise.
This means that I may have to search


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certain matter." Do you see? He
would think it a trap. Well, any one
would. If I should say, "It is now
known that he was not the man wanted,
but another man—a man who once
bore the same name, but discarded
it for good reasons"—would that an-
swer? But the Denver people would
wake up then and say "Oho!" and
they would remember about the sus-
picious greenbacks, and say, "Why
did he run away if he wasn't the right
man?—it is too thin." If I failed to
find him he would be ruined there—
there where there is no taint upon
him now. You have a better head
than mine. Help me.
Not the
man
wanted
I have one clew, and only one. I
know his handwriting. If he puts


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his new false name upon a hotel regis-
ter and does not disguise it too much,
it will be valuable to me if I ever run
across it.
San Francisco, June 28,1898.
You already know how well I have
searched the States from Colorado
to the Pacific, and how nearly I came
to getting him once. Well, I have
had another close miss. It was here,
yesterday. I struck his trail, hot,
on the street, and followed it on a
run to a cheap hotel. That was a
costly mistake; a dog would have
gone the other way. But I am only
part dog, and can get very humanly
stupid when excited. He had been
stopping in that house ten days; I
A dose
miss


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almost know, now, that he stops long
nowhere, the past six or eight months,
but is restless and has to keep moving.
I understand that feeling! and I know
what it is to feel it. He still uses the
name he had registered when I came
so near catching him nine months
ago—" James Walker "; doubtless the
same he adopted when he fled from
Silver Gulch. An unpretending man,
and has small taste for fancy names.
I recognized the hand easily, through
its slight disguise. A square man,
and not good at shams and pretences.
Has to
keep
moving
They said he was just gone, on a
journey; left no address; didn't say
where he was going; looked fright-
ened when asked to leave his address;
had no baggage but a cheap va-


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one write when there is nothing to
write about but failures? No one
can keep it up; it breaks the heart.
I told you—it seems ages ago, now
—how I missed him at Melbourne, and
then chased him all over Australasia
for months on end.
Chased
over
the
•world
Well, then, after that I followed him
to India; almost saw him in Bombay;
traced him all around — to Baroda,
Rawal-Pindi, Lucknow, Lahore. Cawn-
pore, Allahabad, Calcutta, Madras—
oh, everywhere; week after week,
month after month, through the dust
and swelter—always approximately
on his track, sometimes close upon
him; yet never catching him. And
down to Ceylon, and then to— Never
mind, by-and-by I will write it all out.


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make him forget his troubles. I have
been here a month. I am cabining
with a young fellow named "Sam-
my" Hillyer, about twenty-five, the
only son of his mother—like me—
and loves her dearly, and writes to
her every week—part of which is like
me. He is a timid body, and in the
matter of intellect—well, he cannot
be depended upon to set a river on
fire; but no matter, he is well liked;
he is good and fine, and it is meat
and bread and rest and luxury to
sit and talk with him and have a
comradeship again. I wish "James
Walker" could have it. He had
friends; he liked company. That
brings up that picture of him, the
time that I saw him last. The pathos
Sammy
HMyer


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o4 man
of
misery
tail will give you a better idea of
Sammy's character than any labored-
out description I could furnish you
of him. In one of our talks he said
something about like this: "Flint's
a kinsman of mine, and he pours out
all his troubles to me — empties his
breast from time to time, or I reckon
it would burst. There couldn't be
any unhappier man, Archy Stillman;
his life has been made up of misery
of mind—he isn't near as old as he
looks. He has lost the feel of re-
posefulness and peace—oh, years and
years ago! He doesn't know what
good luck is—never has had any;
often says he wishes he was in the
other hell, he is so tired of this one."


A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
S
DETECTIVE STORY
IV
No real gentleman will tell the naked
truth in the presence of ladies
jp££$&&£^3T was a crisp and spicy
fig T UsE mormng m early Octo
«s| |§| ber. The lilacs and la-
SllillSillls burnums, lit with the
glory-fires of autumn, hung burning
and flashing in the upper air, a fairy
bridge provided by kind Nature for
the wingless wild things that have
their homes in the tree-tops and would
visit together; the larch and the pome-
granate flung their purple and yel-
Ftne
days
and
•words
<iggaill 53 &&s§©


n
A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
DETECTIVE STORY
low flames in brilliant broad splashes
along the slanting sweep of the wood-
land; the sensuous fragrance of in-
numerable deciduous flowers rose upon
the swooning atmosphere; far in the
empty sky a solitary oesophagus slept
upon motionless wing; everywhere
brooded stillness, serenity, and the
peace of God.
More
fine
days
and
tuords
October is the time—1900; Hope
Canyon is the place, a silver-mining
camp away down in the Esmeralda
region. It is a secluded spot, high
and remote; recent as to discovery;
thought by its occupants to be rich
in metal—a year or two's prospect-
ing will decide that matter one way
or the other. For inhabitants, the
camp has about two hundred miners,
54 fefeg®


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house — the only house, one might
say. It occupies a central position,
and is the evening resort of the pop-
ulation. They drink there, and play
seven-up and dominoes; also billiards,
for there is a table, crossed all over
with torn places repaired with court-
plaster; there are some cues, but no
leathers; some chipped balls which
clatter when they run, and do not
slow up gradually, but stop suddenly
and sit down; there is part of a cube
of chalk, with a projecting jag of flint
in it; and the man who can score six
on a single break can set up the drinks
at the bar's expense.
The
tavern
Flint Buckner's cabin was the last
one of the village, going south; his


A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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silver claim was at the other end of
the village, northward, and a little
beyond the last hut in that direction.
He was a sour creature, unsociable,
and had no companionships. Peo-
ple who had tried to get acquainted
with him had regretted it and dropped
him. His history was not known.
Some believed that Sammy Hillyer
knew it; others said no. If asked,
Hillyer said no, he was not acquainted
with it. Flint had a meek English
youth of sixteen or seventeen with
him, whom he treated roughly, both
in public and in private, and of course
this lad was applied to for informa-
tion, but with no success. Fetlock
Jones—name of the youth—said that
Flint picked him up on a prospecting
57 fe


A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
DETECTIVE STORY
Buckner; but the boy showed fright
at the thought, and said he "dasn'L"
Pat Riley urged him, and said:
Afraid
to gait
"You leave the damned hunks and
come with me; don't you be afraid.
I'll take care of him."
The boy thanked him with tears
in his eyes, but shuddered and said
he "dasn't risk it"; he said Flint
would catch him alone, some time, in
the night, and then— "Oh, it makes
me sick, Mr. Riley, to think of it."
Others said, "Run away from him;
we'll stake you; skip out for the coast
some night." But all these sugges-
tions failed; he said Flint would hunt
him down and fetch him back, just
for meanness.
The people could not understand
©sa^' 59 feks©





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DETECTIVE STORY
"You talk back to me? Cut it and
light it!"
The boy cut and lit.
"Ger-reat Scott! a one-minute fuse!
I wish you were in—"
In his rage he snatched the ladder
out of the shaft and ran. The boy
was aghast.
"Oh, my God! Help! Help! Oh,
save me!" he implored. "Oh, what
can I do! What can I do!"
He backed against the wall as
tightly as he could; the sputtering
fuse frightened the voice out of him;
his breath stood still; he stood gazing
and impotent; in two seconds, three
seconds, four, he would be flying
toward the sky torn to fragments.
Close to
death
Then he had an inspiration. He








A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
DETECTIVE STORY
regret and sympathy which sat upon
him awkwardly from lack of prac-
tice:
"It was an accident, you know.
Don't say anything about it to any-
body; I was excited, and didn't notice
what I was doing. You're not look-
ing well; you've worked enough for
to-day; go down to my cabin and eat
what you want, and rest. It's just
an accident, you know, on account
of my being excited."
"It scared me," said the lad, as he
started away; "but I learnt some-
thing, so I don't mind it."
Some-
thing
teamed
"Damned easy to please!" muttered
Buckner, following him with his eye.
"I wonder if he'll tell? Mightn't
he? ... I wish it had killed him."


A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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will ever guess who finished him up
nor how it was done. He dropped certain
me the idea his own self, and that's
odd."


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DETECTIVE STORY
as fur as I know," said Peter Hawes,
miner.
A
blight
"He's just a blight on this society,"
on
society
said Wells - Fargo's man, Ferguson.
"If I was running this shop I'd make
him say something, some time or
other, or vamos the ranch." This
with a suggestive glance at the bar-
keeper, who did not choose to see it,
since the man under discussion was
a good customer, and went home
pretty well set up, every night, with
refreshments furnished from the bar.
"Say," said Ham Sandwich, miner,
"does any of you boys ever recollect
of him asking you to take a drink?"
".Him? Flint Buckner? Oh,
Laura!"
This sarcastic rejoinder came in a
74


■ ■
A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
DETECTIVE STORY
be. All answered at once, "Archy
Stillman!"
"Is he a mystery?" asked Peter-
son.
A boy
mystery
"Is he a mystery? Is Archy Still-
man a mystery?" said Wells-Fargo's
man, Ferguson. "Why, the fourth
dimension's foolishness to him."
For Ferguson was learned.
Peterson wanted to hear all about
him; everybody wanted to tell him;
everybody began. But Billy Stevens,
the barkeeper, called the house to or-"
der, and said one at a time was best.
He distributed the drinks, and ap-
pointed Ferguson to lead. Fergu-
son said:
"Well, he's a boy. And that is
just about all we know about him.


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DETECTIVE STORY
You can pump him till you are tired;
it ain't any use; you won't get any-
thing. At least about his intentions,
or line of business, or where he's
from, and such things as that. And
as for getting at the nature and get-
up of his main big chief mystery,
why, he'll just change the subject,
that's all. You can guess till you're
black in the face—it's your privilege
—but suppose you do, where do you
arrive at? Nowhere, as near as I
can make out."
Not
to be
pumped
"What is his big chief one?"
"Sight, maybe. Hearing, maybe.
Instinct, maybe. Magic, maybe. Take
your choice—grown-ups, twenty-five;
children and servants, half price. Now
I'll tell you what he can do. You


■
A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
DETECTIVE STORY
can start here, and just disappear;
you can go and hide wherever you
want to, I don't care where it is, nor
how far — and he'll go straight and
put his finger on you."
Can't
hide
from
him
"You don't mean it!"
"I just do, though. Weather's noth-
ing to him — elemental conditions is
nothing to him — he don't even take
notice of them."
"Oh, come! Dark? Rain? Snow?
Hey?"
"It's all the same to him. He
don't give a damn."
"Oh, say—including fog, per'aps?"
"Fog! he's got an eye't can plunk
through it like a bullet."
"Now, boys, honor bright, what's
he giving me?"


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DETECTIVE STORY
I wish there was. I put her to sleep
at seven in the evening, and when I
went in there an hour ago to go to bed
myself, she was gone. I rushed for
your cabin, dear, and you wasn't
there, and I've hunted for you ever
since, at every cabin down the gulch,
and now I've come up again, and
I'm that distracted and scared and
heart-broke; but, thanks to God, I've
found you at last, dear heart, and
you'll find my child. Come on! come
quick!"
Strange
dis-
appear-
ance
"Move right along; I'm with you,
madam. Go to your cabin first."
The whole company streamed out
to join the hunt. All the southern
half of the village was up, a hundred
men strong, and waiting outside, a


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DETECTIVE STORY
Several of the company dropped
upon their knees and did their best
to see. One or two thought they
discerned something like a track;
the others shook their heads and con-
fessed that the smooth hard surface
had no marks upon it which their
eyes were sharp enough to discover.
One said, "Maybe a child's foot could
make a mark on it, but I don't see
how."
On the
trail
Young Stillman stepped outside,
held the light to the ground, turned
leftward, and moved along three steps,
closely examining; then said, "I've
got the direction—come along; take
the lantern, somebody."
He strode off swiftly southward,
the files following, swaying and bend-
83 l&isg©


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DETECTIVE STORY
chap. Hold the lantern. You can
see where she sat."
But this was in a slick alkali flat
which was surfaced like steel, and no
person in the party was quite hardy
enough to claim an eyesight that
could detect the track of a cushion
on a veneer like that. The bereaved
mother fell upon her knees and kissed
the spot, lamenting.
"But where is she, then?" some
one said. "She didn't stay here.
We can see that much, anyway."
Stillman moved about in a circle
around the place, with the lantern,
pretending to hunt for tracks. "Well!''
he said presently, in an annoyed
tone, "I don't understand it." He
examined again. "No use. She was
At
fautt
85 !fs£Sf©


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DETECTIVE STORY
Ferguson was not pleased with
the innuendo. He said, with some
Faith in
SUIl-
warmth:
tnan
"Do you mean to insinuate that
the child hasn't been here? I tell
you the child has been here! Now
if you want to get yourself into as
tidy a little fuss as—"
"All right!" sang out Stillman.
"Come, everybody, and look at this!
It was right under our noses all the
time, and we didn't see it."
There was a general plunge for
the ground at the place where the
child was alleged to have rested, and
many eyes tried hard and hopefully to
see the thing that Archy's finger was
resting upon. There was a pause,
then a several-barrelled sigh of dis-
87 fe^®


A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
DETECTIVE STORY
away was a little wickieup, a dim
and formless shelter of rags and old
horse-blankets, a dull light showing
through its chinks.
"You lead, Mrs. Hogan," said the
lad. "It's your privilege to be
first."
All followed the sprint she made
for the wickieup, and saw, with her,
the picture its interior afforded. In-
jun Billy was sitting on the ground;
the child was asleep beside him. The
mother hugged it with a wild embrace,
which included Archy Stillman, the
grateful tears running down her face,
and in a choked and broken voice
she poured out a golden stream of
that wealth of worshipping endear-
ments which has its home in full
The
lost one
found
@£Wa3 89 feiac®


HI
A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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richness nowhere but in the Irish
heart.
"I find her bymeby it is ten o'clock,"
Billy explained. "She 'sleep out yon-
der, ve'y tired — face wet, been cry-
in', 'spose; fetch her home, feed her,
she heap much hungry — go 'sleep
'gin."
At
Injun
BMy's
In her limitless gratitude the happy
mother waived rank and hugged him
too, calling him "the angel of God
in disguise."
And he probably was in disguise
if he was that kind of an official. He
was dressed for the character.
At half past one in the morning
the procession burst into the village,
singing " When Johnny Comes March-
ing Home," waving its lanterns, and
1


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DETECTIVE STORY
swallowing the drinks that were
brought out all along its course. It
Made a
night
concentrated at the tavern, and made
of a
a night of what was left of the morn-
ing.








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DETECTIVE STORY
I
Sg^Jte^SSHE next afternoon the
Gf lis viHage was electrified
mW jffiffl w^h an immense sen-
sllilsiilils sation. A grave and
dignified foreigner of distinguished
bearing and appearance had arrived
at the tavern, and entered this for-
midable name upon the register:
Sherlock
Holmes I
Sherlock Holmes.
The news buzzed from cabin to
cabin, from claim to claim; tools
were dropped, and the town swarmed
<S|=^! 95 feiS®


A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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toward the centre of interest. A man
Pa.^passing out at the northern end of
uncle
\
the village shouted it to Pat Riley,
whose claim was the next one to
Flint Buckner's. At that time Fet-
lock Jones seemed to turn sick. He
muttered to himself:
"Uncle Sherlock! The mean luck
of it! — that he should come just
when ..." He dropped into a rev-
erie, and presently said to himself:
"But what's the use of being afraid
of him? Anybody that knows him
the way I do knows he can't detect a
crime, except when he plans it all out
beforehand and arranges the clews
and hires some fellow to commit
it according to instructions. . . .
Now there ain't going to be any clews


■
A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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Sandwich. "Comes from thought—
that's what it comes from. Hell!
duffers like us don't know what real
thought is."
Sherlock
thinking
"No more we don't," said Fergu-
son. "What we take for thinking
is just blubber-and-slush."
"Right you are, Wells-Fargo. And
look at that frown—that's deep think-
ing—away down, down, forty fathom
into the bowels of things. He's on
the track of something."
"Well, he is, and don't you forget
it. Say—look at that awful gravity
—look at that pallid solemness—there
ain't any corpse can lay over it."
"No, sir, not for dollars! And
it's his'n by hereditary rights, too;
he's been dead four times a'ready,
SB&iJI ioo Ikfeg©


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(Mi
DETECTIVE STORY
"Look at him scowl! He can't
seem to make out thai clew. So he—"
"See him smile!—like a tiger—
and tally off the other fingers like
nothing! He's got it, boys; he's
got it sure!"
Real
thinking
"Well, I should say! I'd hate to
be in that man's place that he's after."
Mr. Holmes drew a table to the
window, sat down with his back to
the spies, and proceeded to write.
The spies withdrew their eyes from
the peep-holes, lit their pipes, and
settled themselves for a comfortable
smoke and talk. Ferguson said, with
conviction:
"Boys, it's no use talking, he's
a wonder! He's got the signs of it
all over him."
@S&i£ 102 i&iss©


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"You hain't ever said a truer
word than that, Wells-Fargo," said
Jake Parker. "Say, wouldn't it 'a'
been nuts if he'd a-been here last
night?"
"Oh, by George, but wouldn't it!"
said Ferguson. "Then we'd have
seen scientific work. Intellect—just
pure intellect—away up on the upper
levels, dontchuknow. Archy is all
right, and it don't become anybody
to belittle him, I can tell you. But
his gift is only just eyesight, sharp
as an owl's, as near as I can make it
out just a grand natural animal tal-
ent, no more, no less, and prime as
far as it goes, but no intellect in it,
and for awfulness and marvellous-
ness no more to be compared to what
Scien-
tific
detect-
ing
103 &i^>


n
A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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this man does than—than— Why,
let me tell you what he'd have done.
He'd have stepped over to Hogan's
and glanced—just glanced, that's all
—at the premises, and that's enough.
See everything? Yes, sir, to the
last little detail; and he'd know more
about that place than the Hogans
would know in seven years. Next,
he would sit down on the bunk, just
as ca'm, and say to Mrs. Hogan—
Say, Ham, consider that you are
Mrs. Hogan. I'll ask the questions;
you answer them."
Sher-
lock's
method
"All right; go on."
"Madam, if you please—attention
—do not let your mind wander. Now,
then—sex of the child?"
"Female, your Honor."
©Sfe^ 104


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"Um — female. Very good, very
good. Age?"
Just
ques-
"Turned six, your Honor."
tions
"Um — young, weak — two miles.
Weariness will overtake it then. It
will sink down and sleep. We shall
find it two miles away, or less.
Teeth?"
"Five, your Honor, and one a-com-
ing.
"Very good, very good, very good
indeed. You see, boys, he knows a
clew when he sees it, when it wouldn't
mean a dern thing to anybody else.
Stockings, madam? Shoes?"
"Yes, your Honor—both."
"Yarn, perhaps? Morocco?"
"Yarn, your Honor. And kip."
"Um—kip. This complicates the
<§5^ 105 fe^D
\ 


A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
DETECTIVE STORY
over them on his elbows, and puts
them together side by side and
studies them—mumbles to himself,
'Female'; changes them around—
mumbles, 'Six years old'; changes
them this way and that—again mum-
bles: 'Five teeth — one a-coming —
More
Catholic — yarn — cotton — kip — | thinking
damn that kip.' Then he straight-
ens up and gazes toward heaven,
and ploughs his hands through his
hair—ploughs and ploughs, mutter-
ing, ' Damn that kip!' Then he stands
up and frowns, and begins to tally
off his clews on his fingers—and gets
stuck at the ring-finger. But only
just a minute—then his face glares
all up in a smile like a house afire,
and he straightens up stately and


■
A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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majestic, and says to the crowd,'Take
a lantern, a couple of you, and go
down to Injun Billy's and fetch the
child—the rest of you go 'long home
to bed; good-night, madam; good-
night, gents.' And he bows like the
Matterhorn, and pulls out for the
tavern. That's his style, and the
Only—scientific, intellectual—all over
in fifteen minutes—no poking around
all over the sage-brush range an hour
and a half in a mass-meeting crowd
for him, boys—you hear me!"
Easy
style
"By Jackson, it's grand!" said
Ham Sandwich. '' Wells-Fargo, you've
got him down to a dot. He ain't
painted up any exacter to the life in
the books. By George, I can just see
him - can't you, boys?"
<ffei3! 108 feiss©


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"You bet you! It's just a photo-
"Made
graft, that's what it is."
in Ger-
Ferguson was profoundly pleased
many"
with his success, and grateful. He
sat silently enjoying his happiness a
little while, then he murmured, with
a deep awe in his voice,
"I wonder if God made him?" \
There was no response for a mo-
ment; then Ham Sandwich said, rev-
erently,
"Not all at one time, I reckon."



A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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the talking-walk was resumed. By
nine o'clock they had wandered back Back to
to the tavern. They worked their tJvem
way through the billiard-room, where
a crowd had gathered in the hope of
getting a glimpse of the Extraordinary
Man. A royal cheer was raised. Mr.
Holmes acknowledged the compliment
with a series of courtly bows, and as
he was passing out his nephew said
to the assemblage,
"Uncle Sherlock's got some work
to do, gentlemen, that 'll keep him
till twelve or one, but he'll be down
again then, or earlier if he can, and
hopes some of you'll be left to take a
drink with him."
"By George, he's just a duke,
boys! Three cheers for Sherlock
©Ssaigi III fei^©


n
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Holmes, the greatest man that ever
lived!" shouted Ferguson. "Hip, hip,
hip—"
"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! Tiger!"
To treat
his ad-
The uproar shook the building,
so hearty was the feeling the boys
put into their welcome. Upstairs the
uncle reproached the nephew gently,
saying,
TfUfCTS
"What did you get me into that
engagement for?"
"I reckon you don't want to be un-
popular, do you, uncle? Well, then,
don't you put on any exclusiveness
in a mining-camp, that's all. The
boys admire you; but if you was to
leave without taking a drink with
them, they'd set you down for a snob.
And, besides, you said you had home


■
A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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He continued to himself, looking after
the shadowy form: "Good-by—good-
by for good, Flint Buckner; you
called my mother a—well, never mind
what; it's all right, now; you're tak-
ing your last walk, friend."
Back-
tier's
last
■walk
He went musing back into the
tavern. "From now till one is an
hour. We'll spend it with the boys;
it's good for the alibi."
He brought Sherlock Holmes to
the billiard-room, which was jammed
with eager and admiring miners; the
guest called the drinks, and the fun
began. Everybody was happy; ev-
erybody was complimentary; the ice
was soon broken; songs, anecdotes,
and more drinks followed, and the
pregnant minutes flew. At six min-
S^t^ 114 i&fcS©


A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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utes to one, when the jollity was at
its highest—
Boom!
There was silence instantly. The
deep sound came rolling and rumbling
from peak to peak up the gorge, then
died down, and ceased. The spell
broke, then, and the men made a
rush for the door, saying,
The
explo-
sion
"Something's blown up!"
Outside, a voice in the darkness
said,
"It's away down the gorge; I saw
the flash."
The crowd poured down the can-
yon—Holmes, Fetlock, Archy Still-
man, everybody. They made the
mile in a few minutes. By the light
of a lantern they found the smooth
<SS&iS 115 &i^>


n
A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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and solid dirt floor of Flint Buckner's
cabin; of the cabin itself not a ves-
tige remained, not a rag nor a splinter.
Nor any sign of Flint. Search-par-
ties sought here and there and yonder,
and presently a cry went up.
"Here he is!"
Some
remains
It was true. Fifty yards down the
gulch they had found him—that is,
they had found a crushed and lifeless
mass which represented him. Fet-
lock Jones hurried thither with the
others and looked.
The inquest was a fifteen-minute
affair. Ham Sandwich, foreman of
the jury, handed up the verdict, which
was phrased with a certain unstudied
literary grace, and closed with this
finding, to wit: that "deceased came
116 ftiss®


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DETECTIVE STORY
to his death by his own act or some
other person or persons unknown to
this jury not leaving any family or
similar effects behind but his cabin
which was blown away and God
have mercy on his soul amen."
Then the impatient jury rejoined
the main crowd, for the storm-cen-
tre of interest was there — Sherlock
Holmes. The miners stood silent and
reverent in a half-circle, enclosing a
large vacant space which included
the front exposure of the site of the
late premises. In this considerable
space the Extraordinary Man was
moving about, attended by his nephew
with a lantern. With a tape he took
measurements of the cabin site; of
the distance from the wall of chapar-
tient
Jury
<i^iJ! 117


a
A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
DETECTIVE STORY
ral to the road; of the height of the
chaparral bushes; also various other
measurements. He gathered a rag
here, a splinter there, and a pinch
of earth yonder, inspected them pro-
foundly, and preserved them. He took
the "lay" of the place with a pocket-
compass, allowing two seconds for
magnetic variation. He took the time
(Pacific) by his watch, correcting it
for local time. He paced off the dis-
tance from the cabin site to the corpse,
and corrected that for tidal differen-
tiation. He took the altitude with a
pocket-aneroid, and the temperature
with a pocket-thermometer. Finally
he said, with a stately bow:
Sher-
lock's
real job
"It is finished. Shall we return,
gentlemen?"


A DOUBLE-BARRELLED
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DETECTIVE STORY
He took up the line of march for the
tavern, and the crowd fell into his
wake, earnestly discussing and ad-
miring the Extraordinary Man, and
interlarding guesses as to the origin
of the tragedy and who the author
of it might be.
"My, but it's grand luck having
him here—hey, boys?" said Fergu-
son.
Luck
for the
camp
"It's the biggest thing of the cen-
tury," said Ham Sandwich. "It 'll
go all over the world; you mark my
words."
"You bet!" said Jake Parker the
blacksmith. "It 'll boom this camp.
Ain't it so, Wells-Fargo?"
"Well, as you want my opinion—
if it's any sign of how I think about
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"Say, boys, who do you reckon
done it?"
Who did
iti
That was a difficult question, and
brought out a world of unsatisfying
conjecture. Various men were men-
tioned as possibilities, but one by one
they were discarded as not being eli-
gible. No one but young Hillyer had
been intimate with Flint Buckner; no
one had really had a quarrel with him;
he had affronted every man who had
tried to make up to him, although not
quite offensively enough to require
bloodshed. There was one name that
was upon every tongue from the start,
but it was the last to get utterance
—Fetlock Jones's. It was Pat Riley
that mentioned it.
"Oh, well," the boys said, "of
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course we've all thought of him, be-
cause he had a million rights to kill
Flint Buckner, and it was just his
plain duty to do it. But all the same
there's two things we can't get around:
for one thing, he hasn't got the sand;
and for another, he wasn't anywhere
near the place when it happened."
"I know it," said Pat. "He was
there in the billiard - room with us
when it happened."
Fetlock's
alibi
"Yes, and was there all the time for
an hour before it happened."
"It's so. And lucky for him, too.
He'd have been suspected in a minute
if it hadn't been for that."


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HE tavern dining-room
had been cleared of all
its furniture save one
six-foot pine table and
a chair. This table was against one
end of the room; the chair was on it;
Sherlock Holmes, stately, imposing,
impressive, sat in the chair. The
public stood. The room was full.
The tobacco smoke was dense, the
stillness profound.
The Extraordinary Man raised his
hand to command additional silence;


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"Ah. And had he just come in?"
Just
ques-
tions
"Been there all of an hour!"
"Ah. It is about — about — well,
about how far might it be to the scene
of the explosion?"
"All of a mile!"
"Ah. It isn't much of an alibi, 'tis
true, but—"
A storm-burst of laughter, mingled
with shouts of, "By jiminy, but he's
chain-lightning!" and, "Ain't you sor-
ry you spoke, Sandy?" shut off the
rest of the sentence, and the crushed
witness drooped his blushing face in
pathetic shame. The inquisitor re-
sumed:
"The lad Jones's somewhat distant
connection with the case" (laughter)
"having been disposed of, let us now


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fingered his clews. "And now let us
ask these mute witnesses to speak
to us.
More
'words
"Here we have an empty linen shot-
bag. What is its message? This:
that robbery was the motive, not re-
venge. What is its further message?
This: that the assassin was of inferior
intelligence—shall we say light-witted,
or perhaps approaching that? How
do we know this? Because a person
of sound intelligence would not have
proposed to rob the man Buckner,
who never had much money with him.
But the assassin might have been a
stranger? Let the bag speak again.
I take from it this article. It is a bit
of silver-bearing quartz. It is pecul-
iar. Examine it, please—you — and
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you—and you. Now pass it back,
please. There is but one lode on this
coast which produces just that char-
acter and color of quartz; and that is
a lode which crops out for nearly two
miles on a stretch, and in my opinion
is destined, at no distant day, to con-
fer upon its locality a globe-girdling
celebrity, and upon its two hundred
owners riches beyond the dreams of
avarice. Name that lode, please."
Like a.
dew
"The Consolidated Christian Sci-
ence and Mary Ann!" was the prompt
response.
A wild crash of hurrahs followed,
and every man reached for his neigh-
bor's hand and wrung it, with tears
in his eyes; and Wells-Fargo Fergu-
son shouted, "The Straight Flush is
9 @§=&iS! 129 l&isg®



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on the lode, and up she goes to a hun-
dred and fifty a foot—you hear me!"
When quiet fell, Mr. Holmes re-
sumed:
"We perceive, then, that three facts
are established, to wit: the assassin
was approximately light - witted; he
was not a stranger; his motive was
robbery, not revenge. Let us pro-
ceed. I hold in my hand a small frag-
ment of fuse, with the recent smell of
fire upon it. What is its testimony?
Taken with the corroborative evidence
of the quartz, it reveals to us that the
assassin was a miner. What does it
tell us further? This, gentlemen: that
the assassination was consummated
by means of an explosive. What
else does it say? This: that the ex-
Coftttnotir
place


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plosive was located against the side
of the cabin nearest the road—the
front side—for within six feet of that
spot I found it.
"I hold in my fingers a burnt Swed-
ish match—the kind one rubs on a
safety-box. I found it in the road,
622 feet from the abolished cabin.
What does it say? This: that the
train was fired from that point. What
further does it tell us? This: that
the assassin was left-handed. How
do I know this? I should not be able
to explain to you, gentlemen, how I
know it, the signs being so subtle
that only long experience and deep
study can enable one to detect them.
But the signs are here, and they are
re-enforced by a fact which you must
Subtle
signs
^^igf 131 Ifci^D


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"Don't, oh, don't! I never did it;
I give my word I never did it. The
way I got this hurt on my forehead
was—"
"Arrest him, constable!" cried
Holmes. "I will swear out the war-
rant."
The constable moved reluctantly for-
ward—hesitated—stopped.
Hillyer broke out with another ap-
peal. "Oh, Archy, don't let them do
it; it would kill mother! You know
Archy
how I got the hurt. Tell them, and
to the
rescue
save me, Archy; save mel"
Stillman worked his way to the
front, and said:
"Yes, I'll save you. Don't be
afraid." Then he said to the house,
"Never mind how he got the hurt; it


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"The criminal is present, I believe.
I will show him to you before long,
in case I am right in my guess. Now
I will tell you all about the tragedy,
from start to finish. The motive
wasn't robbery; it was revenge. The
murderer wasn't light - witted. He
didn't stand 622 feet away. He didn't
get hit with a piece of wood. He didn't
place the explosive against the cabin.
He didn't bring a shot-bag with him,
and he wasn't left-handed. With the
exception of these errors, the distin-
guished guest's statement of the case
is substantially correct."
The
criminal
present
A comfortable laugh rippled over
the house; friend nodded to friend, as
much as to say, "That's the word,
with the bark on it. Good lad, good


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in a plain, straightforward way just
how this dismal thing happened."
Jttst
horn it
He paused a moment, for effect—to
allow silence and suspense to intensify
and concentrate the house's interest;
then he went on:
hap-
pened
"The assassin studied out his plan
with a good deal of pains. It was a
good plan, very ingenious, and showed
an intelligent mind, not a feeble one.
It was a plan which was well calcu-
lated to ward off all suspicion from its
inventor. In the first place, he marked
a candle into spaces an inch apart,
and lit it and timed it. He found it
took three hours to burn four inches
of it. I tried it myself for half an hour,
awhile ago, upstairs here, while the
inquiry into Flint Buckner's character
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am betting it was—and provided there
was an explosive in the cabin and
connected with that end of the fuse—
which I am also betting there was,
though I can't prove it. Boys, the
barrel is there in the chaparral, the
candle's remains are in it in the tin
stick; the burnt-out fuse is in the gim-
let-hole, the other end is down the hill
where the late cabin stood. I saw
them all an hour or two ago, when
the Professor here was measuring off
unimplicated vacancies and collecting
relics that hadn't anything to do with
the case."
He paused. The house drew a
long, deep breath, shook its strained
cords and muscles free and burst
into cheers.
Fulldetails


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of error, the dream-fabric of a callow
imagination. To begin with, young
sir, I desire to ask you but three ques-
tions at present—at present. Did I
understand you to say it was your
opinion that the supposititious candle
was lighted at about eight o'clock
yesterday evening?"
The
time
test
"Yes, sir—about eight."
"Could you say exactly eight?"
"Well, no, I couldn't be that ex-
act."
"Um. If a person had been passing
along there just about that time, he
would have been almost sure to en-
counter that assassin, do you think?"
"Yes, I should think so."
"Thank you, that is all. For the
present. I say, all for the present."


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refreshed itself with a cordial laugh.
Ten or twelve more candidates tramped
by — no, danced by, with airy and
ridiculous capers which convulsed Jhe
spectators — then suddenly Stillman
put out his hand and said,
"This is the assassin!"
The real
assassin
"Fetlock Jones, by the great Sanhe-
drim!" roared the crowd; and at once
let fly a pyrotechnic explosion and
dazzle and confusion of stirring re-
marks inspired by the situation.
At the height of the turmoil the
guest stretched out his hand, com-
manding peace. The authority of a
great name and a great personality
laid its mysterious compulsion upon
the house, and it obeyed. Out of the
panting calm which succeeded, the
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guest spoke, saying, with dignity
and feeling:
"This is serious. It strikes at an
innocent life. Innocent beyond sus-
picion! Innocent beyond peradvent-
ure! Hear me prove it; observe how
simple a fact can brush out of existence
this witless lie. Listen. My friends,
that lad was never out of my sight
yesterday evening at any time!"
With the
detective
It made a deep impression. Men
turned their eyes upon Stillman with
grave inquiry in them. His face
brightened, and he said,
"I knew there was another one!"
He stepped briskly to the table and
glanced at the guest's feet, then up at
his face, and said: "You were with
him! You were not fifty steps from


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him when he lit the candle that by-
and-by fired the powder!" (Sensa-
tion.) "And what is more, you fur-
nished the matches yourself!"
He fur-
nished
matches
Plainly the guest seemed hit; it
looked so to the public. He opened
his mouth to speak; the words did
not come freely.
"This — er — this is insanity —
this—"
Stillman pressed his evident ad-
vantage home. He held up a charred
match.
"Here is one of them. I found it
in the barrel—and there's another one
there."
The guest found his voice at once.
"Yes—and put them there your-
self!"
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but all about the house one voice after
another muttered:
"That settles it! He's Archy's Archy's
. ,, meat
meat
What to do now? Nobody seemed
to know. It was an embarrassing
situation for the moment—merely, of
course, because matters had taken
such a sudden and unexpected turn
that these unpractised minds were
not prepared for it, and had come to a
standstill, like a stopped clock, under
the shock. But after a little the ma-
chinery began to work again, tenta-
tively, and by twos and threes the
men put their heads together and
privately buzzed over this and that
and the other proposition. One of
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"Yes, he did; but he didn't know
what I wanted them for."
"When you was out on such a busi-
ness as that, how did you venture to
risk having him along—and him a
detective? How's that?"
The boy hesitated, fumbled with
his buttons in an embarrassed way,
then said, shyly,
Uses for
a detec-
tive
"I know about detectives, on ac-
count of having them in the family;
and if you don't want them to find
out about a thing, it's best to have
them around when you do it."
The cyclone of laughter which
greeted this naive discharge of wis-
dom did not modify the poor little
waif's embarrassment in any large
degree.
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with a poor wreck like me. Is he
dead? On honor, now—is he telling
me true, boys?"
"True as you're a-standing there!"
said Ham Sandwich, and they all
backed up the statement in a body.
"They hung him in San Bernar-
dino last week," added Ferguson,
clinching the matter, "whilst he was
searching around after you. Mis-
took him for another man. They're
sorry, but they can't help it now."
Hanged
by mis-
take
"They're a-building him a monu-
ment," said Ham Sandwich, with the
air of a person who had contributed
to it, and knew.
"James Walker" drew a deep sigh
—evidently a sigh of relief—and said
nothing; but his eyes lost something
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accord broke out with his personal
history. I cannot furnish his exact
words, but I will come as near it as I
can.
The "Wrong Man's" Story.
The
wrong
man's
story
It happened like this: I was in Den-
ver. I had been there many years;
sometimes I remember how many,
sometimes I don't—but it isn't any
matter. All of a sudden I got a notice
to leave, or I would be exposed for a
horrible crime committed long before
—3Tears and years before—in the East.
I knew about that crime, but I was
not the criminal; it was a cousin of
mine of the same name. What should
I better do? My head was all dis-
ordered by fear, and I didn't know.
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not think straight and clear on any
subject, but got confused and involved
and had to give it up, because my
head hurt so. It got to be worse and
worse; more spirits and more voices.
They were about me all the time; at
first only in the night, then in the
day too. They were always whis-
pering around my bed and plotting
against me, and it broke my sleep
and kept me fagged out, because I
got no good rest.
Restless
•voices
And then came the worst. One
night the whispers said, "We'll never
manage, because we can't see him, and
so can't point him out to the people."
They sighed; then one said: "We
must bring Sherlock Holmes. He
can be here in twelve days."
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They all agreed, and whispered and
jibbered with joy. But my heart
broke; for I had read about that man,
and knew what it would be to have
him upon my track, with his super-
human penetration and tireless ener-
gies.
Fleeing
from
Sherlock
The spirits went away to fetch him,
and I got up at once in the middle of
the night and fled away, carrying
nothing but the hand-bag that had
my money in it—thirty thousand dol-
lars; two-thirds of it are in the bag
there yet. It was forty days before
that man caught up on my track. I
just escaped. From habit he had
written his real name on a tavern
register, but had scratched it out and
written "Dagget Barclay" in the
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•
place of it. But fear gives you a
watchful eye and keen, and I read
the true name through the scratches, *
and fled like a deer.
He has hunted me all over this
world for three years and a half—
the Pacific States, Australasia, India
—everywhere you can think of; then
back to Mexico and up to California
again, giving me hardly any rest;
but that name on the registers always
saved me, and what is left of me is
alive yet. And I am so tired! A
cruel time he has given me, yet I give
you my honor I have never harmed
him nor any man.
Hunted
for
years
That was the end of the story, and
it stirred those boys to blood-heat,
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•
be sure of it. As for me—each word
burnt a hole in me where it struck.
We voted that the old man should
bunk with us, and be my guest and
Hillyer's. I shall keep my own coun-
sel, naturally; but as soon as he is
well rested and nourished, I shall
take him to Denver and rehabilitate
his fortunes.
Self-
reproach
The boys gave the old fellow the
bone-mashing good-fellowship hand-
shake of the mines, and then scattered
away to spread the news.
At dawn next morning Wells-Fargo
Ferguson and Ham Sandwich called
us softly out, and said, privately:
"That news about the way that
old stranger has been treated has
spread all around, and the camps
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Higgins. "Quick! is it hang, or
shoot?"
"Neither!" shouted one of his com-
rades. "He'd be alive again in a
week; burning's the only permanency
for him."
Sum
him
The gangs from all the outlying
camps burst out in a thunder-crash of
approval, and went struggling and
surging toward the prisoner, and
closed around him, shouting, "Fire!
fire's the ticket!" They dragged him
to the horse-post, backed him against
it, chained him to it, and piled wood
and pine cones around him waist-deep.
Still the strong face did not blench,
and still the scornful smile played
about the thin lips.
"A match! fetch a match!"
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the sheriff's another one." He paused
—apparently to turn that last idea
over in his mind and taste the juice
of it—then he went on: "The sheriff
that lets a mob take a prisoner away
from him is the lowest-down coward
there is. By the statistics there was
a hundred and eighty-two of them
drawing sneak pay in America last
year. By the way it's going, pret-
ty soon there'll be a new disease in
the doctor books—sheriff complaint."
That idea pleased him—any one could
see it. "People will say, 'Sheriff
sick again?' 'Yes; got the same old
thing.' And next there'll be a new
title. People won't say, 'He's run-
ning for sheriff of Rapaho County,'
for instance; they'll say, 'He's run-
Names
the
sheriff
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When we were on our way back to
our cabin, toward breakfast-time, we
ran upon the news that Fetlock Jones
had escaped from his lock-up in the
Fetlock
escapes
night and is gone! Nobody is sorry.
Let his uncle track him out if he likes;
it is in his line; the camp is not in-
terested.
177 fe£^s©