IC-NRLF 
 
 207 
 
 
 P 
 
THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
THEN THE WINDOWS SPOKE (page 11) 
 
THE 
 STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 TRUE STORIES OF HEROES OF 
 LAW AND ORDER 
 
 BY KATHERINE MAYO 
 
 / 
 
 Author of JUSTICE TO AL.L 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 CAPTAIN LOUIS KEENE 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 The Riverside Press Cambridge 
 1918 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY KATHERINE MAYO 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published June igi8 
 
TO 
 
 THE YOUNG MEN OF THE NATION 
 HEIRS TO A NOBLE WAR 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 IN the foreword of an earlier book, Justice to All, I 
 have told the story of the dastardly murder and 
 heroic death of Samuel Howell, carpenter, ambushed 
 by robbers on a lonely country road in the State of 
 New York. In the book itself I have tried to tell the 
 story, equally heroic, of the Pennsylvania State Police. 
 
 The slaying of that fine young American laboring 
 man, too true of heart to buy his life with his honor, 
 unmasked once more an old and shameful fact 
 that the Empire State connived at such tragedies 
 accepted them without feeling, without action, and 
 without remark. The trade of robber and murderer, 
 so long as exercised upon the poor, was practically a 
 snug and safe employment in rural New York. 
 
 The rich, like lords of feudal castles, lived in their 
 big houses surrounded by their own garrisons of 
 servants and guards. But those of less estate, the 
 farmers, the laborers, the women and girl-children in 
 small isolated homes, or traversing lonely roads as 
 perforce they must, in a word, all the scattered 
 population of the countryside, were stolidly ignored 
 by the one power morally responsible for their safety 
 and then* peace. The very government that enacted 
 the laws treated its own enactments as "scraps of 
 paper." The criminal world, in consequence, remained 
 at perfect liberty to do the same. 
 
 The bitter outrage of this truth, seen at short range 
 
viii FOREWORD 
 
 and poignantly realized, drove me for light and coun- 
 sel to the only State in the Union on whose name no 
 kindred blot appeared. At every source and from 
 many and varied standpoints, I studied the Penn- 
 sylvania State Police, carefully checking both facts 
 and figures as I moved along the field. 
 
 Then, at last, because no working account of the 
 subject already existed in print, and in order to lay 
 the plain facts in available shape before the people of 
 New York and of the Union, I wrote Justice to AU, 
 the story of the Pennsylvania State Police. 
 
 The purpose of that book exacted condensation 
 and the cutting-out of much incident that might have 
 served to bring its meaning home. Out of the mass of 
 material thus set apart have been taken the narra- 
 tives that form this present volume. 
 
 It has been a difficult and unwelcome task to choose, 
 from so large a sheaf, what to take and what to leave. 
 The incidents here related are chosen, not because 
 they stand out from the rest, but just, on the con- 
 trary, because they fairly illustrate the common daily 
 round of the Pennsylvania Force. Space alone gov- 
 erns their number. For there is not one seasoned man 
 in the entire Squadron who has not performed many 
 an act of valor and of service equal in quality to those 
 recounted here. 
 
 In every narrative the real names of the Troopers 
 are given. In every instance but one, the actual 
 names of localities appear. In several instances I 
 have changed the names of criminals at the request 
 of the State Police themselves, whose creed it is to 
 temper justice with mercy, and to give the worst 
 
FOREWORD ix 
 
 man every chance to mend. Again, in the case of 
 innocent citizens and of the victims of crime, fictitious 
 names have sometimes been used, out of regard for 
 personal feelings. 
 
 Finally, I have called this book The Standard- 
 Bearers, because the State Police idea is now spread- 
 ing rapidly over the Union, and because to Pennsyl- 
 vania only the Union owes this priceless good; because 
 it was to the Pennsylvania Force only, under the mag- 
 nificent leadership of Colonel John C. Groome, that 
 the people of New York looked for inspiration when 
 they legislated, last year, for their own State Police; 
 because it was to the unchallengeable record, to the 
 unsurpassable achievements of our own true Ameri- 
 can boys in our own Keystone State, and not to any 
 foreign body whatsoever, however fine, that the peo- 
 ple, the Governor, and the Legislature of New York 
 looked for their faith and their hope. 
 
 The Pennsylvania State Police, during all the years 
 of its existence, has been attacked, vilified, slan- 
 dered with an unscrupulous venom that has known 
 neither bounds nor truth nor shame. Every treacher- 
 ous, mean, and disloyal element, under many and 
 curious guises, has sapped and mined and openly or 
 secretly fought to cripple its work and to diminish 
 or to blacken its fame. But the Pennsylvania State 
 Police has needed no defense but its own record, un- 
 swervingly built through the days and years. Stead- 
 fastly led, steadfastly advancing with one heart and 
 one purpose, it has pursued its lofty ideal undisturbed 
 and unconfused. 
 
 Now we see the result a slow growth like all great 
 
x FOREWORD 
 
 permanent structures of good. Watered with its own 
 heart-blood, strengthened with the iron of discipline 
 and of hardship, knit together by the bonds of heroic 
 sacrifice rendered as a matter of course, without 
 grudging or flinching, and received equally as a mat- 
 ter of course, without thanks and without reward, 
 the Pennsylvania State Police to-day triumphantly 
 leads the Union. 
 
 For any and every other commonwealth entering 
 the field, the Pennsylvania State Police must be the 
 Standard-Bearers. We do but honor ourselves in ac- 
 knowledging it. Let us watch that standard where they 
 still carry it far in the van. Let us beseech for all our 
 young forces, whether now in existence or soon to be 
 born, true understanding, high ambition, perfect stead- 
 fastness, endurance, strength, nobility of mind and 
 purpose, faithfully to follow that oriflamme ahead. 
 
 It is no easy task no goal to be soon or lightly 
 gained. But in so far as through stern years of dis- 
 cipline, devotion, and sacrifice they may win grace 
 and strength to approach it, just so far will they 
 make good. 
 
 KM. 
 
 BEDFORD HILLS, N.Y. 
 April, 1918 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 1 
 
 II. "D" TROOP TIDIES UP 33 
 
 III. BABE 56 
 
 IV. BIG MINE RUN 66 
 
 V. THE HUNGRY ROPE 126 
 
 VI. ISRAEL DRAKE 157 
 
 VII. THE COON-HUNTERS 179 
 
 VIII. THE FARMERS' BATTLE 197 
 
 IX. CHERRY VALLEY 217 
 
 X. THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP "A" . . . .232 
 
 XI. ACCORDING TO CODE 256 
 
 XII. JOHN G 266 
 
 XIII. HOT WEATHER 275 
 
 XIV. GET YOUR MAN 289 
 
 XV. No STORY AT ALL . 304 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 THEN THE WINDOWS SPOKE .... Frontispiece 
 RODE STRAIGHT DOWN HELLTOWN*S MAIN STREET . 38 
 
 THRUST HIS SOFT NOSE OVER CORPORAL METCALF'S 
 SHOULDER 64 
 
 MARIA SAT IN HER CELL, NURSING HER BABY . .100 
 "I SHALL DEFEND THE PRISONER OF THE STATE" . 146 
 
 AGAIN HE HELD HIS CANDLE LOW 204 
 
 "YOU MEN HAVE TO MAKE GOOD IN THAT COUNTRY" . 218 
 THE SERGEANT PICKED HIM UP IN HIS ARMS AND 
 
 CARRIED HIM DOWNSTAIRS . . 288 
 
THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 i 
 
 THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 
 
 DECEMBER 15, 1905, was the birthday of the 
 Pennsylvania State Police. On that day the men 
 chosen to compose the new Force, coming from the 
 four quarters of the United States, assembled at the 
 four Troop stations and began their training. 
 
 Officers and men alike were strangers to each other, 
 and strangers to the work that they were organized to 
 perform. They had everything to learn, from the 
 principles and details of their new profession to the 
 amount of confidence that they could place in their 
 comrades-in-arms. They had an immense task before 
 them two hundred and twenty-eight of them were 
 to police the whole rural State and they had an 
 incredulous or hostile public opinion to conquer by 
 high deserts. 
 
 Of one thing alone they were sure their deep 
 respect for their squadron commander, Major John C. 
 Groome. They had yet to test him by time and ex- 
 perience they had yet to learn with what gallant 
 courage and high integrity, with what cloudless loyalty, 
 what absolute justice, what stern soldierly discipline, 
 and what great-hearted sympathy he would both lead 
 and support his men. But each one of them had 
 
2 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 received his electric first impression, each man had 
 guessed those truths that time would prove. Each 
 man had felt his heart thrill and his spirit rise to its 
 best, when the Major, in accepting him as a recruit, had 
 told him the object and standard of the new Force. 
 
 And then each man, even as he cast a questioning 
 eye upon his unknown mates, said in his own heart 
 that he himself in any case would do his level best 
 "to make good for the Major." 
 
 In the first few days of association, however, a 
 stout tie had connected them almost all. Ninety per 
 cent of the men were old soldiers, sailors or marines, 
 honorably discharged, "character excellent," from the 
 United States service. If they had not served in the 
 same regiment, or on the same ship, they had shared 
 the same campaigns, the same life, the same stand- 
 ards and discipline. And each one knew what it costs 
 to make a man. 
 
 Four stiff months they put in, the four Troops 
 in their several barracks, studying hard, before the 
 Major would let them take the field. They must know 
 the law, before attempting to execute it. With their 
 scanty numbers and their great territory, they would 
 usually be very far from any source of sound legal ad- 
 . vice when moments for action came. And to build up 
 the high prestige by which alone so small a force could 
 operate successfully, they must never be in the wrong. 
 
 It meant stiff grinding. It has meant continued 
 study ever since, by means of, which the older Troop- 
 ers of the Force are to-day good criminal lawyers, while 
 some have actually become attorneys and counsellors 
 at law. 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 3 
 
 It has meant stiff discipline, too, the stiffest, 
 and an active standard of morals probably unequalled 
 in any other organization. The Pennsylvania State 
 Police has no guard-house and knows no second 
 offense. And the most relentless guardians of its 
 Spartan rule are the old Troopers themselves. Fel- 
 lowship in that picked body is a privilege, in their es- 
 teem, to be earned with single-hearted devotion and 
 sacrifice, to be defended in its honor as a gem beyond 
 price. They have advanced their high mark of achieve- 
 ment, notch by notch, as opportunity has opened to 
 their eager eyes. They have never let it fall or suffer 
 stain. Their enemies are their honor, their friends are 
 all honest folk who know them, their proud and ready 
 celebrants are the first men in the land. 
 
 So "D" Troop, quartered at Punxsutawney, was 
 pegging away like the rest, impatient to get into 
 service. Even from its present confinement it could 
 see that work in plenty awaited it, and it had not 
 been a fortnight assembled when a special word fanned 
 its fires. 
 
 That word was brought into barracks by First 
 Sergeant Lumb. First Sergeant Lumb had been hav- 
 ing a little friendly talk with Punxsutawney 's Chief " 
 of Police. 
 
 "Sergeant," said the Chief, "here is a fact that 
 one day may be useful to you: Half the bad trouble 
 in this whole region is hatched just seven miles from 
 this very town. On the map the place is called 
 Florenza, but we folks all say * Florence' just 
 Florence, and a regular hotbed of mischief it is. 
 
4 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 If I could ever have got any one to stand behind me 
 I would have attacked it long ago. But they're all 
 afraid. Now, the next time I cross its tracks I shall 
 call on you for help. But if you meet trouble first, 
 remember what I have said: Florence is the very root 
 of deviltry" 
 
 Time passed. The four Troops took the field, each 
 in its own quarter, each impatient to make its own 
 record the best in the Squadron. Not yet did their 
 countrysides flood them with appeals for help in every 
 sort of difficulty, as presently they would come to do; 
 but their hands were full, nevertheless. And in the 
 scanty leisure hours the men still sought their com- 
 mon object. 
 
 So came one Sunday afternoon, September 2, 1906. 
 The day was glorious hot and fine such a day as 
 must surely have tempted men off duty to go a-gam- 
 bolling. Sergeant Logan was off duty, but to him the 
 freedom merely suggested an extra chance to pros- 
 pect for work. Like the rest of the Force, he was 
 "taking a plunge wherever he saw water," hunting 
 for hard jobs and honors. 
 
 Now, it happened that within the past ten days 
 several murderous cutting affrays had occurred in the 
 general vicinity of Punxsutawney. The assailants 
 were unknown except to their victims, who refused 
 to reveal their identity for fear of worse to come. 
 But the victims themselves were not of the stripe that 
 turns the other cheek, and in all likelihood their adver- 
 saries even now were hidden near by, nursing injuries. 
 
 So Sergeant Logan, saying nothing to any one, 
 changed into civilian dress and started. 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 5 
 
 "I'll take a look into that Florence," said he to 
 himself. "It might give a clue." 
 
 He boarded a trolley for Anita, a hamlet about a 
 mile distant from the village of ill renown. At Anita 
 he debarked it was then three o'clock and pro- 
 ceeded leisurely to complete the trip on foot. As he 
 walked, he debated ways and means. 
 
 "I'll call on the doctor," he concluded. "If any 
 one living in the place has been much hurt, that doc- 
 tor, most likely, will have treated the wounds." 
 
 Florence was a little mining town of about two 
 hundred inhabitants. The larger part of the popula- 
 tion was Austrian, with some mingling of Italians. 
 Aside from these were the mine bosses, Welsh or 
 Irish, and the company officials, the store-keeper, the 
 doctor, and a few others. 
 
 Dr. Bodenhorn lived on the main street, a steep in- 
 cline. Diagonally above, on the opposite side from 
 his cottage, stood the power-house. Then, higher up, 
 came the railroad track, crossing the street at right 
 angles. And beyond, again, the street still climbed, 
 with detached stores and dwellings on either side. 
 
 At a little after four o'clock Dr. Bodenhorn and 
 Sergeant Logan sat on the doctor's front veranda, 
 talking over the ways of the world. 
 
 "Have you had any cases of cutting or wounding 
 to attend, within the last week or so?" the Sergeant 
 asked. 
 
 "No," answered the doctor; "for a wonder I have n't. 
 But I'll tell you something in your own line: Do you 
 see that two-storied wooden building up yonder just 
 across the railroad track from the power-house? Well, 
 
6 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 that building is the resort of the very worst char- 
 acters in this part of the State, and they hold a regu- 
 lar meeting there every Sunday afternoon. If you 
 are ever in search of any particular blackguard 
 Hi! Look at that! What are they up to now?" 
 
 Out from the door of the building came pouring a 
 crowd of men, some thirty-five in number, surround- 
 ing two who seemed to be locked in a desperate fight. 
 
 Waiting only a moment to observe, the Sergeant 
 dashed up the road, shoved his way through the 
 crowd, tore the two combatants apart, and placed 
 one under arrest. As he did so, he recognized in the 
 second brawler a man named Walsach, charged with 
 murder and wanted by the police. But before he 
 could lay hands upon the second man, the crowd 
 surged in between, and Walsach ran back into the 
 house whence all had emerged, some twenty feet 
 away. 
 
 Not yet did the Sergeant guess that the whole af- 
 fair was arranged that the gang had recognized 
 him for a State Police officer as he sat on the doctor's 
 porch, and had hastily plotted a trap to kill him forth- 
 with. He swallowed the bait whole. 
 
 Dragging his prisoner with him across the street to 
 the house door, Logan gripped him with his left hand 
 while he grasped the doorknob with his right, and 
 stepped over the threshold. As he did so, and while his 
 hand was yet on the knob, Walsach the murderer, 
 lurking within, leaped at him with stiletto upraised. 
 Logan jumped to the right as far as the door-casing 
 would permit. The blade passed between his coat 
 and his shirt, till the hilt struck on his ribs. Not 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 7 
 
 daring a second blow, the murderer dropped his dag- 
 ger, sprang out of the door and away. 
 
 Sergeant Logan's one thought, now, was to secure 
 the fugitive, because of his record of crime. So he 
 dropped his comparatively unimportant prisoner, 
 pulled out his revolver, and started on the run after 
 his man. 
 
 As he turned the east corner of the house, one of 
 the many bystanders now collected called out that 
 Walsach was circling around the building behind him, 
 armed with a Winchester rule. Sergeant Logan in- 
 stantly faced about and retraced his steps to meet 
 the attack. 
 
 As he turned the corner again, Walsach fired. His 
 aim was high. The Sergeant dropped to his left 
 knee, his right side to the criminal, trying to offer as 
 small a target as possible. For as long as it takes to 
 empty a Winchester the two had it, give and take, 
 at a distance of about fifty feet. Then Walsach 
 ran back into the house, bleeding, followed by his 
 gang. 
 
 As for Sergeant Logan, for the second time that 
 day it seemed that his life was charmed. The only 
 bullet that touched him had passed into the tip of his 
 left shoe, under the toes, and out through the sole, 
 making no wound whatever. 
 
 "Where's the nearest telephone?" called the Ser- 
 geant to the crowd. 
 
 "Power-house," shouted some not unfriendly voice. 
 
 "Will some of you watch the place for a moment?" 
 
 "All right. Goon." 
 
 Sergeant Logan ran to the power-house, just across 
 
8 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 the railroad track, called up Barracks, and stated his 
 case. 
 
 "Can you send out three or four men?" he asked 
 First Sergeant Lumb. "Walsach is here, with a bad 
 crowd around him. I Ve had difficulty already 
 can't make the arrest alone." 
 
 Sergeant Lumb banged the receiver into the hook, 
 and flung open the day-room door. 
 
 "Chambers Henry Mullen Mcllvain 
 Koch," said he, choosing from the stalwart uniformed 
 figures present. "You five men have seven minutes to 
 get the next trolley. Beat it to Florence." 
 
 As the trolley drew in at the foot of the main street 
 of Florence, a crowd of considerable size was gathered 
 around the station, awaiting its arrival, and the as- 
 pect of that crowd was not good. Leering, snarling 
 faces showed all through it, and the mass, quite 
 clearly, would welcome a chance to break loose. 
 
 "Boys," said Chambers, "we are up against it. 
 Don't all get out of the same end of the car." 
 
 Henry and Chambers left by the front platform. 
 As Chambers stepped down, he saw a man near him 
 drawing a pistol. With one quick blow he knocked 
 that man down. With another he felled a second who 
 was reaching for his pocket. An instant more and he 
 had their two guns. 
 A , "Take these fellows, Koch," said he. 
 
 Private Koch snapped handcuffs on the pair. 
 
 "Mcllvain and Koch, take charge of the prisoners," 
 ordered Chambers, who led the detail. "Come on, 
 men." 
 
 As they shoved their way uphill through the crowd, 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 9 
 
 it was determined that as they reached the power- 
 house Koch should fall out, with the prisoners, and 
 hold them there under guard while the four others 
 proceeded straight on to the building into which Lo- 
 gan's assailant had fled. A bystander pointed out 
 the place. More they had no need to know. 
 
 The house was a frame structure of two stories with 
 a peaked roof. A stone foundation raised its first 
 story about three feet from the street level. This 
 ground floor, on the side facing the power-house and 
 the railroad track, had no windows at all and but one 
 door. Abovestairs were windows, but their roller cur- 
 tains were pulled almost down. No sign of life was 
 anywhere visible. 
 
 The four Troopers pushed ahead, beyond the power- 
 house and up the steep road to the railroad crossing, 
 Henry leading, Chambers at his heels, then Mullen, 
 then Mcllvain. At a point about thirty-five feet dis- 
 tant from the house, they veered to the right, toward 
 the door. On the instant a volley rang out from the 
 curtained windows of the upper story. A bullet 
 grazed Chambers's head and tore his hat away. Henry 
 dropped in a heap where it caught him. 
 
 Now, Henry was Chambers's chosen friend. The 
 first had been a corporal of United States Marines, 
 while the second had seen long service in the Navy, 
 quitting as coxswain, "character excellent." The 
 two now called themselves "shipmates," swapped 
 man-o'-war's-men's yarns, bunked side by side, worked 
 together whenever they could, loved each other. And 
 Chambers was only just twenty-five years old. 
 
 But Chambers had been bred in a stern school the 
 
10 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 school of warfare and battle. To see a friend fall bleed- 
 ing at his feet was no new sight to him. To have paused, 
 to have turned back on that account, would have been 
 not only new but unthinkable. So, following his 
 fighter's instinct, without one look aside, he dashed 
 at the house whence the volley had come, as he would 
 have charged an enemy battery. 
 
 Mullen, late corporal of Coast Artillery, charged after 
 him, but, under a second volley, he, too, dropped, with 
 a bullet through the groin, while McHvain slid to cover. 
 
 Chambers, meantime, had reached the house. 
 Chambers was born to his calling. Odds or danger 
 meant nothing to him or, more exactly, they acted 
 as spurs. His one passion was to win through to 
 do the work to make good. 
 
 He tried the door, that single first-floor opening on 
 the side whence the volleys had come. The door was 
 solidly blocked could be opened only by bursting 
 it in. And with the discovery came another thought. 
 Under its inspiration the Trooper ran around the 
 house, with the butt of his revolver smashing the lower 
 windows on the other sides, in order to reach the cur- 
 tains within. These he jerked off their rollers, lest later 
 they serve to screen the murderous fire of gunmen, as 
 already their like were doing above. 
 
 "Now," he said to himself, "I'll go back and ram 
 that door." 
 
 But the move brought him near to the body of his 
 friend. For the first time he consciously beheld that 
 tragic sight. Blood was flowing from Henry's mouth. 
 He had been shot, not once, but several times, and his 
 attitude showed the agony he had endured. 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 11 
 
 An instant the young sailor paused, staring his heart 
 away. A deathly silence prevailed in the place. The 
 whole town might have been holding its breath. The 
 upper windows, with their dropped curtains, gazed 
 down blank, secret, deadly, like heavy-lidded Sphynx's 
 eyes. Chambers took a step forward. 
 
 Then some unknown, strained to the snapping 
 point, screamed out: "Don't do it! Don't! They'll 
 kill you!" 
 
 "I'm going to get him," Chambers said, in an odd 
 flat voice, behind his teeth. Every word carried, as 
 though the scene had been a stage. 
 
 "You'll stay where you are!" shouted Logan from 
 the power-house. "Can't you see he'll be dead in a 
 minute?" 
 
 Just then, with a last convulsive effort, Henry 
 moved rolled over on his side. And his voice, al- 
 ready faint as of one far distant on a long journey, 
 came homing back to his friend : 
 
 "Dick! Dick! Are you going to leave me 
 here?" 
 
 Nothing could have held the sailor then. 
 
 "Jack!" he called, and the yearning of his cry 
 reached up to the Gates through which his mate was 
 already passing. "Jack ! Oh, wait ! I 'm coming, boy ! " 
 
 Thrusting his revolver into its holster, he dashed 
 into the open, with never a thought for his own life. 
 He reached Henry's side. The windows remained 
 blind and dumb. He turned and faced them squarely, 
 hands high above his head to make his purpose clear. 
 Then the windows spoke! 
 
 Chambers staggered pulled himself together, 
 
12 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 reached for his gun, with jaws tight set and with eyes 
 seeking the enemy. He must get one, before he went 
 just one. A sheet of blood flowed over his face like 
 a veil. The revolver slipped and slid from his grasp. 
 Slowly, slowly he crumpled down by his dead com- 
 rade's side. 
 
 "Chambers!" called Logan; "have they killed you, 
 man?" 
 
 A faint movement stirred the grey heap by Hen- 
 ry's side. 
 
 "They have not!" came back the answer, stiff and 
 defiant, out of the wrecked and bleeding head. 
 
 "Can you crawl?" 
 
 ". . . Yes" . . . 
 
 There were eleven buckshot wounds in him three 
 through the lungs, three in the head, one through an 
 eye, and the rest hi the side and abdomen. His uni- 
 form was soaked and dripping red. His face was un- 
 recognizable. And yet the lad struggled upright, held 
 himself there tottering for a moment while with a 
 hand he dammed the blood from his one remaining 
 eye, and then, having got his bearings, walked off 
 down the hill to the doctor's office. 
 
 Meantime Mullen, too, had hauled himself erect 
 and, with the dark stream spreading down his thigh, 
 had limped to cover. 
 
 No fire from the window pursued the pair. Per- 
 haps those behind the curtains would waste no more 
 lead on men as good as dead. 
 
 Sergeant Logan watched them go saw them 
 reach the doctor's house and enter. Then he made for 
 the telephone. 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 13 
 
 His first call was to the Punxsutawney hospital, for 
 an ambulance; his second was to Barracks, to First 
 Sergeant Lumb. 
 
 "Chambers, Henry, and Mullen are shot. Twenty 
 or more men, heavily armed, are entrenched in the 
 house with Walsach. We're needing help." 
 
 "Coming," answered the First Sergeant. 
 
 Five minutes later Logan was struck with a new 
 thought. The impact confounded him. 
 
 "Ass! What if they take the east fork! It will cost 
 more lives yet. And now it's too late to get them!" 
 
 At Anita, the road from Punxsutawney splits into 
 two branches, one of which, the upper branch, enters 
 Florence through its worst section. To come in by 
 that route would be to expose the detachment to at- 
 tack and would, furthermore, necessitate running the 
 gantlet of fire from the infested house, to reach the 
 point where Logan and his men were now planted. 
 
 On the other hand, if the detail came in by the sec- 
 ond fork, it would avoid all this useless danger, striking 
 into the main street of the town below the doctor's 
 office, where Logan's men could join it. All the theatre 
 of trouble would then be up the hill ahead. 
 
 "I've got to get word to them," groaned Logan. 
 
 He thought of the population of Anita, at the junc- 
 tion of the roads. Hopeless. Fancy one of the people 
 in those shacks carrying an honest message to officers 
 of police! Then he remembered the tavern of the 
 place and its keeper, a Pole. 
 
 "If any of them could be decent about it, he is the 
 man," thought Logan, "for he has some property to 
 anchor him." 
 
14 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 So Sergeant Logan called up the "Palace Hotel" 
 at Anita, and asked that a reliable person be sta- 
 tioned at once at the forks of the Punxsutawney road, 
 to deliver to a squad of State Police, about to pass, 
 Sergeant Logan's request that they take the lower 
 fork into Florence. 
 
 Then Logan hurried down to the doctor's office to 
 look after the wounded. Mullen, cool and quiet though 
 in great pain, lay as the doctor had placed him after 
 applying first aid. 
 
 Chambers, even as he entered the house, had walked 
 up to a large oval mirror that hung in the hall, and, 
 tearing open his blouse, had begun at once to examine 
 his own wounds. Those in his body were flowing inter- 
 nally and had scarcely stained his uniform, although 
 his shattered head was streaming blood. 
 
 "Oh, come and lie down! " implored a woman of the 
 family, her compassion aglow at the grisly spectacle. 
 
 "Tell me where I am shot," persisted Chambers, 
 "and get me a gun. Please try to get me a gun!" 
 
 For it was fixed in his mind to patch himself up 
 and rush back into the fight. 
 
 Then the doctor came and led him to a couch. 
 
 "You have about hah* an hour to live," said the 
 doctor. "There is nothing that I can do." 
 
 When Logan saw the men, "We'll wait for no am- 
 bulance," said he. 
 
 Then he got two cots, and commandeered the trol- 
 ley car that had just arrived. That trolley car, with 
 the cots in its aisle, by order made no stops between 
 Florence and the Punxsutawney hospital. 
 
 Logan, returning to the power-plant, detached 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 15 
 
 Koch to assist him in watching the garrisoned house 
 until the arrival of the reenforcements, while Mc- 
 Ilvain guarded the prisoners. 
 
 The reenforcements were not slow in coming up. 
 When Logan's last call reached Barracks many of 
 the Troop were scattered over the countryside on 
 game protection duty or on regular patrol. Others 
 were gone here and there on diverse errands. But the 
 trumpets sang out an alarm, and in a very few min- 
 utes fourteen Troopers in uniform, led by Sergeants 
 Lumb and Marsh, were mounted and off, dashing 
 down the road to Florence. Four Troopers more over- 
 took them on the way, and they rode as though the 
 horses, too, knew all that depended on their speed. 
 
 At Anita, near the Palace Hotel, in the split of the ,,- 
 road, a dubious-looking Pole stood waving his arms. 
 
 "Take the lower fork ! " he screamed. " Mr. Logan, 
 he say, 'Take the lower fork!"' 
 
 Lumb eyed the man with strong distrust. 
 
 "Look out you speak the truth," he snapped. "I 
 shall hold you to this. If you dare to trick us, you '11 be 
 sorry till your dying day!" 
 
 But the expression on the Pole's face supported his 
 words. 
 
 "We'll risk it," said Lumb. 
 
 Just twenty minutes from the moment that it 
 cleared the Barracks gates, seven miles away, the de- 
 tachment galloped into the main street of Florence. 
 
 They tied their lathered and panting horses well 
 down the hill, out of the range of fire, leaving a guard 
 to protect them. Meanwhile the First Sergeant as- 
 sumed command. 
 
16 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Now, if there had been any doubt as to the fitness 
 of First Sergeant Lumb to assume command, a glance 
 at his Army record would have settled it. Twelve 
 years in the Regular Army it shows, in Cavalry, 
 Infantry and Coast Artillery. Discharged sergeant- 
 major of course "character excellent." Service as 
 post-instructor; service in the Philippines, in China, 
 and at home; twenty-seven battles and engagements; 
 a string of official comments, such as "Excellent man 
 in the field"; and then medals of sorts, Heaven knows 
 how many! 
 
 So, First Sergeant Lumb, having duly assumed 
 command, was hearing the status of the case from 
 Logan. 
 
 "Well," Lumb declared, as the brief outline con- 
 cluded, "there's only one thing to do do some- 
 thing hard and do it quick. You fellows, get around 
 here and cover the plant. Put three men in the power- 
 house two at the little windows near the floor, fac- 
 ing the place, and the third in the ventilating window 
 up aloft. Put a couple of men in that house on the 
 other side. Put a man behind that box car on the sid- 
 ing. Three more posts; that'll cover it." 
 
 As the stations were planted, fire from the house 
 opened with ferocity. The garrison was using rifles 
 now, and the practice was excellent. It was as much 
 as a man's Me was worth to show himself before those 
 windows. 
 
 The curtains had been rolled up. Daylight was 
 fading. Dusk was near. The rifle-men kept well back 
 in the room, man and gun out of sight. No flashes 
 were visible at the windows as they fired, but the dim 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 17 
 
 chamber filled with pulses of red glow as the weapons 
 cracked and the bullets sang here and there wherever 
 a Trooper stirred. 
 
 "It will be dark in a few minutes. This is a des- 
 perate situation. I'll have to cut 'cross-lots," said 
 Lumb to himself. 
 
 He sent for the keeper of the company store. "Who 
 is in that place?" he asked. 
 
 The other, a fine old Scot, seemed to read the sol- 
 dier's thought. "Nobody," he answered, "but them 
 that were better done for." 
 
 "How much dynamite would it take?" 
 
 "About twenty sticks." 
 
 " Will you get it for me?" 
 
 "With the verra best will in the world will I." And 
 he strode away on the welcome errand. 
 
 The First Sergeant worked out his idea. He would 
 do this thing himself, of course. He could ask no one 
 under him to take a risk so great. 
 
 "I'll throw the box in at the door opposite the 
 power-house," he thought. "I can be there in about 
 ten seconds and with a two-minute fuse I can make 
 it. They'll get me on the way back, most likely 
 but I've a good chance to do my work first, any- 
 way." 
 
 So he called Sergeant Marsh, his special friend and 
 comrade, and told his plan. "The storekeeper '11 be 
 back with the dynamite in a minute," he finished. 
 "Good-bye and good luck to you, Bill, if I don't see 
 you again." 
 
 But the big Sergeant was thinking. "That's all 
 right," he objected, "sounds mighty fine but 
 
18 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 how if there should be any women and children up there. 
 Are you sure?" 
 
 Lumb stared back at him. "No," he said, slowly, 
 "of course I'm not sure. How could I be?" 
 
 "I've just heard that the building belongs to a 
 woman," pursued Marsh, "and that she lives in it. 
 She gets out Sunday afternoons and gives it up to this 
 crowd, they say. But who knows for a fact that she's 
 not there now?" 
 
 The First Sergeant's plan was already dead. It 
 would not do. 
 
 "Then we'll have to charge the place," he mut- 
 tered. "God! It's an awful order to give!" 
 
 "I'll lead the charge," said Marsh simply. 
 
 They called for volunteers. Nearly every man 
 within hearing stepped out. They selected five. 
 
 "The rest," said the First Sergeant, "will protect 
 the rush by directing a fire on the windows. Ready, 
 men!" 
 
 A whistle blew. The charge began, Marsh leading. 
 As the little squad rushed for the door that was the 
 only opening in the lower part of the fighting facade, 
 a raking fire burst out from the windows above. 
 But its accuracy was disturbed by the covering fusil- 
 lade of the remaining Troopers, and the six men cross- 
 ing the open space reached the door unscathed. 
 
 Marsh put his great shoulder to it the bolt gave 
 the panels crashed. Then, like an arrow, Private 
 Zehringer drove past his leader and dashed in. 
 
 The hall was small and dark a mere cubicle to 
 contain a boxed staircase black as night within and so 
 narrow that two persons could not go up abreast. 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 19 
 
 Zehringer made a jump for those stairs, Marsh close 
 on his heels and the rest crowding after. Two steps 
 at a time Zehringer mounted, till his eyes topped the 
 level of the second-story floor. Then, to the eyes of 
 the others, all space suddenly filled with uproar and 
 flashing flames, while something heavy, lunging down, 
 knocked their legs from under them, so that they 
 landed together in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. 
 
 Something large and loose and sagging, sliding 
 with them, stayed in a heap after they had scrambled 
 up. For a moment sulphurous smoke blinded them. 
 As it cleared they saw Zehringer's body trailing over 
 the lower step. Half his skull was shot away. 
 
 To try it again would have been suicidal folly. The 
 thing was too simple for the gunmen above to cover 
 the little stair opening with their many rifles, and, at 
 the sight of a head, to let all loose. The outcome must 
 be always the same. 
 
 Crowded in the entrance hall, the five Troopers 
 emptied their revolvers at the ceiling without ef- 
 fect. The bullets could not penetrate the boards. 
 Nothing remained for them now but to return to the 
 power-house shelter. 
 
 "Here! We must take Zehringer," said a Trooper, 
 stooping to lift the body. 
 
 "No," commanded the Sergeant sternly. "Enough 
 men have been killed to-day. If there were a breath 
 left in him, it would be another thing. Leave him, and 
 get away!" 
 
 It was full night now, and the heat of the day had 
 exploded in storm. Rain was descending in sheets. 
 The men were all wet to the skin, blinded by driving 
 
20 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 masses of water, thrashed by the hounding wind. 
 Those that now gathered in the office of the power- 
 house stared at each other with comprehending eyes. 
 Then- hearts, one and all, were heavy within them 
 heavy for their dead, hot with desire to avenge them, 
 in torment to strike. Their nerves ground on edge. 
 Inaction was agony. But what should they do? 
 What? . . . 
 
 Suddenly, out of the pelting black, over the song 
 of the storm, rang a shriek, a howl and the sound 
 of heavy churning up the grade. Like a seal rearing 
 out from the midnight ocean, a big motor car stuck 
 her glossy nose, dripping, out of the dark. The man 
 at the wheel, streaming water from every crease of 
 his oil-skins, threw out his clutch, threw on his brake, 
 and strode over to the spot where the Troopers stood. 
 They knew him for a merchant of Punxsutawney. 
 
 "Heard you were in trouble," he said heartily. 
 "Thought I'd run over and see if you wanted me." 
 
 " Want you ! By Jove, I think we do," exclaimed the 
 First Sergeant. "Will you take one of my Troopers 
 back to Barracks and bring out our carbines?" 
 
 "Watch me! All aboard!" 
 
 The big car turned and whizzed away into the 
 smother. When it came roaring back, joy rode with 
 it. Thirty carbines it bore, much ammunition, and, as 
 the thought of the Punxsutawney man, a great can 
 of hot coffee, and sandwiches many and thick. 
 
 "My home people hurried up to do that!" he 
 beamed, as he handed out the unexpected provender. 
 
 His name was Des Freas. Later he became burgess 
 of his town. And he was a man. 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 21 
 
 The First Sergeant could now arm his command 
 with weapons suited to the work. He drew his circle 
 of guards more compactly, and he stationed men on 
 the roofs. All night long they kept up their fire on the 
 house. All night long, with unflagging fury, the house 
 replied. The rain came down in a deluge. No such 
 storm has been seen in that region since. The Troop- 
 ers dripped as if the sea flowed over them, and crashes 
 of thunder, with the staggering glare of lightning, 
 added confusion to the scene. 
 
 Throughout it all, First Sergeant Lumb steadily 
 continued making the round of the posts "be- 
 cause," as he said, "a man might be shot between any 
 two minutes, and lie there weltering in the mud and 
 the rain, with no one the wiser." 
 
 Once, back in the field, he found a post empty a 
 post where he had placed a mounted man, and so, 
 with fear in his heart for what hand or foot might 
 touch, he began combing the dark. 
 
 "Is that you, Top?" called a voice from a little 
 farther on. 
 
 "What the deuce did you leave your place for, con- 
 found you!" The Sergeant snarled like a surly bear, 
 because of exceeding gladness. 
 
 "Why they were kicking up mud between my 
 horse's legs with their bullets. Shall I go back?" 
 
 "Oh, stay where you are," growled the Sergeant, 
 "and keep awake!" 
 
 Up on the roof just opposite the citadel, Privates 
 Thomas Casey and Charles T. Smith were conducting 
 a campaign all their own. Private Casey would ma- 
 noeuvre his helmet on the end of a stick, from behind 
 
22 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 the shelter of a chimney. Then, when the big, long 
 lightning flashes came, some one of the garrison in 
 the house would jump up to fire at that helmet; upon 
 which, by the same wild light, Private Smith would 
 snipe at the marksman. Then the two Troopers, 
 changing roles, would start again. 
 
 At each white flare, faces showed at the windows 
 not always the same faces certainly; the Troop's 
 gun practice was better than that. But no one could 
 swear to features seen by such mad, fitful gleams. So 
 the pair on the roof toiled on in faith and hope rather 
 than in certainty. 
 
 Under the lee of a box-car, standing on a siding 
 some thirty feet from the spot where Trooper Henry 
 fell, Private Kohut spent the night as guard of that 
 exit from the scene. 
 
 Whatever may have happened unperceived by him 
 during the thick of the tempest, Private Kohut actually 
 detected no one passing his way until the first faint 
 gray of dawn. Then his straining ears caught a sound 
 of cautious moving, and presently he could discern two 
 figures stealing down. When they were almost upon 
 him, he suddenly stepped across their path. Private 
 Kohut was six feet two inches tall and built for service. 
 
 The two snatched at their gun pockets, but their 
 gesture was just a thought less quick than that of the 
 big Trooper. Seizing each by the scruff of the neck, 
 he knocked their heads together with a force that 
 dazed them. So he held them, limp and feebly swear- 
 ing, until the First Sergeant sent to gather them 
 in, and to substitute handcuffs for the weight of 
 deadly weapons confiscated. 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 23 
 
 Now, at the time when all this turmoil began, the 
 officer in command of "D" Troop, Captain Robin- 
 son, was absent from Barracks and at a distance. As 
 soon as its serious nature appeared, a report went off 
 to him by telephone, and he started for Florence at 
 once. At five o'clock in the morning he arrived. 
 
 The scene as he found it was little altered. Henry's 
 body lay in the power-house. The rain had stopped. 
 The fire from the citadel had died down, but the last 
 man who had shown himself before the windows had 
 drawn a volley of lead. Many spectators had come 
 over from Punxsutawney, most of them armed and 
 ready to do their part if required. But the First 
 Sergeant was troubled by their presence, and had 
 forbidden the further running of trolley cars into or 
 through the town, for fear of injury to civilians. As 
 for Florence itself, the mass of its population was liv- 
 ing up to its repute, evincing a will to attack at any 
 moment. 
 
 The Captain heard the First Sergeant's report in 
 silence, standing under the lee of the power-house with 
 a cluster of Troopers beside him. ... "In my opinion 
 the place should now be dynamited," Lumb con- 
 cluded, "and I have the dynamite ready, too." 
 
 "Where?" asked the Captain. 
 
 The First Sergeant, by way of answer, turned and 
 reached under the power-house porch. 
 
 "Here," said he, the package in hand. "Twenty 
 sticks." 
 
 "Lumb, I'll plant this dynamite myself. But 
 we can't blow the place up with Zehringer's body in 
 it" 
 
24 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "Certainly not, sir." 
 
 "Will you take a chance, and try to get it out?" 
 
 The First Sergeant turned to his friend, big Ser- 
 geant Marsh, question hi his eyes. Every essay into 
 the open that had thus far been made had drawn the 
 windows' deadly fire. It was a desperate risk to run. 
 
 Marsh assented silently, with the nod that his 
 friends know well. "I'll see you through," it said. 
 
 More or better no man could desire. 
 
 "Order the men well back," said the Captain. 
 "Clear a big ring. One stick of dynamite will bring 
 down a couple of tons of coal in a mine. We don't 
 know what twenty will do here. Have hah* a dozen 
 Troopers cover the windows. When you're ready, 
 we'll make the dash together." 
 
 While the brief debate was on, the clustered 
 Troopers had listened with eager ears. But at the end 
 one among them, Private Lewis Lardin, could bear 
 no more. 
 
 "Top!" he cried, breaking forward, the old Army 
 nickname for all first sergeants coming unheeded from 
 his lips; "oh, Top! Let me take your place. The Troop 
 needs you more than me!" 
 
 Tears were running down the boy's face as he 
 pleaded with all his honest might. His hand clutched 
 his sergeant's sleeve, shaking with the intensity of his 
 prayer. But Lumb, for the reason that his own throat 
 was choked with emotion roused by this unexpected 
 touch, rapped out a gruff reproof. 
 
 "Get back to your place, will you! And stay 
 there." 
 
 "Ready?" asked the Captain sharply. 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 25 
 
 "Ready," answered the friends. 
 
 "Come on!" 
 
 The three stepped out dashed for the citadel. 
 
 The spectators literally dared not breathe as the 
 flying figures crossed the open. Then once again they 
 saw big Sergeant Marsh put his shoulder to the door 
 and drive it in, for the garrison had barred it anew 
 since that last fatal entry. 
 
 Marsh disappeared from sight, Lumb after him, 
 into the hall. Poor Zehringer's body now lay farther 
 down than they had left it, doubled and cramped 
 into the little square of the vestibule, and stiff in the 
 rigor of death. At first it seemed that they never could 
 twist it and work it around and through the door. It 
 was unyielding as marble and impossibly bent. And 
 with every instant they expected volleys of lead to 
 sweep down those stairs. 
 
 At last, with a tremendous pull, Lumb taking the 
 body by the legs, Marsh by the elbows, they wrenched 
 it free into the doorway, and, so carrying it, ran for 
 the power-house with all the speed they could make. 
 
 As they dashed out of the door with their burden, 
 Captain Robinson, who had been waiting outside, 
 dynamite charge in hand, walked into the vestibule 
 they had just quitted, placed his charge, ignited its 
 fuse, and coolly paused in the doorway to light his 
 cigarette with the remaining flame of the match. Then 
 he, too, made for cover. 
 
 With a thick roar, the charge exploded. The build- 
 ing trembled and partly fell. 
 
 Now, hi a rush, the whole detail swept down upon 
 the place, invading every section of it at once. Some 
 
26 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 of the men dashed into the shop that occupied half 
 of the lower story, facing on the farther street. A 
 depot of miners' supplies, it proved to be, filled with 
 barrels and cans of oil, kegs of powder, and various 
 explosives. But not a human being was there. 
 
 Other Troopers ransacked what remained of the 
 housekeeping rooms on this lower floor. Here again 
 was no creature, but here was an indication of the 
 means by which many had escaped during the latter 
 part of the siege. 
 
 As has been said, the house stood on a stone founda- 
 tion some three feet high. Beneath the floor was no 
 cellar, but only an air-space, provided by this base. 
 Out from the air-space, on the side toward the railroad 
 track and the power-house, passed an arched dram, 
 running transversely under the raised railroad bed, 
 to open into a culvert at a point beyond the spot where 
 Henry fell. On the kitchen floor lay an old short- 
 handled axe that had obviously been used to rip up 
 the flooring boards and so to give access to the under- 
 lying air-space and its drain. 
 
 By this means, hi all likelihood, had the two varlets 
 whose heads Trooper Kohut knocked together sprung 
 up before him out of the shadows. And by this means, 
 no doubt, did many another murderer or would-be 
 murderer get away into the black asylum of the 
 storm. 
 
 While the discovery of the tunnel was being made, 
 Sergeant Marsh, followed by other Troopers, had 
 driven a bee-line for the fatal stairs. This time no 
 sheet of flame received them at the top, and though 
 they ransacked the rooms of the second story, they 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 27 
 
 could find but one man there. Half-kneeling still, 
 he crouched by the window just as he had been crouch- 
 ing to fire when death overtook him in the guise of a 
 bullet through his head. But here and in the other 
 chambers were many rules and shotguns and an 
 amount of ammunition that would have sufficed for 
 many men to withstand a siege of days. 
 
 The house had no attic, but between the peak of 
 the roof and the rough board ceiling of the second 
 story ran a triangular air-space. In the ceiling of the 
 hallway, giving access to this air-space, yawned a 
 raw hole of about the size of a man's body, whose fresh 
 edges showed that it had but newly been hacked 
 through the boards. 
 
 With a spring, one young Trooper caught the edges 
 of the hole in his hands and was about to haul himself 
 up to look in, when a heavy jerk on his belt brought 
 him back with a thud. 
 
 > "Young man, that's what that hole was made for 
 for you to stick your head in," said Sergeant Marsh, 
 giving the lad a shake as he cast him loose. "But we '11 
 see what's in that attic, all the same. Casey, come 
 on. Take along the axe." 
 
 Sergeant Marsh and Private Casey, swarming up 
 outside by window-frame and cornice, were busy on 
 the roof chopping through the shingles, when a warn- 
 ing shout and a burst of flame sent them sliding to 
 earth. 
 
 As they landed, an inert weight struck earth beside 
 them. It was the body of the gunman found crouching 
 in the window, thrown down by the Troopers to save 
 it from the fire. 
 
28 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 The house was now untenable for another moment. 
 The men, pouring out, gathered at a safe distance to 
 watch what was to come. 
 
 The dynamite explosion had in some way started 
 a blaze. The blaze flew, sweeping all before it. As it 
 reached the dpot of miners' stores, the whole place 
 went roaring. The roof crashed in, pitching down 
 into the depths of the pile. As it went the bodies of 
 two men, whether dead or alive no one could say, fell 
 out of its sundered air-space and dropped before it 
 into the furnace beneath. 
 
 With the rush and roar of the flames and with the 
 heavy detonations of the high explosives in the shop, 
 came a rapid and fitful rattle of slighter discharges, 
 as store after store of small-arms' ammunition, con- 
 cealed here and there about the house, responded 
 to heat and fire. Thousands of rounds in this way 
 betrayed themselves, and when, as presently befell, 
 the whole structure sank to the ground, a mass of 
 burning embers, the heat striking down into the nether 
 air-space exploded several hundred rounds more. 
 
 First Sergeant Lumb, as the body of the dead gun- 
 man was tossed from the window, had ordered it 
 recovered and brought to a place of safety. Now 
 that there was time, the Troopers stopped to look 
 at it. 
 
 "That's not Walsach!" said Sergeant Logan, with- 
 out enthusiasm. 
 
 "But I'll tell you who it is, though. It's Jim Ta- 
 bone," exclaimed another. 
 
 "Jim Tabone it surely is!" a third and a fourth 
 acquiesced. 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 29 
 
 Jim Tabone was an Italian agitator, who had 
 several times been seized by "D" Troop's hand for 
 carrying concealed deadly weapons and for threats 
 to kill. The courts had fined him soundly for his mis- 
 demeanors, and in consequence he bore a lively grudge 
 against the Force. 
 
 That he had taken his part in the fray with a right 
 good will, no one knowing his past could doubt. That 
 his death had occurred after almost all his mates had 
 fled was to be inferred from his position in the window. 
 For his room would have been wanted by another 
 marksman had his end come earlier in the fray. 
 
 Tabone himself, as a soldier in the Italian Army, 
 had fought in Abyssinia against King Menelik, win- 
 ning there a sharpshooter's medal of which he was 
 very proud. In season and out of season he had aired 
 his hatred of the State Police to all his world. Here 
 in this house, on this wild night, he had without doubt 
 been flaunting his determination to fight them to a 
 bloody end. 
 
 Where could there be a finer field? What more 
 could his mad heart desire? Here was good entrench- 
 ment, here were weapons and ammunition, beyond his 
 utmost need. Here was the enemy deployed before 
 him and sure to stick. 
 
 "I know Jim Tabone," soliloquized Sergeant Marsh, 
 as he stood looking down on the dead man's face. "I 
 know what was in that mind of his, all night long. 
 He said to himself, 'This is my Big Chance. This is 
 my getting-off place. /'// go in state! And he was as 
 happy as a king." 
 
30 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Then the detail jumped to the work of searching 
 the settlement searching every house in which par- 
 ticipants might be lodged. All through the upper 
 section, where the vicious element clustered, they 
 gathered sheaves of men. Under beds, in closets, in 
 coal-holes and wells and attics, they found them and 
 dragged them forth gnashing, hating, shaken with 
 doubts and fears. And every man of them carried 
 hidden arms. 
 
 Meantime First Sergeant Lumb, with a squad of 
 five Troopers, was riding back to Anita at the fork 
 of the roads to the Palace Hotel, to the dubious 
 Pole, to his neighbors who were not dubious at all. 
 With an enveloping swirl they assumed the place, 
 plucked from it those ripe for the plucking and 
 whisked them away to jail. 
 
 Every one of these arrests, whether made at Flor- 
 ence or at the fork of the road, was followed by con- 
 viction on such charges as the evidence justified, in 
 the next term of court. But the public at large waited 
 no verdict of court in determining its own attitude 
 toward the affair. There were sections in that region 
 where scarcely a week had passed, for the last ten 
 years, without the occurrence of murder. And there 
 was no section, anywhere, that did not directly or indi- 
 rectly suffer danger, uneasiness, and harm by the im- 
 pudent thrift of the lawless in the land. 
 
 The event at Florence, by one stroke, acquainted 
 the public with the mettle and character of the new 
 Force, and made every honest man its respectful 
 friend. For the Force itself it performed another serv- 
 ice: It awakened it to a graver and wider view of its 
 
THE HONOR OF THE FORCE 31 
 
 own possibilities, of its future work, and of the ex- 
 treme sacrifice that at any moment might be asked 
 of it. And it knit the brotherhood together by bonds 
 stronger than death. 
 
 The two lives given at Florence were its first blood- 
 offering. Since that day many a Trooper has freely 
 and gallantly laid down his life in the service of the 
 State of Pennsylvania and of the Right. And every 
 man on the Squadron hides behind his straight and 
 quiet gaze in the knowledge that on any hour of any 
 day the same last sacrifice may be asked of him. 
 
 When that hour strikes, he will give not less gal- 
 lantly, not less wholly, than did those who are gone 
 before. 
 
 First Sergeant Lumb, having served with honor 
 through all intermediary steps, is now Deputy Su- 
 perintendent of the Force, with the rank of Captain. 
 He is also a member of the bar of the State. 
 
 Private Homer A. Chambers, "Dick" Cham- 
 bers, as half the State calls him, with scars all over 
 his body, with an eye shot away, and still carrying 
 mementoes within him in the form of balls of lead, 
 now serves as Sergeant Chambers of Troop "A." 
 Countless times since his extraordinary recovery after 
 the Florence fight has he performed valiant service 
 " for the Major." Countless times has he earned the 
 gratitude of all good men. 
 
 Toward those who so barbarously shot him, not an 
 atom of malice remains in his simple heart. 
 
 "What fiends!" exclaimed one listening to the 
 tale. 
 
 "Fiends! Why, no," said Sergeant Chambers, in 
 
32 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 mild expostulation and surprise. "Good fighting ani- 
 malsthat's all!" 
 
 The names of Henry and of Zehringer will never 
 be forgotten in the Squadron. The elder officers who 
 were their friends and comrades still teach their story 
 in lowered voices to succeeding relays of recruits, who 
 learn and ponder the tale until it is as if the two were 
 elder brothers barely lost to sight. 
 
 Henry, a quiet, reserved, and most courageous 
 man, had been a general favorite with the Troop. Zeh- 
 ringer, who was of French extraction, had behind him 
 a fine record of service in the Fourth United States 
 Cavalry and the Sixtieth Coast Artillery. He had 
 served against the Indians, and in Cuba, in Alaska 
 and the Philippines. He had won medals for life- 
 saving, medals for sharpshooting, he was a past- 
 master of horsemanship; but his comrades loved him 
 above all as one who was never so happy as when 
 helping a friend. 
 
 It was big Sergeant Marsh Lieutenant now and 
 pillar of the temple who said just the other day, 
 with the shade of a tremor in his steady voice: 
 
 "The Force owes a lot to those two. As for the 
 action itself, if we had it to handle again, we might 
 handle it differently. But we were young then, all of 
 us, with much to learn. And those two bore our stand- 
 ard that day planted it where it belongs. They 
 taught us to hold the honor of the Force dearer than 
 life. They gave then- own lives to do it, readily and 
 gladly and that's all any man can give!" 
 
n 
 
 "D" TROOP TIDIES UP 
 
 HILLSVILLE, in Lawrence County, is a little 
 old-fashioned country village, very close to the 
 Ohio line. A mile or two from the village lies a great 
 limestone quarry, and this limestone quarry, by the 
 time when this story begins, had already drawn about 
 itself a dependent population of considerable size. 
 
 The quarry workers composing the settlements 
 were Italian, almost all. With the exception of the 
 foremen, scarcely an American was to be found there, 
 and the life that went on, as far as might be, was a 
 life from across the seas. 
 
 A veil of white dust forever covered the place, mak- 
 ing ach roof and ledge and path look as though 
 smothered in ashes. The few trees and shrubs that 
 remained were blighted and hoary. No natural beauty 
 could survive that ghostly pall. Yet the dark-faced 
 multitude lived in contentment at its work, and, 
 ashen and arid though the face it wore, the quarry 
 settlement was prosperous enough. Its people laid up 
 money, lived as well as they cared to live, married 
 comfortably, reared multitudinous children, and of 
 an evening sang and danced and strolled to the tune 
 of their own guitars. All went well. 
 
 Then the serpent crept into the place, plural-headed, 
 in the guise of evil men. And these evil men, by twos 
 and threes but not in cohesion, fell upon the people 
 
34 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 with malice and fury, so that their peace was no 
 more. 
 
 The old life sank away fast. The bandits clutched 
 it by the throat. In place of the old easy rivalry in 
 display of improving fortunes, came a fear to let it be 
 seen that anything better than poverty reigned in the 
 house. Robberies and extortions went on with in- 
 creasing boldness. Resistance was punished by death. 
 
 At first the penalty was inflicted under cover of 
 night. The man or woman who dared refuse a demand 
 for tribute was shot, through the window of the home, 
 and dropped forward across the supper-table, dead, 
 under the evening lamp. Then people lighted no 
 lamp, and spent their evenings behind barred doors, 
 shivering in the dark. 
 
 After that came a worse stage yet, when light or 
 darkness made no odds, when dynamite bombs burst 
 any bars, and when even in broad sunshine men who 
 ventured afield alone were found lying stiff in the 
 highroad with queer holes in then* backs. Then the 
 place named itself "Helltown" and the name, be- 
 ing pertinent, stuck. 
 
 For a tune the people in the old country village of 
 Hillsville native Americans, original holders of the 
 land looked on at all this as no concern of theirs. 
 These strange folk, speaking a strange tongue, think- 
 ing strange thoughts, were sojourners only. They 
 preyed upon each other robbers and robbed, slay- 
 ers and slam. They lived their own separate lives. 
 And eventually they went back across the seas, tak- 
 ing their gains and their ways with them, leaving no 
 mark behind. 
 
D TROOP TIDIES UP 35 
 
 Then, little by little, the sound old Hillsville farm- 
 ers began to reconsider their view. It was true that 
 the quarry settlement, in the life-experience of the 
 average settler, was only a point in a circle starting 
 in Italy, and returning to Italy again. But the in- 
 dividual swinging away to complete his circle was 
 always replaced by the individual who arrived. The 
 field for criminal operation remained intact. The 
 criminal type induced was imaginative, piratical, free. 
 And it was operating unchecked. 
 
 In Italy there was a strong and vigilant police 
 power, exercised over the entire kingdom, rural and 
 urban alike. That, indeed, was the very reason why 
 many of the Italians were here to escape Italian 
 justice. Having come here, they found by bold and 
 bolder experiment that not even the greatest excesses 
 of lawlessness in which they could indulge would evoke 
 any sign of real life on the part of outraged Govern- 
 ment. 
 
 These people were neither stupid nor unambitious. 
 Given, then, their peculiar standards, was it likely 
 that they would long content themselves with such 
 lean picking as they could tweak from each other, 
 when the wealth of whole countrysides lay ready to 
 their hand? 
 
 And what had Hillsville to oppose to their out- 
 reaching? Hillsville, like any other country village, had 
 its constable. And the constable, relic of an ancient 
 Arcadian day when crime was rare, when men were of 
 one blood, and when public opinion brought iron force 
 to back the law the constable was as powerful 
 against Helltown as a reed-bird against a typhoon. . 
 
36 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Something must be done. Helltown was not filled 
 with demons. All but a few of its denizens were quiet, 
 decent folk in their way. And in any case they were 
 entitled to the protection, the execution, of the law 
 of the land. Moreover, Hillsville itself, when it came 
 really to think of it, did not care to await the bite 
 of the stiletto before looking to the safety of its own 
 place in the sun. 
 
 So Hillsville turned and confronted the county: 
 What would the county do? 
 
 First, there was the sheriff; this was a sheriff's job. 
 And, as every experienced person knew, it was ridicu- 
 lous and unjust to expect the sheriff to handle it with 
 the means at his command. Practically all the evi- 
 dence, in any individual instance that he might choose 
 to pursue, would be found to lie in Italian hands. The 
 Italians, having been used, on the one side, to see 
 American law and law officers ignored, having been 
 used, on the other side, to see their own brigands 
 exercise wrath with a sure and deadly stroke the 
 Italians, under such circumstances, could scarcely 
 hesitate. They would refuse to help the impotent 
 American law officers, since to do so was fruitlessly 
 to endanger their own lives. They would refuse to 
 anger the potent criminal who, if only as a matter of 
 business, would make his revenge sure. 
 
 Moreover, if by any off chance a suspect should be 
 singled out for arrest, he had only to slip over the 
 border into another county or across the State line. 
 And then, who was to bear the expenses of the pur- 
 suit? County funds, like county power, are available 
 only within the county. Was it reasonable to expect 
 
D TROOP TIDIES UP 37 
 
 the poor sheriff to pay out of his own pocket for the 
 pleasure of getting himself assassinated later on, by 
 the criminal's friends, while the criminal himself gaily 
 followed his calling in safe contiguous fields? 
 
 As to the District Attorney, he was no whit better 
 off. He had no detective force meet to cope with a 
 task like this. Moreover, in a county largely rural, 
 normally peaceful, and not rich, it would be burden- 
 some beyond reason to impose upon the taxpayers 
 charges for the maintenance of competent county de- 
 tectives whose services, however seriously needed at 
 rare intervals, were in general not needed at all. 
 
 But the District Attorney of Lawrence County, 
 Mr. Young, was an official of calibre. Despite the 
 odds against him he took up the task like a man and 
 went ahead as best he could. That best, owing to the 
 intelligence and to the conscientious hard work that 
 he put into the thing, surpassed all likelihood. But it 
 stopped short of producing evidence sufficient to con- 
 vict, nor by any effort could it attain that point. 
 
 So District Attorney Young having done his level 
 utmost, appealed for help to the State, and the State 
 sent him her own Police. 
 
 "D" Troop furnished the detail; and that detail 
 came guided by the sort of wisdom that men must 
 employ when two hundred and twenty-eight of them 
 handle the troubles of sixty-five counties. 
 
 Here, it reasoned, was an entirely Italian people, 
 Italian of experience and of thought; used, in the 
 country of its birth, to see the Law riding imposingly 
 armed, in the uniform of the King, daily before its 
 eyes; used to Law made visible and dread. This people, 
 
38 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 transported to America, discovered here no outward 
 sign of law at all. Nowhere was there any one wearing 
 Government uniform, and the worst crimes in the 
 category, committed again and again in the broad 
 light of day, failed to tease forth any evidence of the 
 existence of law in the land. Therefore they assumed 
 a perfectly natural and perfectly literal interpre- 
 tation of the well-worn phrase "the Land of the 
 Free." 
 
 Reviewing these facts, the officers of Troop "D" 
 concluded that psychology indicated an open parade 
 of force. Therefore, after a little quiet preliminary 
 work to test and confirm the District Attorney's ob- 
 servations, they decided to despatch the detail di- 
 rectly into Helltown, not secretly, but in the most 
 conspicuous manner possible. 
 
 So, one pleasant summer evening just at the sup- 
 per-hour, when every denizen of the place was at 
 home to see, First Sergeant William Marsh, late Ser- 
 geant of United States Marines, big, handsome, 
 every inch a soldier, and as malleable of mien as a 
 ledge of granite in place, rode straight down the 
 middle of Helltown's main street. He wore the sombre 
 uniform of the State Police, and wore it with that 
 punctilous regard for every button and hook that, 
 in itself, conveys the thought of unity and discipline. 
 His big service revolver hung in his full-filled car- 
 tridge belt, and he sat his horse as though the horse 
 and he were one. 
 
 Behind this awakening figure rode eight others like 
 unto him, except for the chevrons on the sleeve. And 
 all Helltown craned at its windows, crowded to its 
 
HODE STRAIGHT DOWN HELLTOWN's MAIN STREET 
 
D TROOP TIDIES UP 39 
 
 porches, rushed out into the street to follow the course 
 of the cavalcade with stupefied gaze. 
 
 As for the Troopers themselves, they seemed un- 
 aware that Helltown was peopled at all. They carried 
 their eyes straight ahead with impersonal vision fixed 
 down the aisles of time. 
 
 The destination of the detail was an old one-room 
 cabin, well within the settlement and kin to half the 
 buildings in the place. It had stood for some time 
 empty and unused, and nine army cots, a table or 
 two, and a few chairs now constituted its only fur- 
 niture. 
 
 Both in character and in location, this abode had 
 been chosen in order to induce approach by the people 
 of the place. If a man brooding on troubles and wrongs 
 should suddenly muster up courage to air those wrongs 
 to the police, he could slip into this inconspicuous and 
 centrally located cabin under cover of darkness, tell 
 his tale, get advice, and merge away again into the 
 night, leaving no gossip the wiser for his boldness. 
 Whereas, if the detail had been comfortably housed 
 outside the settlement, every man who ventured near 
 it would have been marked by spying eyes. 
 
 This easy accessibility, coupled with the sense of 
 power and the power of the Law that the State uni- 
 form and the soldierly bearing of the Troopers in- 
 duced, soon took its full effect. Helltown itself was 
 bitterly tired of its bondage. A sign of real deliver- 
 ance, of the shadow of a rock to which it might safely 
 fly, was more than welcome to its eyes. After the first 
 period of doubt and self-assuring, its courage grew 
 apace. 
 
40 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 The new Presence induced a gradual return to modes 
 of life that of late had ceased to exist. Finding that 
 the kindly carabinieri would freely give their power- 
 ful services in protection, the people ventured to make 
 fiestas, to celebrate weddings, to do a hundred pleas- 
 ant things dear to their hearts, but from which they 
 had been debarred. And they hated their oppressors 
 with a new courage and a new activity. Victims of 
 criminal tyranny stole night after night to the shack, 
 and one of the detail who speaks all Italian dialects, 
 was kept busy in translating their complaints. 
 
 At last First Sergeant Marsh knew that he had 
 evidence enough in hand to warrant arrests, which, 
 in the code of the Force, means evidence sufficient to 
 convict. Then he suddenly flung his net and drew it 
 sharply in again with twenty-three man-eaters floun- 
 dering helpless in its toils. 
 
 Needless to add, they were indignant man-eaters, 
 and eloquent concerning the farce of American democ- 
 racy. But all of them went to the county jail. 
 
 This work had been accomplished in exactly six 
 weeks and three days. As a prompt result the twenty- 
 three outlaws were tried, convicted, and sent to the 
 penitentiary for terms of from three to ten years; 
 almost a hundred other dubious characters fled from 
 the region; and the quarry settlement comfortably 
 resumed its old character as a peaceful, happy, and 
 prosperous little community. 
 
 Meantime, the wheel of life had been whirring 
 rapidly over all " D " Troop's wide territory. Demands 
 for help of every kind had kept the command jump- 
 ing, and no sooner had Sergeant Marsh cast out the 
 
D TROOP TIDIES UP 41 
 
 devils from Helltown than he must answer the long 
 reiterated and desperate call of the District Attorney 
 of Mercer, the adjoining county. 
 
 The town of South Sharon, in the valley of the 
 Shenango, contained great steel mills in which large 
 numbers of Italians were employed. Out of the Latin 
 population had arisen many men of abler parts who, 
 by one means or another, had amassed little fortunes 
 of from ten to thirty thousand dollars or more. These 
 now continued amply to prosper, whether as fruit- 
 dealers, merchants, vintners, or bankers, and, taken 
 with the solid background of the daily wage-earners 
 behind them, they furnished an ideal public for a Black 
 Hand King. 
 
 Therefore there came a Black Hand King, who, 
 under the misleadingly easy-sounding name of "Mike 
 Portolessi," laid a bloody sceptre along the Shenango 
 Valley. 
 
 Mike Portolessi staged himself with care. He 
 dressed elaborately, and rarely appeared in public 
 except in a frock coat and a silk hat. He wore a great 
 and fierce mustache, which did not conceal the many 
 knife wounds in his face. His bearing, quite correctly, 
 was the bearing of a man of affluence. His manner 
 was extremely smooth and courteous, and he gave the 
 impression of intelligence and of poise. He spent 
 money with a free hand. He was known to be ab- 
 solutely fearless and cool, and although the pistol 
 was his favorite weapon, he was a past-master with 
 the stiletto and had come off victor in many duels 
 fought with that terrible tool. Every Italian in the 
 place not only addressed him, but spoke of him as 
 
42 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "Mr. Portolessi" and every one of them, from the 
 first to the least, swept off his hat as Portolessi passed. 
 
 His supremacy had been established in the simplest 
 way in the world. On his initial appearing in the place 
 Mike had spent a little time in quiet inquiry as to the 
 financial condition of certain members of the Italian 
 colony. Then, one by one, he had sent for a selected 
 number of those whose names stood on his list, and 
 had explained to them his plans. He was come, he 
 said, to represent the Mafia hi the Shenango Valley, 
 and would now proceed in due order to organize the 
 local branch. "You," he would announce to the 
 man of the moment, "will be assessed five hundred 
 dollars membership fee. You will pay it to me, here, 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "But but " the other would flounder. 
 
 "But," Mike would conclude urbanely, "other- 
 wise you will certainly be killed. As representing The 
 Society I shall see to that!" 
 
 Sometimes he made the membership fee only two 
 hundred and fifty dollars, tempering it to the means 
 of the candidate; sometimes he increased it to four 
 times that sum. But in any case the bank of the 
 "local" was his own bottomless pocket, and what 
 went into it never came out except for Mike's per- 
 sonal ends. He kept a little stream trickling back to 
 Italy, to make a golden setting for his latter days. 
 He diverted a runlet to the upkeep of a disseminated 
 harem in the land of his sojourn. The rest he spent 
 on his pet diversion, gambling; or on any flitting 
 pleasure that the moment chanced to suggest. 
 
 Some of the most important members of his " local," 
 
D TROOP TIDIES UP 43 
 
 perhaps two or three, received a small percentage 
 of the levies paid in. These men would be the 
 most forward lieutenants. But those who received no 
 part of the booty labored as hard, for they worked, 
 after all, for their very lives, forfeit to Portolessi at 
 Portolessi's will. 
 
 On several occasions it had been necessary to make 
 the truth of the forfeit clear to the people. Then the 
 doubter had been "invited" to the house of the King, 
 formally slain there, and buried in the cellar, with 
 such ceremony as should make it plain that this was 
 no nervous and hasty deed, but the due and inevitable 
 procedure of The Society. 
 
 The cellar of the King's house thereby became a 
 sort of ritual chamber, endued with spiritual presences 
 that powerfully assisted in the solemnity of the place. 
 When a man was found so incredulous or so self- 
 sufficient and rash as to refuse the tribute demanded, 
 that man was brought into the King's cellar in dead 
 of night. There, in the presence of the leaders and 
 neophytes of the "local," he was shown the graves 
 already occupied. Then a pick and shovel were put 
 into his hand, his length and breadth were marked 
 out on the earthy floor, and he was ordered to dig 
 a grave for himself. 
 
 Upon that, if he still persisted in his defiance, he 
 was duly extinguished and covered down. 
 
 The report of these things spread, through the wire- 
 less of the colony, just as Portolessi designed. And, 
 in spreading, it induced a united and instructed pub- 
 lic spirit that greatly simplified Portolessi's work. 
 Progress along educational lines was particularly 
 
44 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 gratifying to the King, because it relieved him of the 
 crude, ungraceful necessity of violence. Complete un- 
 derstanding was all that was needed, he urged with 
 affable insistence. With complete understanding all 
 cause for unpleasantness would disappear. 
 
 In this way he was able quite peaceably to drop in 
 one morning upon an old half-blind Italian cobbler, 
 who sat in his leather apron among strange smells 
 and heaped-up patches mending a laborer's boot. 
 
 "Buon' giorno, Salvatore," the King was in a 
 midsummer mood, "Salvatore, my friend, do me 
 a favor. Just get your bank book and take a little 
 stroll with me." 
 
 The cobbler knew not what it meant but his 
 wretched heart turned to water and ran away. 
 
 "This boot I promised it to Luigi Tutino, faith- 
 fully, for noon ..." 
 
 "Luigi Tutino will be glad to wait. You will tell 
 him it is my business. Make haste." 
 
 The miserable cobbler did exactly as he was bid. 
 He was a feeble old man. His old wife lay always 
 ailing in her bed. His only child was a charge upon 
 him. This passbook was his best and solitary friend. 
 The sum recorded in it stood for the painful, patient 
 self-denial of many years. His under lip trembled and 
 his hands were wet and cold as he crossed the threshold 
 into the street. 
 
 Chatting in his cheerful style, returning affably the 
 solicitous bow of each Italian on the way, Portolessi 
 led the cobbler straight to his bank. 
 
 "Now, my dear friend," said he, as they two side 
 by side entered the bank door, "you will hand in that 
 
D TROOP TIDIES UP 45 
 
 passbook, and you will say to the cashier that you 
 want to withdraw all your money */ will take my 
 entire balance. 9 So, speak!" 
 
 The cobbler, in his tattered overalls, again obeyed. 
 His face was gray, deathly. His poor old toil- wrenched 
 fingers clung shaking to the little book released 
 it slowly within the grill, as with a lingering last 
 caress. 
 
 The King, in his shining silk hat and his grand 
 frock coat with a scarlet flower in the buttonhole, 
 stood at the window by the cobbler's side, bland, 
 suave, radiating affluence, watching the teller count 
 out the bills. The teller recounted, shoved the sheaf 
 through. 
 
 "Two hundred and sixty-five, exact," said he. 
 
 Portolessi picked up the bills and deftly ran them 
 over again. 
 
 "Two hundred and sixty-five. Right, thank you," 
 he acquiesced in his usual courteous way. "Come 
 now, my dear Salvatore. Sign the receipt. You must 
 get back to Luigi Tutino's boot!" 
 
 He was folding the greenbacks into his own pros- 
 perous purse, as he spoke. And the cobbler would 
 no more have dared, either then or at any later time, 
 to raise the question with him than he would have 
 dared to dispute with the Angel of Death. 
 
 Anna Ruffino, wife of a rich and respectable Italian, 
 unaffiliated with The Society, did dare to refuse the 
 demand of one of the King's messengers, delivered 
 at her own door one August afternoon. The demand 
 was for one hundred dollars in cash, desired for The 
 Society's use. The next afternoon, before the eyes of 
 
46 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 the whole street, Anna Ruffino was shot down in the 
 open highway, while her husband at her side was 
 badly wounded. Such was the comment of the King, 
 delivered by the selfsame messenger. 
 
 Similar incidents happened not once but hundreds 
 of times, and through a chain of years. And then a 
 not unusual thing occurred; a little revolution started 
 in the ranks. 
 
 The plausible face of the affair was a natural out- 
 burst on the part of the victimized Italians against 
 the sleek vampire that so long had feasted on their 
 blood. But the probable underlying truth was that 
 some younger would-be Black Hand King, envious 
 of Portolessi's fat prosperity, plotted his overthrow; 
 and that this aspirant, endowed with superior initia- 
 tive and courage and spurred by his secret ambition, 
 excited and led on the rest. 
 
 They got together secretly, armed themselves with 
 rifles, moved under cover of darkness upon the King's 
 house at an hour when the leaders of the "local" were 
 known to be in conclave there, and opened a cross- 
 fire upon the windows. Well enough they knew how 
 the thing should be done. But, although they killed 
 two adepts and wounded a third, Portolessi himself 
 escaped, getting utterly away into the unknown. 
 
 Then, indeed, terror set in. They had attempted 
 regicide and the King remained free and unscathed. 
 Their punishment loomed sure. No better than dead 
 men were they, one and all. 
 
 But the immediate effect of the affair was to drive 
 the District Attorney of Mercer County to another 
 and more desperate call for help from the State Police. 
 
D TROOP TIDIES UP 47 
 
 It came, by chance, just as Sergeant Marsh, over 
 in Helltown, had swept his twenty-three man-eaters 
 into the Lawrence County jail. It was still his duty to 
 maintain a supporting hand upon the young regenera- 
 tion of the quarry settlement, but as South Sharon 
 was not beyond riding distance away, this could be 
 done while working from a centre in the latter place. 
 So the "D" Troop detail was moved from Helltown 
 to South Sharon, where it took up its quarters in a 
 small hotel. 
 
 The problem here differed from that of the quarry 
 settlement in many ways. South Sharon was a bor- 
 ough of some ten thousand inhabitants. Its Black 
 Hand organization was well defined, and the chronic 
 irritation of that presence had newly induced an acute 
 outbreak, as has been seen. The case was ripe for 
 rapid action, before present heat should be reab- 
 sorbed. 
 
 Sergeant Marsh proceeded first to find an Italian 
 conversant with the inner history of the affair. Not 
 over-innocent himself, this man could not neglect an 
 opportunity to serve the State in what might be the 
 State's hour. From him the Sergeant learned the 
 names of many Italians who had been levied upon by 
 Portolessi and his gang. These, in turn, would now 
 speak to Sergeant Marsh to an officer of the State 
 Police with a confidence impossible toward any 
 other human being in their known world. He came 
 clothed in the bright prestige of success. He, and the 
 officers under him, with the Power back of them, had 
 but just attacked Italian outlaws on their own estab- 
 lished ground, and had triumphantly won. 
 
48 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Everywhere in the Commonwealth, moreover, the 
 new Force was performing like feats was proving 
 with deadly strokes the actual existence of that 
 hitherto hazy and apocryphal concept, the Law of the 
 State. Each fresh news of it went thrilling across the 
 land by that underground telegraphy that reaches 
 beyond the reach of the press. 
 
 Never had the county forces triumphed so. Never 
 would wise men risk their fortunes with the losing 
 side. But here was a man who had made awesomely 
 good, and who looked as if he would do it again. 
 Better make friends with him quickly with him and 
 the great new engine behind him, while yet there was 
 time. 
 
 So they told Sergeant Marsh considerable sections 
 of truth every bit that they dared. 
 
 They had all joined The Society, the Black Hand; 
 that they admitted without hesitation. They had 
 done this because, had they refused, they would have 
 been killed. Not even flight would have saved them, 
 since, for the sake of discipline, The Society would 
 have marked them for extermination and the mark 
 would have insured their murder, somewhere, any- 
 where, before long. 
 
 What benefits had they derived from their member- 
 ship and the heavy fees they paid in? The vital bene- 
 fit of being allowed to live. 
 
 Had they attended meetings of The Society? Yes, 
 when levies were assessed upon them. 
 
 Where had the meetings occurred and whom had 
 they seen there? The meetings had occurred at Porto- 
 lessi's house, and they had seen there, besides the 
 
D TROOP TIDIES UP 49 
 
 King himself, many of the principal Italian business 
 men of the city of South Sharon. 
 
 These latter, being arrested, admitted their Black 
 Hand membership, and advanced the same reason or 
 excuse as that advanced by the smaller fry. They 
 had been threatened and terrorized by Mike Porto- 
 lessi. 
 
 Had they shared in the booty? Well they would 
 rather say that they had helped the King to terrorize 
 and to levy upon the rest because their lives were 
 forfeit to him should they dare to refuse. Men who 
 refused died always, violently and soon. 
 
 Whose hand had done the killing? Ah! That they 
 could not say. 
 
 Meanwhile the trap was set for the King. It was 
 a complicated trap, with many ramifications, the 
 better to snare him, wherever he might be. At last 
 it snapped its jaws, with Mike Portolessi fast be- 
 tween them. The Chief of Police of Niagara Falls 
 performed the actual arrest, and the fact that the 
 King had sought congenial asylum in this New York 
 town served to show once again the spread and the 
 interlocking cooperation of the Mafia system back 
 and forth across the States. 
 
 At the trial Portolessi, like his lieutenants, freely 
 admitted his membership and activities in the Black 
 Hand organization. The origin of the graves in the 
 cellar and the ghastly rites performed about them 
 were all testified to upon oath. Even the books, pa- 
 pers, and accounts of the "local," as kept in regular 
 business form, were produced in evidence. But the 
 one point as to whose hand actually committed the 
 
50 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 murders done in ceremony that one point evaded 
 discovery to the end. In all likelihood it was the hand 
 of the King himself. In all likelihood he caused the 
 company to cover their eyes when the blow was struck, 
 so that all they actually saw, after an interval of 
 eclipsed vision, was the dead man at their feet. It 
 seemed really doubtful if any but the King himself 
 could testify of exact personal knowledge as to the 
 executioner. 
 
 So Mike Portolessi, with his soft and supple gam- 
 bler's hands, his pleasant manners and the red flower 
 in his buttonhole, went off to prison for ten years 
 not a long service for the crimes he had done, not a 
 long respite for the people his prey, but as long a term 
 as the law would permit. Of the nine men arrested 
 with him, each was duly convicted of confederacy 
 in his felonies, on the evidence gathered by the State 
 Police. The work in this case was accomplished in 
 about a month's time. 
 
 As is uniformly the fact during such protracted 
 tours of special duty, the Troopers found many and 
 varied opportunities for usefulness to a widespread 
 people cropping up casually on then* daily path. They 
 seized these opportunities in a way to ally to the 
 Force every good citizen. 
 
 But some citizens of that countryside were very 
 far from good. Seeing the able procedure that was 
 bringing the Portolessi affair so rapidly forward, the 
 delighted District Attorney one day told Sergeant 
 Marsh of an evil house that had long been a bane in 
 his district, but which he had hitherto found himself 
 powerless to touch. 
 
D TROOP TIDIES UP 51 
 
 "Will you undertake it?" asked the District At- 
 torney. 
 
 "If you request it, I will," the Sergeant replied. 
 
 He raided the place and released all the inmates, 
 poor wrecks of humanity now in every need of care. 
 The proprietor he discovered to be a Russian Jew, 
 owner of several other such infernos, one of which was 
 in Youngstown, Ohio. In Youngstown the Sergeant 
 found the man himself, presiding over a gambling- 
 house also his property. Safe in the knowledge that 
 under the Ohio law his crime was not an extraditable 
 offense, this miserable creature rather welcomed an 
 opportunity to glorify his own deeds. The girls in his 
 Pennsylvanian house, he explained, he had imported 
 from Hungary, through a Hungarian tool of his, whose 
 method was to write back to his native town offering 
 to families of his acquaintance work for their girls 
 in America. Speaking no English, trusting their coun- 
 tryman, the girls would come. At New York the tool 
 would meet them, and bring them to their fate. Cer- 
 tain officials and, with many chuckles, the Jew 
 named the officials had been glad to protect him in 
 this industry, "for a consiteration, my frient, for a 
 leetle consiteration, ha, ha!" 
 
 He would not cross the border to testify, wily rat 
 that he was, and the accused officials went free. But 
 they had had a fright, at least; their trade was broken 
 up; and, best of all, perhaps, the District Attorney 
 had found that he himself was no longer helpless to do 
 his duty because the State would do her duty by 
 him with a strong hand. 
 
 On the day on which this incident was closed, 
 
52 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Sergeant Marsh rode over to Mercer, the county 
 town, to report. 
 
 * * There 's another such place in my bailiwick same 
 kind of a den, and a real curse to the land," the Dis- 
 trict Attorney was saying, as the two finished their 
 talk. "You know, the people of this county are in 
 general an estimable class quiet, industrious, re- 
 ligious, good, honest farmer stock. To have one of 
 these pest-holes planted right down among them is 
 an awful thing for them. And here, in this village I 'm 
 telling you about, the beast is ! 
 
 "Why, I'd hate to have to count the number of 
 complaints I've received about it, mostly from the 
 neighbors, near or far. Men making for that place, 
 and often under the influence of liquor, mistake every 
 house within a couple of miles' radius for the hole 
 they're looking for, and try to get in. There's one 
 fine old lady who lives in that vicinity, with a family 
 of daughters, running her deceased husband's farm. 
 She has come all the way in here to my office, again 
 and again, to tell me about her frights, and about 
 the insults and dangers that have been thrust upon 
 her daughters by men, drunk or sober, mistaking her 
 house. I 've been particularly sorry for her but I 
 ask you, what could I do? 
 
 "It has been simply impossible for me to get that 
 place raided. I can't get it done. But the way you 
 State Police are coming on gives me a new view of 
 my own situation. You can't be intimidated by local 
 conditions, you can't be bought or scared, and you 
 don't mean extra expense. So much is plain. Now, 
 would you raid that rats' nest for me and lift the 
 scandal off my head?" 
 
D TROOP TIDIES UP 53 
 
 "Bless you, yes!" said the big Sergeant. "Why, 
 I'll go round and do it on my way home to-night." 
 
 Reaching for the telephone, he called up his own 
 headquarters and gave the Trooper on duty orders 
 to send two others in civilian dress to the den in ques- 
 tion. Upon their arrival there, he concluded, they 
 would report, by telephone, to him, the Sergeant, at 
 the village hotel. 
 
 Then he wished the District Attorney good-night, 
 and, accompanied by the one Trooper with whom he 
 had entered Mercer an hour or two before, started 
 off to ride to the scene of his interlude. 
 
 "Good luck to you!" the District Attorney called 
 after him. "If you succeed I shall be a happy man 
 to-night!" 
 
 Sergeant Marsh and his companion, both in uni- 
 form, rode up to the village hotel in the early evening, 
 dismounted, and went in to supper like any one else. 
 Shortly after the meal, as they sat on the veranda 
 smoking, a telephone call came for Sergeant Marsh. 
 
 "Everything's in hand here, Sergeant, and all the 
 inmates secured." It was the senior Trooper of the 
 pair ordered out, reporting according to orders. 
 
 "Very well, I'll be there directly," the Sergeant 
 rejoined. 
 
 A few moments later he was running up the steps 
 of the dwelling of the Chief of Police. 
 
 "I am Sergeant Marsh, of the Pennsylvania State 
 Police Force," he explained, looking very soldierly 
 and formidable under the light of the Chief's parlor 
 lamp. "I would like to borrow your patrol- wagon, 
 Chief." 
 
54 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "You can have it, certainly. Glad to oblige you," 
 rejoined the other, all liberal affability. "And might 
 I ask what you want it for? " 
 
 "I'm raiding a disorderly house." 
 
 In a flash the Chief's manner changed. Greatly ex- 
 cited and flurried, he stammered: 
 
 "I I think I '11 have to consult the Burgess about 
 that wagon ... I ... Just wait a moment, can you, 
 please?" 
 
 He rushed to the telephone in another room. The 
 number that he gave was the number of the disor- 
 derly house. The senior Trooper answered the call 
 in a guarded, de-individualized voice. 
 
 "Say! This is the Chief of Police talking," ran the 
 words that came back t6 him; "you will have to get 
 out of there get everybody out of there right 
 away. Quick!" i 
 
 "All right! All right! We'll attend to it. Good- 
 bye!" 
 
 Back came the Chief, perspiring and nervous, but 
 satisfied. 
 
 "It's all right. Sorry to have kept you waiting. 
 The Burgess says you're welcome to the patrol 
 wagon." 
 
 "I am much obliged," said the big Sergeant de- 
 liberately. 
 
 "You'd better hurry up!" urged the Chief, anxious 
 to seem businesslike, now that the game was saved. 
 
 "Oh, no," dissented the officer coolly. "There's no 
 need of any hurry. The place was raided before I 
 spoke to you. My men are in possession now. No- 
 body is going to get away." 
 
D TROOP TIDIES UP 55 
 
 Nobody did get away. 
 
 Like the people in Hillsville and in poor little Hell- 
 town, like the people in Sharon and in all the county 
 of Lawrence and of Mercer, the decent people of this 
 sorely tried village were made glad at heart. 
 
 And so, when the Helltown blackguards were 
 convicted, sentenced and away, when Portolessi and 
 his lieutenants had received their reward, while a 
 motley multitude of other plagues had been rooted 
 out in passing, First Sergeant Marsh and his detail 
 rode on to other fields. 
 
 "Will you come back and help us the next time 
 we're up against it?" some one shouted, out of the 
 crowd that saw them off. 
 
 Said the Sergeant, from the saddle, "That's what 
 we 're for!" 
 
m 
 
 BABE 
 
 T) ABE is Corporal Metcalf's horse. But when, 
 U knowing the circumstances, you phrase it that 
 way, the words strike your ear as misleading. Babe is 
 a horse only in the sense that your own precious first- 
 born, lying in your arms, is a primate mammal 
 you cannot deny the fact, nevertheless its assertion 
 is ridiculous. 
 
 Babe, if you ask Corporal Metcalf, is the finest 
 horse in the Squadron. And Corporal Metcalf, as 
 Troop farrier for twelve years, as Regular Army far- 
 rier before that time, and as graduate of the Mounted 
 Service School at Fort Riley, ought to know. But 
 there are two hundred and thirty-one other horses in 
 the Squadron, not one of whom, if his master were 
 by, you could comfortably assign to second place. So 
 it is better not to begin on comparisons. 
 
 Babe, then, in Corporal Metcalf's eyes, is the dear- 
 est thing in the world. And in that, if you knew all 
 the Corporal knows, you would gladly understand 
 him. 
 
 The points are all there, of course. So much goes 
 without saying. And, equally of course, anything and 
 everything that human skill and care can do for the 
 comfort, health, and beauty of a horse, Corporal Met- 
 calf does for Babe, with tireless devotion. But, beyond 
 all that, he has loved Babe's very soul up out of that 
 
BABE 57 
 
 pit where all souls lie asleep till some love so awakens 
 them; which in itself makes a deathless bond that 
 binds the roots of loyalty. 
 
 Babe and the Corporal do not take the open road 
 together quite as much as they would like, for the 
 reason that the Corporal is largely busy in his shop 
 to what purpose is best proved by the beautiful con- 
 dition of all of "B" Troop's horses. But now and 
 again comes a stretch of work that gives these two 
 their fling in the world, hand in hand with happiness. 
 
 Such a stretch was on in the spring of 1916, when 
 conditions of disorder distracted Luzerne and Lacka- 
 wanna Counties, when the entire Troop was busy, 
 the round of the clock, in maintaining peace and pre- 
 venting bloodshed. The Corporal, to be sure, had all 
 his ordinary work to carry, and more also; but, with 
 every Trooper working twenty hours a day, and liable 
 to call for emergency duty in the remaining four, he 
 could count on his turn in the field with reasonable 
 certainty. 
 
 So came the 26th of March a balmy Sunday 
 afternoon, when the air was gay with the scent of 
 spring, when a big blue sky full of sunshine and float- 
 ing fleece smiled down on the broad blue river, while 
 the river, twinkling back again, sang a new song to the 
 sky and the world. 
 
 All the people in Wilkes-Barre, all the people in the 
 districts outlying, had been charmed into the open by 
 the heavenly magic of the day. In the town hummed 
 a ceaseless rumbling roar, low and heavy the sound 
 of motor- wheels on the bridges, as the crowds streamed 
 out and in. Beyond, each road teemed with traffic. 
 
58 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Every person who owned a car, or who could borrow 
 or hire a thing that resembled one, had produced the 
 vehicle, filled it at least to capacity with his family 
 to the third and fourth generation, with his friends, 
 with his slightest acquaintances, and had voyaged 
 abroad to view the earth. There seemed no end to 
 them, nor any beginning either. From numbers alone 
 they presented a traffic problem. And at this par- 
 ticular time a time of disorder, of ferment, of ab- 
 normal idleness among the masses, that problem was 
 complicated by an always attendant phenomenon 
 the excessive percentage of more or less drunken 
 drivers bringing to naught the best cares of the sober 
 rest. 
 
 Within city limits the city police were struggling 
 with the situation. Beyond that circle the State Police 
 handled the work. And, to their common delight, 
 Corporal Metcalf and Babe, on this perfect afternoon, 
 had been assigned to service. 
 
 They were detailed to traffic duty and general patrol 
 in Midvale, adjoining Wilkes-Barre, where the main 
 highway, emerging from the city, skirts the edge of a 
 steep embankment. At the bottom of the embankment 
 run the tracks of the Lehigh Valley Railroad. And it 
 is well, in using the highway into Midvale, to remem- 
 ber that pitching down lofty embankments hurts. 
 
 Corporal Metcalf and Babe had been busy for half 
 the afternoon persuading the general public to safety 
 and order. And the general public still flowed on, like 
 the waves in the sea, ever self -replacing, ever stranger 
 to law. It was steady, sharp, lively work, this curbing 
 the holiday world, and Babe and his Corporal had 
 
BABE 59 
 
 needed all their eyes, all their skill and alertness to 
 manage it; which was why it was fun. 
 
 Now they were pacing at the cityward end of their 
 beat, looking in upon the concentrated mass. 
 
 " We can show 'em, Babe, can't we?" whispered the 
 Corporal, stroking the silky neck, color and gloss of a 
 chestnut just out of its burr. Babe put one small ear 
 back to listen, then arched his neck a little higher, to 
 show that he understood. And just at that moment 
 something happened. 
 
 About six hundred yards ahead, and within the 
 city limits, lay the entrance to a cemetery. A funeral 
 had been in progress within, and now the carriages 
 were emerging on their homeward road. One by one, 
 decent and dingy, they jogged out, turned this way 
 or that as they passed through the gate, and joined 
 the general flood; until suddenly, heralded by a broken 
 chorus of screams and shouts, surrounded by futile 
 commotion, appeared the last of the cortege, a great, 
 old-fashioned hack, moving not at a decorous funeral 
 pace, but at full gallop. 
 
 As it cleared the cemetery gate, the team whirled, 
 turned to the left, away from the city, and broke into 
 a dead run. At that the driver, who had been standing 
 in his box, flung down his reins and jumped. 
 
 The runaway team came thundering on. As it ap- 
 proached the city line the natural trend of the traffic 
 forced it to the extreme right, to the sheer and peril- 
 ous edge of the embankment. And on the very line 
 itself, where their field began, the Corporal and Babe 
 hung ready. 
 
 They had headed, of course, in the direction in 
 
60 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 which the team was travelling; they held to the far 
 right to the outer edge of the road; and, as the 
 runaway neared, Corporal Metcalf snatched one 
 glance at the windows of the coach. Faces, faces, all 
 the faces there was room for a man, an old woman, 
 four younger women, a little girl all blanched and 
 distorted with terror and the man madly and 
 vainly struggling to open the door. 
 
 Corporal Metcalf seized the off horse's bridle. 
 
 Now, Babe knew as well as his master, every whit, 
 the work cut out for the two of them that day. While 
 the Corporal kept his steady restraining pull on the 
 runaway's mouth, shoving the while away and away 
 from the abyss, Babe, stretched out to a run, still 
 shoved away and away, bearing his shining shoulder 
 against the rusty black withers of the maddened 
 beast. 
 
 But the team had acquired a terrible headway. 
 And it was crazed. Meantime the slightest veer 
 would send it crashing over the brink, dragging the 
 coach and its helpless prisoners after. 
 
 The prisoners screamed, shrieked, implored. The 
 people in the crowded road screamed, shrieked, and 
 shouted. The poor, frightened runaways, surrounded 
 by Bedlam, could have no thought but flight. The 
 sheer embankment waited with its railway down 
 below. And between all this and death flew Babe and 
 Corporal Metcalf those two. 
 
 Babe was travelling on twelve inches of free ground, 
 now, no more. And of that the outer quarter crum- 
 bled. As they passed each successive telegraph pole, 
 the Corporal had to snatch his foot out of the stirrup 
 
BABE 61 
 
 lest his right leg be smashed in the sweeping impact. 
 Always the drive of the team was toward the brink; 
 always the Corporal's grip, dragging at the bridle, at 
 the same time shoved inward; and always Babe, 
 stretched to the run, sure-footed as an antelope, his 
 delicate nostrils blown wide with excitement, drove 
 his silky shoulder in and in against the shoulder of 
 the fear-crazed runaway. 
 
 At last grip and pressure began to tell. The off 
 horse began to understand. "They're coming, Babe! 
 Keep it up!" whispered the Corporal and again 
 the little ears turned to catch the words. 
 
 But then swooped calamity out of the blue. As 
 the off horse yielded, the other, pulling forward still 
 unchecked, snapped a trace. With that it forged 
 ahead, and, in its effort to escape the oncoming traf- 
 fic, must in another moment have dragged its mate, 
 coach and all, over the bank. 
 
 For the fraction of an instant, while his hand flew 
 to his holster, the Corporal considered shooting that 
 nigh horse. But with the very thought came its 
 answer : 
 
 "That would pile the whole thing up in a wreck." 
 
 Meantime the people in the coach, seeing all, yet 
 helpless, raved in their terror. 
 
 "Save us! Save us!" they screamed. "Help us! 
 Save us!" and clutched with their hands at the 
 empty air. 
 
 The whole highway screamed, jammed, swore, 
 shouted, would have stampeded, but that, literally, 
 there was no place to go. 
 
 But Babe and Corporal Metcalf heard none of this 
 
62 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 emptiness. Their mind was on the job. A touch had 
 given Babe his cue. As the Corporal released the off 
 horse's head, Babe slowed up just a trifle, let the 
 hack reel by, and then with a spurt shot forward on 
 the inside, till the Corporal could seize the nigh run- 
 away's bridle. 
 
 Now for a fight for the lives of the multitude, a fight 
 against wholesale slaughter. 
 
 Down the long road ahead wound a thick, black 
 stream of traffic. Wagons, buggies, surreys, motors 
 of every size and kind, all packed with humanity, 
 with men, women, and children, following each 
 other, paralleling each other, with scarce a wagon's 
 length between at best. On one side, the sheer em- 
 bankment, with the railroad track below. On the 
 other, no egress. Charging into the heart of it all 
 rushed the big ark of a hack, with its helpless freight, 
 dragged by the crazy pair. And to save the day 
 bloodless, if perchance it could be saved, just Cor- 
 poral Metcalf and little Babe those two. 
 
 Corporal Metcalf 's hand, instinct with knowledge 
 and reassurance, steady in grip and pull, kept the nigh 
 runaway's bridle. Babe, holding the pace, was doing 
 his part with a will. But the crowd ahead behaved, 
 crowd-like, insanely. Instead of clearing a lane for 
 the bolt to shoot through, each driver thought for 
 himself alone and thought wrong. Darting hither 
 and yon as they guessed the team would veer, they 
 left no fair space anywhere, so that Corporal Met- 
 calf, lying along Babe's neck, must throw all his 
 strength, as Babe threw all his weight, to guide their 
 death-fraught projectile in and out the rapidly twist- 
 
BABE 63 
 
 ing course thrust upon them. Uncountable times, by 
 the barest hand's breadth, they saved some ghastly 
 impact. Uncountable times, by supreme exertion, 
 they steered their big convoy just clear of the teeth 
 of death. Uncountable times they themselves escaped 
 as by a miracle from being torn to pieces or ground 
 to pulp. 
 
 And always before them spread the river of faces 
 white, wide-eyed faces, panic-possessed, scream- 
 ing, screaming. 
 
 Now on the left, amidst a mass of smaller vehi- 
 cles, approached a great, slow-moving motor dray, 
 while, nearly abreast of it, filling the other side of the 
 road, a bus full of holiday-makers lumbered along in 
 the opposite direction. Corporal Metcalf, seeing the 
 two, knew that he must find a way between. He set 
 his teeth, threw his ultimate reserve of steady power 
 into his grip, and, by the narrowest nicety, just suc- 
 ceeded in guiding his team along the tortuous lane of 
 safety. 
 
 Then, with the next plunge their forefeet struck 
 out a new sound, ringing hollow on the floor of a high 
 viaduct. But their late manoeuvre had thrown them 
 to the wrong side of the road to the extreme left, 
 toward the viaduct parapet. And now, directly before 
 them, not twenty feet ahead, hugging the parapet, 
 came a great, open touring-car full of women. Two 
 had fainted, two stood up, preparing in their fright to 
 jump over the wall into the depths beneath. The rest 
 clutched the sides of their car, shrieking. 
 
 "Sit down! Sit still!" shouted Corporal Metcalf. 
 1 And then Heaven knows how they did it! he 
 
64 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 and Babe together turned that engine of ruin away 
 from those women, although the curve bent so grimly 
 sharp that the lamps of the car were swept off as they 
 sped, and although again the Corporal, to save him- 
 self alive, was obliged to ride in one stirrup. 
 
 But the last ounce of strain unhorsed him, victo- 
 rious though he was dragged him to earth. And 
 still the runaways thundered on, with the Trooper 
 hanging at their bridles. 
 
 Babe was out of it now lost gone. The man 
 swinging at the heads of the frantic pair was alone 
 in his desperate struggle. The faces in the coach win- 
 dow were terrible to see. On and on swept the team. 
 The Corporal's feet scarcely touched the earth. Yet 
 he knew they were feeling him knew he was gaining 
 on them. They slackened slackened slackened 
 at last they stopped. 
 
 Then a score of men rushed for their heads. Then 
 some one tore open the door of the coach, whose lock 
 had stuck fast. Then Richard Powell, of the Mine 
 Workers' Union, his wife, his daughters, and their 
 grandmother, seven persons in all, came tottering 
 down from the coach to give thanks for their miracu- 
 lous deliverance to grasp the Corporal's hand. 
 
 The Corporal, too, rejoiced, and from the bottom 
 of his heart, that these people stood alive and whole. 
 But from their thanks he turned aside, a little em- 
 barrassed. Seven lives, on seven other occasions, he 
 had saved through risk as great from death as immi- 
 nent. But that had been merely his duty as he saw it. 
 
 And the rescued had seen it, also, as merely his 
 duty, no more. Corporal Metcalf was not used to 
 
THRUST HIS SOFT NOSE OVER CORPORAL METCALF'S 
 SHOULDER 
 
BABE 65 
 
 being thanked. Besides, that remained which touched 
 him far closer. 
 
 "Babe!" he called softly. "Where are you?" 
 Then Babe, who, after their parting, had travelled 
 each step of the way hard on the flank of the run- 
 aways, pushed through pushed close, and, with the 
 breath of a whinny, thrust his soft nose over Corporal 
 Metcalf s shoulder. 
 
IV 
 
 BIG MINE RUN 
 
 BIG MINE RUN is nothing but a mining patch 
 a grimy nubbin of ugly shacks excrescent upon 
 the soil of Schuylkill County some two miles out of 
 Ashland. The population of the place, almost en- 
 tirely Italian, comprises about five hundred persons 
 coal miners and their families, storekeepers of 
 sorts, and a sprinkling of those less obviously em- 
 ployed who commonly grace such communities. 
 
 Toward five o'clock, on the afternoon of Sunday, 
 January 30, 1916, as the Ashland trolley neared 
 Woodland Park, on the skirts of Big Mine Run, a 
 passenger on the front platform noticed a hat lying 
 by the track. 
 
 "That hat looks new," said he to the motorman. 
 "Somebody's lost it. Let's stop and pick it up." 
 
 The motorman good-naturedly halted. Then, a 
 few yards farther on, they saw a man prostrate on 
 the road, face downward. 
 
 "Bah! Nothing but a drunk!" growled the motor- 
 man. "Well, we may as well give him his hat, any- 
 way, now we're at it." 
 
 So the two walked over to the spot, and the enter- 
 prising passenger laid his hand upon the sleeper's 
 shoulder. With an exclamation, he snatched that hand 
 back. It was wet with blood. The man was stone dead, 
 although the warmth had not yet left his body. 
 
BIG MINE RUN 67 
 
 Later, a deputy coroner in the neighboring town 
 of Girardville telephoned "C" Troop Barracks that 
 "an unknown Italian had been found dead, from 
 wounds caused by revolver bullets, on the road near 
 Big Mine Run at Woodland Park." 
 
 The Captain of "C" Troop, Pennsylvania State 
 Police, is a young man of marked characteristics. 
 Among these characteristics are a passionate devo- 
 tion to the ideals of the Force and to the leader that 
 conceived and inspires them, a deep sense of justice, 
 loyalty, and responsibility, and a power to elicit from 
 good men full return for the confidence he puts in 
 them. His command has a single pride the honor 
 of the Force; and a single ambition to add to it. 
 And down in the bottom of its heart hides a fixed 
 idea that "C" Troop is and must remain, even 
 though only by a bit's-length, the best Troop in the 
 Squadron. 
 
 So, when Captain Wilhelm detailed Sergeant Har- 
 vey J. Smith and Private Buono to proceed at once 
 to Girardville and take up the case, he knew the ulti- 
 mate results to be expected. 
 
 Arriving at Girardville, the two officers examined 
 the body that of an Italian perhaps twenty-eight 
 years old, well-built, slender, with a great shock of 
 black hair tumbling over his closed eyelids. His 
 wounds four bullet wounds indicated that his 
 back had been turned squarely upon his assailant or 
 assailants when the shots were fired. Three bullets 
 had penetrated his body. The fourth had shattered 
 the elbow of his right arm. 
 
 Near the victim, as he lay in the road, had been 
 
68 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 found a 32-calibre Colt's automatic revolver, loaded. 
 This revolver had not been fired recently, and its 
 safety was caught, indicating that when the man 
 snatched out his gun to protect himself he had not 
 been able to release the trigger. In his belt was a scab- 
 bard holding a dagger with a ten-inch blade. An 
 examination of his pockets produced a watch, five 
 dollars in cash, nine loaded revolver-cases fitting the 
 weapon found near the body, and the unused parts 
 of two railway tickets punched at the Pennsylvania 
 Railroad Station at Johnstown, Pennsylvania, on 
 January 28, 1916. 
 
 The tickets read for passage on that railroad from 
 Johnstown to Mount Carmel, and thence to Shenan- 
 doah, by way of Centralia on the Lehigh Valley Road. 
 
 The man was about five feet and seven inches tall, 
 weighed one hundred and forty-five pounds, and was 
 comfortably dressed. Thus far no one had identified 
 him. 
 
 The two Troopers opened their search at the settle- 
 ment nearest the scene of the crime. Here inquiry 
 among the people drew out the information that Rosa 
 Borrusco, storekeeper, in whose house some ten 
 Italians lodged, had but just taken into her family a 
 strange Italian with a young wife. As the Troopers 
 jumped off the trolley before Rosa Borrusco's shack, 
 a very young woman with a baby in her arms, who 
 stood hanging over the front gate, gave them one 
 long terror-stricken look, then started to run as 
 though afraid of bodily harm. 
 
 Overtaking her, the Sergeant asked a few ques- 
 tions, to which she returned little or no reply. Then 
 
BIG MINE RUN 69 
 
 he showed her the half-used railway tickets, found 
 in the dead stranger's pockets. 
 
 "Where is my man?" demanded the girl, suddenly 
 vehement. 
 
 The Sergeant described to her the dead man, his 
 clothing and appearance. 
 
 "That," said she simply, "is Giuseppe Pangollo, 
 my husband." 
 
 Meantime Private Buono, delving rapidly, had 
 unearthed the fact that one of the few Americans in 
 the place could offer testimony perhaps related to 
 the shooting. 
 
 This man lived in the hollow of the hill, just below 
 Woodland Park. On Sunday afternoon, being, as he 
 now remarked, in a state of intoxication, he had sat 
 for some hours at his bedroom window, patiently gaz- 
 ing out upon the world until such time as the use of 
 his legs should return to him. 
 
 So situated, he took idle note of three Italians, stand- 
 ing under the shed of the Woodland Park trolley sta- 
 tion, and of a fourth loitering by the tool-box across 
 the road. Then his attention wavily eclipsed, but was 
 later revived by five revolver shots fired at close hand. 
 Now from his window he saw three Italians running up 
 through the Park, the last of whom turned as he ran 
 and fired another shot in the direction of the road he 
 had just quitted. 
 
 The observer could not describe the Italians, how- 
 ever, did not see the object of the fire, nor had he in 
 any way attempted to discover the fruit of the fracas. 
 
 "Drunk as I was at the toime, sor, 't is lucky ye 
 ar-re to recover as much as ye do from me!" he 
 
70 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 observed to the questioning officer with some indig- 
 nation. And the officer fully agreed with him. 
 
 While Buono was plucking this straw, Sergeant 
 Smith had taken into custody Rosa Borrusco and all 
 the inmates of her boarding-house. With a single 
 exception, all denied knowledge of the dead man and 
 of his wife. The exception was a young man called 
 Domenico Niccolo. 
 
 Niccolo spoke out with a degree of freedom. In 
 the year 1913, he said, he had worked in a coal mine 
 in Lowe, West Virginia. During that time he had 
 boarded with the parents of Maria Mariano, the young 
 girl with the baby in her arms, who said she was the 
 wife of the man that was killed. Giuseppe Pangollo, 
 sometimes known as Joe Valero, had been Niccolo's 
 fellow-boarder in the Mariano house. He, Niccolo, 
 had recently been surprised by receiving a letter from 
 Maria inquiring as to opportunities for work in the Big 
 Mine Run region, and stating that she and an un- 
 named husband considered coming there to live. On 
 Saturday, the day before the shooting, Maria had ap- 
 peared in Big Mine Run, in company with Pangollo, 
 whom, she alleged, she had met while on a visit to 
 Italy eighteen months ago and had married there. 
 
 All the Italians of Rosa Borrusco's flock now cho- 
 rused that they did not believe the story of the visit to 
 Italy, nor that the two had been married at all ; add- 
 ing that they had seen Pangollo talking with some ut- 
 terly strange men on Sunday afternoon; that after- 
 ward, leaving Maria here in the house, he went away 
 with the strangers; and that they never saw him again 
 alive. 
 
BIG MINE RUN 71 
 
 Investigation of Maria's room showed no luggage 
 except a single suit-case. 
 
 "Where is your trunk?" asked the Sergeant. 
 
 "I think," said Maria, "at the railroad station." 
 
 No railway station at any neighboring point, as 
 was now proved, held any freight addressed to Pan- 
 gollo. But the express office at Ashland held a trunk, 
 a bed, and a mattress, shipped from Tony Delmeri, 
 Johnstown, Pennsylvania, to Domenico Niccolo in Big 
 Mine Run. 
 
 These goods Maria identified as her own; neverthe- 
 less, she steadily refused to release and receive them. 
 Then she despatched a telegram to an Italian in 
 Johnstown asking him to send money for the burial 
 of her husband. 
 
 "Maybe he send a little," she said to the others. 
 "I have no money, I have nowhere to go. My man 
 is dead. My father has closed his door. I have no- 
 where to go with my baby." 
 
 "You could stay here," said they, "for a while. 
 The padrona asks no money the first days." 
 
 So she lingered. 
 
 The discovery that the luggage of the Pangollos 
 was addressed to Niccolo evidently burst upon the 
 latter as a complete and unpleasant surprise. Niccolo 
 saw himself compromised in a situation that might 
 easily be serious. He hastened to disclaim all sym- 
 pathy with the affair. 
 
 Pangollo, he affirmed, must be a crook. Evidently 
 he was fleeing from some one's vengeance. Else why 
 did he elaborately buy railway tickets from Johns- 
 town all the way to Shenandoah, a point beyond his 
 
72 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 actual destination, and then sneak off the train far 
 on the hither side, to complete the trip by trolley 
 stages, as he had done? Maria knew the exact route 
 to Big Mine Run. He, Niccolo, had carefully written 
 it out for her. Then why had they conceived the de- 
 vious course, unless it were to throw some pursuer 
 off the track? 
 
 But Maria, as to all this, knew nothing nothing. 
 Only, she repeated, she could never go home to her 
 parents again. Forbidden. Impossible. And Maria 
 was singularly calm. Also, she was beautiful. 
 
 That night the State Police officers were permitted 
 to examine the trunk in the express office. It con- 
 tained clothing, a few dishes, a 30-30-calibre repeat- 
 ing rifle of foreign make, and a number of photographs 
 of the murdered man. 
 
 "What you'd call a desperately handsome fellow," 
 observed the Sergeant, studying the face by the light 
 of the telegrapher's drop-lamp "and liked being 
 photographed, of course." 
 
 Each card showed a young Sicilian, of fine physique, 
 with a great shock of black hair and big dark eyes. 
 But on one particular card this striking figure made 
 the centre of a group of thirteen men, ranged along 
 the veranda of a house. On the house door, behind 
 the group, showed the figures "60." On the back of 
 the card stood the name of the photographer, and 
 his address "Lowe, West Virginia." 
 
 "I believe," wrote Sergeant Smith that night, re- 
 porting to Captain Wilhelm, "that this case should 
 be operated from Johnstown; and that an investiga- 
 tion there and in Lowe would develop the plot out of 
 
BIG MINE RUN 73 
 
 which the trouble started. The post-mortem shows 
 the bullets in the murdered man's body to be lead, 
 32-calibre." 
 
 Now, Johnstown lies in the west of the State, in 
 "A" Troop's territory. Captain Adams, command- 
 ing "A" Troop, was therefore informed at once of the 
 status of the case. Promptly cooperating, he detailed 
 Private Sturm to the work, and presently forwarded 
 to his brother-captain Private Sturm's first report. 
 
 Giuseppe Pangollo, as thereby appeared, came to 
 Johnstown from Cincinnati in October, 1915. Dur- 
 ing his stay in Johnstown he had appeared to be in 
 hiding. It was believed among the Italians there that 
 he had come from West Virginia, and that he had run 
 away with another man's wife. 
 
 Captain Wilhelm now sent a copy of the mur- 
 dered man's photograph to the Chief of Police of Cin- 
 cinnati, and in due course received from that official 
 information that the photograph strongly resembled 
 one Joe or Giuseppe Pangollo, wanted in Cincinnati 
 for the murder of an Italian, named Stillitano, in 
 September, 1913. 
 
 In the interval Sergeant Smith had been contem- 
 plating the beauties of Big Mine Run, chief among 
 which, to his curious way of thinking, was the Bast 
 Colliery's "rock dump." 
 
 This phenomenon was an immense heap of coal ref- 
 use, over fifty feet high. You could see it from every- 
 where in the patch and by the same token the two 
 men always working on the dirty top of it could 
 assuredly see you. 
 
 These two, by chance, were Americans. And when 
 
74 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 the Sergeant, proceeding to visit them in his quiet, 
 friendly, methodical way, asked: 
 
 "Will you keep a sharp eye out for anything new, 
 and, if you see cause, get word to me?" 
 
 "You bet," said the two, with alacrity. 
 
 Not for many days, however, did this seed bear fruit. 
 Then, on the 24th of February, came word that the 
 rock-dump hands had something to tell. It was this: 
 
 "See that small slush-stream down yon at the foot 
 of the dump? That runnin' black with the dirt o' the 
 coal, with the bit of a bridge crossin' over it? Well, 
 about eleven o'clock this mornin', I seen a strange 
 Italian come over that bridge, and turn himself round 
 and climb down under it. And there he stood spying 
 this way and yon, very cautious. 
 
 "So I called Mike, here, and the two of us watched 
 him. When he'd made sure that no one was lookin' 
 right nor left, forrard nor back, he never thought 
 to look upwards, you see, poor devil, what does he 
 do but creep up to the edge of the rock-bank, dig a 
 small hole, and shove something in something the 
 size of yer two fists, as might be. Then he beats it. 
 
 "Well, we waits till noon hour, and then we makes 
 tracks for the spot where he buried his bone and we 
 digs it up for him. And now yer got it yourself, there 
 in yer hand, sir." 
 
 That bone's outer skin was a blue polka-dotted 
 handkerchief. Within lay four objects : 
 
 A Colt's "Police Positive" revolver, 32-calibre, 
 bearing the maker's number, 126505. 
 
 A Smith & Wesson six-shooter, 32-calibre, number 
 213732, blue steel, hand-ejecting. 
 
BIG MINE RUN 75 
 
 A United States nickel-plated revolver, 32-calibre. 
 
 A razor with a peacock on the handle. 
 
 "I rather think," observed Sergeant Smith, "that 
 that chap, whoever he was, only meant to hide those 
 guns, not to destroy them, and that he will return to 
 look for them." 
 
 "Gosh!" suddenly exclaimed the dump-hand. 
 "See yonder! There's the very fellow himself and 
 you're right, blessed if you ain't, he's makin' fer 
 his cache! See him dig, the tarrier! He misses it! 
 See him go for it ! Now he 's scared he 's quittin ! ' 
 Oh, oh, look at him run!" 
 
 The man dashed down the road a bit, broke through 
 some bushes, and disappeared. But in a moment he 
 was out again, flying back for the dump. 
 
 Sergeant Smith and Private Buono, well out of 
 sight, moved softly and swiftly down and around 
 into the shadow of the bridge. There they took into 
 their keeping one Rocco Rizzi, a figure new to the 
 play. 
 
 Violently protesting that he knew nothing of the 
 matter afoot, that he had hidden no revolvers nor any 
 polka-dotted package, Rizzi, nevertheless, was quietly 
 removed to Schuylkill County Jail and there commit- 
 ted without bail on a formal charge of carrying con- 
 cealed deadly weapons. 
 
 That night Maria left the padrona's. "Tony says 
 he'll take care of me me and the baby," she told 
 the others, bidding them good-bye. "I can carry the 
 baby and the suit-case too, till Tony meets me. And 
 I'll write for the trunk and the bed when we get 
 there." 
 
76 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 * There'? Where?" asked one of another after she 
 had disappeared into the dingy dark. 
 
 "Where? I don't know. Tony who?" 
 
 "7 don't know." 
 
 "She's only a slip of a girl to be without friends 
 or kin," said one. 
 
 "Not seventeen yet, she told me." 
 
 "Would it be Tony Froio?" 
 
 "Who knows there are many Tonys. Are you 
 tired of life, then? Have you no affairs of your own to 
 think of?" 
 
 Now, of the three deadly weapons concealed by 
 Rocco Rizzi, two were good ones. And a good revolver, 
 like a good watch, is a thing that, through all its public 
 career, leaves a record behind it. The number on a 
 good revolver is preserved by each succeeding dealer, 
 in every account of sale and shipment. By it can be 
 determined its age, and also, upon occasion, the name 
 of the individual who may have returned it for repairs 
 to the makers. 
 
 Sergeant Smith, therefore, without loss of time, 
 despatched a letter of inquiry to the Smith & Wesson 
 Fire Arms Manufacturing Company of Springfield, 
 Massachusetts, and another to the Colt Fire Arms 
 Company at Hartford, Connecticut. 
 
 Smith & Wesson sent back their reply by return 
 of mail: Their 32-calibre six-shooter, number 213732, 
 was sold July 9, 1915, to the Belknap Hardware & 
 Manufacturing Company of Louisville, Kentucky. 
 
 The Colt Company, four days later, responded 
 that their 32-calibre "Police Positive," number 
 
BIG MINE RUN 77 
 
 126505, had been shipped on May 15, 1915, to the 
 Bluefield Hardware Company of Bluefield, West 
 Virginia. 
 
 Both guns were now traced on the first stage of their 
 adventures. 
 
 So Sergeant Smith wrote two more letters, and, 
 knowing the leisure of the South, soothed his soul to 
 patience. In ten days' time returned the word of the 
 Louisville firm: They had sold the six-shooter, August 
 31, 1915, to Mr. D. H. Conner, merchant, of Giatto, 
 West Virginia. 
 
 Later came the news that the Bluefield concern had 
 passed on the Colt's "Police Positive" to the Weya- 
 noke Coal & Coke Company's store. And the address 
 of that store was Lowe, West Virginia. 
 
 "Huh!" observed Buono, and "Huh!" answered 
 Smith, as they noted the fact. 
 
 And so the two good guns yielded their second 
 chapter of biography. 
 
 Again Sergeant Smith sat down to his pen. Again 
 he wrote two letters, the first to Mr. D. H. Conner, of 
 Giatto, the second to the Weyanoke Coal & Coke 
 Company. 
 
 After some days Mr. Conner responded: His tale 
 was a tale of sadness. He had sold that very six- 
 shooter early in December to an unknown Italian, 
 who had come into his shop with Frank Dini. Frank 
 Dini was known in the community. He was a coal 
 miner. When Mr. Conner refused to trust his friend, 
 " Charge the gun to me," Dini had said. "I will settle 
 next Company pay-day." 
 
 But now, on the 14th of March, the account still 
 
78 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 stood unsettled, and Frank Dini and his unknown 
 companion had fled the State! Incidentally, remarked 
 Mr. Conner, Dini had been employed by the Weya- 
 noke Coal & Coke Company. 
 
 Meantime, the Weyanoke Coal & Coke Company 
 had sent in its reply. It stated that the Colt "Police 
 Positive" revolver number 126505 was sold at the 
 Company store, November 17, 1915, to an Italian 
 named Antonio Froio. This man, it briefly added, 
 had got into trouble near Lowe on December 20, 1915, 
 and had immediately fled to the North. 
 
 And so, in the third authoritative chapter of their 
 history did the two good guns reveal themselves as 
 in private hands. 
 
 In the interval, and as soon as the name of the Wey- 
 anoke Coal & Coke Company appeared in the corre- 
 spondence, Sergeant Smith mailed to the superinten- 
 dent of that concern a copy of the large photograph 
 found in the murdered Pangollo's trunk the photo- 
 graph showing the victim as the central figure in a 
 group of thirteen men, taken on the veranda of a 
 house whose street number was "60," by a photo- 
 grapher of Lowe. 
 
 In a reasonable time this photograph was returned 
 with each figure numbered and with the numbers 
 supplemented, on the reverse, by the names of the 
 individuals portrayed. "Domenico Futtiatutti, alias 
 Valero, alias Joe Pangollo, reputed Black-Hander 
 and bad character," stood written against the cen- 
 tral number, while the three immediately surrounding 
 it also indicated supposed Black-Handers and bad 
 men. 
 
BIG MINE RUN 79 
 
 Rocco Rizzi, burier of bones, sitting without ap- 
 pearance of impatience in the Schuylkill County Jail, 
 steadfastly denied everything, inclusively every- 
 thing, until the 19th of March. Then he suddenly 
 began to speak. It was to Trooper Buono that he 
 unbosomed himself and his tale, verbatim, was 
 this : 
 
 "I know nothing of the actual murder. I was away 
 over in Frackville the night it was done. I came to 
 live in Big Mine Run after that time. I did hide 
 the revolvers and the razor, but I only had them 
 over-night that night, you know, two weeks after 
 Pangollo was killed. 
 
 "This is the way it was: I was going over the hill to 
 Rosa Borrusco's store to get some groceries when I 
 met four men. Three I knew. The fourth I did not 
 know. The three were Pietro Santucci, Pietro Tia- 
 foro, and Jim Petrello. Santucci said: 
 
 "Here, take these guns and keep them for me.' 
 
 "I told them I was afraid. He handed me the pack- 
 age, placed his finger on his lips, and said: 
 "Silence, or it will be the worse for you.' 
 
 "I did not know what to do with them, so I hid 
 them in the rock-dump. I had known the three men 
 in Matoaka and in Lowe, West Virginia. Now they 
 have all gone back to Lowe." 
 
 Sergeant Smith and Trooper Buono, armed with 
 warrants for Pietro Santucci, Pietro Tiaforo, Jim 
 Petrello, and Antonio Froio, charged with murder, 
 now departed for West Virginia. Here, in and about 
 Lowe, the two officers soon developed certain facts; 
 as, that the three men first named on the warrants 
 
80 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 were unknown in that region; and that Jim Pe- 
 trello, so called by the bone-burier, was identical with 
 Frank Dini, recorded as having misleadingly stood 
 good for the six-shooter sold early in December to 
 the stranger in Mr. Conner's store. 
 
 Also, that the stranger in whose behalf the six- 
 shooter had thus been fraudulently obtained was one 
 Tony or Antonio Froio. 
 
 Further, that on December 20, 1915, Tony Froio, 
 Jim Petrello, alias Frank Dini, Pasquale Diolatti, 
 and another man, shot a man at Modac, West Vir- 
 ginia, forthwith escaping across the Pennsylvania 
 line. 
 
 So much and more also the searchers patiently 
 threaded out of the obscure fabric before them. Deli- 
 cately they worked, with nice advances and refrain- 
 ings. Incidentally, and as a precaution, they caused 
 themselves to be appointed deputy sheriffs of the 
 West Virginia County at the moment their province. 
 
 Side by side with other opening scrolls the two 
 Troopers were now unrolling the past of the murdered 
 Pangollo. Such of it as had lain within the West Vir- 
 ginia community was first retraced. Early in the win- 
 ter of 1914, himself a murderer, with the blood of 
 his victim hot upon his hands, Pangollo had fled 
 from Cincinnati into West Virginia. Drifting into 
 Lowe as a stranger, he had gone to the house of one 
 Pasquale Mariano to lodge. Here he had first seen 
 Maria Mariano, then only just past her thirteenth 
 year, but lovely with the promise of beauty even at 
 that tender age. 
 
 Months passed, and with them the little creature 
 
BIG MINE RUN 81 
 
 blossomed and ripened as only a girl of the urgent 
 Southern blood can do. Pangollo watched her with 
 nascent interest. Italian girls were few among those 
 hills. But the child was a child, and oblivious of him. 
 And he had a pirate's heart. 
 
 Work, to a man of Pangollo's type, has no signif- 
 icance except as a mask for the chosen business of 
 life. Here he scarcely pretended to work. Conditions 
 were such that no mask was needed. 
 
 With the outlaw fluid that ran in his veins ran also 
 the instinct of leadership. He chose his gang with 
 skill, the gang whose picture he had carried away 
 with him, and, after certain grisly demonstrations 
 of the weight of his displeasure when opposed, easily 
 reigned as a Black Hand King, feeding upon levies 
 brought in by his henchmen. 
 
 One man there was, however, who threatened his 
 preeminence. Antonio Froio, younger than Pangollo, 
 but fully his match in reckless outlawry, not only 
 refused to bend to him, but, with growing insolence, 
 threatened his supremacy in his own field. 
 
 Froio was building a throne of his own. There was 
 scarcely room in any community for two of such ar- 
 rogant mind. And each knew in his heart that the time 
 would come when blood must flow between them. 
 
 Meantime, little Maria was ripening fast. Pan- 
 gollo's eyes were filled with her. But her parents would 
 not give her into his hand. Neither did the girl her- 
 self seem to notice him. How could this be? Some- 
 times she laughed the simple laughter of children with 
 Domenico Niccolo, that sheep ! Perhaps she schemed. 
 Perhaps she secretly thought of Froio. 
 
8 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Froio! Per Baccho, che insolenza! She, was she not 
 the King's own perquisite, this one most beautiful 
 creature in all the hills? Should Froio get her? Should 
 her miserable parents have the pleasure of withhold- 
 ing her? He would kill them all, first. Stick them hi 
 the back, once, twice, thrice and a twist, like impu- 
 dent pigs that they were! 
 
 But then, in the depths of the Ultimate Pit they 
 might escape some part of the fulness of his ven- 
 geance! 
 
 And so, with these things burning in his pirate's 
 brain, on a black winter's night it was the 9th of 
 January, 1915 Pangollo waylaid the child in a 
 lonely place, frightened her into silence, dragged her 
 away on foot, across country to the railway station 
 at Rorthf ork, whence the two disappeared from ken. 
 
 If the man had been of another stamp, if human 
 life had meant anything in his eyes, you could 
 have said that the blood he had spilled bewitched 
 him. Else why, after months of ceaseless wanderings, 
 did he drift back to Cincinnati, the very scene of his 
 crime? 
 
 There Maria still shrank from him tried in terror 
 to conceal her hatred found means at last to write 
 to her parents, begging for help to go home. But the 
 letter came back unopened. And then again Pan- 
 gollo's restless spirit hurried him away. So that, 
 dragging the girl after him, he wandered over the 
 Pennsylvania hills into Johnstown, where their child 
 was born. 
 
 Then Maria wrote again to her parents poor, 
 pretty little pawn. "He took me away by force, sud- 
 
BIG MINE RUN 83 
 
 denly, even without my clothes. But he will not 
 marry me. And he will not let me have the child bap- 
 tized. Help me save it from Purgatory. I beg you to 
 forgive me. Let me come home." 
 
 What had they to forgive? 
 
 But Pangollo's vengeance bit into their souls. He 
 had shamed them before their world. He had set their 
 will aside. He had deprived them of all their dignity, 
 all their proper profits in due disposal of the girl. 
 Now, more, he had made her a byword and a mockery 
 to them. He would not marry her I 
 
 Should they, then, take back his dishonored leav- 
 ings into their home? Their resentment flamed too 
 high for the cloak of silence. 
 
 "No," they flung back. "We have no place here 
 for bastards or mothers of bastards. Look after your- 
 self. This door is closed." 
 
 Then again, when the child was three months old, 
 the fever took Pangollo. To Maria he issued his 
 command: 
 
 "Domenico Niccolo, the quiet fellow that used to 
 board with your father that Domenico Niccolo went 
 to Ashland, over to the east. Write to him now 
 tell him you are married. Ask him if men make good 
 money in his place. Tell him if they do your husband 
 will come there to work" and he leered at her, 
 knowing that even she understood what manner of 
 "work" appealed to a throneless Black Hand King. 
 
 Meantime, back in the West Virginia mining town, 
 Antonio Froio had risen with unexpected ease to the 
 coveted supremacy. From the day of Pangollo's flight 
 he, as head of his own gang, ruled the field. No more 
 
84 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 did he soil his hands with work, for reasons invisible 
 waxing in sleek prosperity. So all went well with him 
 until the eleventh day of the eleventh month after 
 Pangollo's departure. 
 
 On that day, the 20th of December, 1915, Tony 
 Froio, with Frank Dini, Pasquale Diolatti, and an- 
 other of his gang, in shooting a man who had dared 
 to cross them, tossed off the deed so carelessly that for 
 the nonce they thought well to fly even the easy ju- 
 risdiction of West Virginia. 
 
 "Where shall we go?" asked the three of Tony, 
 their lord. 
 
 "Where did that sheep Domenico Niccolo go, one 
 year or more past?" asked Tony. "Wherever he 
 went men slave and have fat purses. Ashland? WV11 
 skip for Ashland." 
 
 So these four also took to flight and the name of 
 the fourth among them was Rocco Rizzi, a name we 
 have heard before. 
 
 So much did Sergeant Smith and Private Buono 
 personally discover or shrewdly surmise, here a bit 
 and there a bit, gleaning over the field at large, or 
 down among the Italians of Lowe. 
 
 Not that the Italians of Lowe were one whit less 
 afraid to testify, one whit less bound by race loyalties, 
 one whit less close-mouthed, cautious, and devious 
 than their like elsewhere not that they consciously 
 betrayed such matters, whether with lips or eyes or 
 hands. But Sergeant Smith has a wise and wily head, 
 deep experience, enduring patience; Private Buono's 
 excellent wits, stimulated by an apt and agile imagina- 
 tion, enjoy the command of all Italian dialects; and 
 
BIG MINE RUN 85 
 
 both were working for the honor of " C " Troop, Penn- 
 sylvania State Police. 
 
 Maria Mariano's father saw in the Troopers two 
 insurance agents trying to find his daughter in order 
 to pay an insurance policy carried by her late hus- 
 band in her favor. Mariano, tardily, began to repent 
 something of his harshness to the girl. He even wrote 
 to her that she might return to him, sending the letter 
 to Ashland, the address she had last given. But it 
 came back to him "Not found." 
 
 Now, he said, he would bestir himself. He would 
 write to every friend to whom his daughter might 
 appeal. He would find her address, and he would give 
 it, when found, to the Manager of the Weyanoke 
 Coal & Coke Company, for the insurance 'agents' use. 
 
 But the "insurance agents" did not trust him 
 wholly. They surrounded his possible intention with 
 an invisible net of care. And when they presently 
 withdrew from the scene they left every avenue of 
 mail out of Lowe and of all adjacent places "covered" 
 by machinery that would echo in their own ears at 
 the passing of letters to any of the persons concerned 
 in the case. 
 
 Returning to Pennsylvania, and to Schuylkill 
 County Jail, they again questioned the prisoner 
 Rocco Rizzi, burier of bones. By the light of the 
 knowledge now in their possession, the State Troopers 
 gained significance in his eyes. Better begin making 
 friends with such men. 
 
 "I lied," said Rocco easily. "I did know the fourth 
 man of the four who made me bury those guns. His 
 name was Antonio Froio." 
 
86 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 In the little village of Frackville, close to Big Mine 
 Run, lived one Joe Rizzi, cousin to the bone-burier. 
 This man was a cobbler well established in the com- 
 munity. As a citizen of substance, with savings in the 
 bank, and with a good business to protect, Joe Rizzi 
 knew that his true interests lay not with law- 
 breakers, whatever the terror of their name, but with 
 the Law. Also, that the law-breaker pursued by the 
 State Police, while possibly varying the length of his 
 rope, found always a noose at the end of it. Already 
 the line of the Troopers' inquiry had skirted his door 
 too close for his comfort. Now it entered in. Under 
 its thrust he decided to speak. This, in brief, is the 
 story he told, cautiously with reserves with 
 semi-truths, according to his blood: 
 
 On the day that Pangollo was killed, he, the cob- 
 bler, had gone, basket on arm, to Rosa Borrusco's shop 
 in Big Mine Run to buy some stores. 
 
 Shortly after his arrival, Tony Froio, a recent comer 
 to the settlement, walked into the house in company 
 with a stranger, Pangollo. The stranger seemed almost 
 quarrelsome. 
 
 "'Oh, come now, sit down,' argued Tony. 'Sit 
 down and have something to eat with me.' 
 
 "'Eat with you! 9 cried Pangollo. 'I'll have your 
 blood before this day is done!' And then he scowled 
 blackly upon a girl, yes, a beautiful girl Italian 
 who sat listening and cowering at Rosa Borrusco's 
 side. 
 
 "Then this Pangollo went out on the porch alone 
 and began pacing to and fro. And Proio laughed to 
 himself. And I went home to be out of it. I was afraid, 
 
BIG MINE RUN 87 
 
 and heard no more till that night when they said that 
 Pangollo was killed. 
 
 "And it was Tony Froio that gave the three guns to 
 Rocco, my cousin, Antonio Froio and nobody else. 
 And I believe it was Tony that killed that man 
 Pangollo, the stranger." 
 
 " . . . If we take this chap up to jail and let him have 
 a little talk with his cousin ? " reflected Buono. 
 
 "Exactly," said Smith. 
 
 After that little talk, the burier of bones expanded, 
 by yet another link. 
 
 "I lied, also," he remarked ingenuously, "when I 
 said there were three men with Tony Froio the time 
 he gave me those guns. There was no one with Tony 
 Froio. He came alone. It was the day you got the 
 bundle out of the rock-bank. He said he had just 
 shot at two men and missed them, and that I must 
 hide his guns until he wanted them again. I was 
 afraid. We are all afraid not to do what Tony Froio 
 says. Because Tony stops at nothing at all." 
 
 "But I," volunteered Joe the cobbler, the man of 
 vested interests, desiring the friendship of the Law 
 "7 will help you. I will work for you. I believe that 
 Tony Froio, taking the girl with him, has gone to New 
 York. Let us go to New York together. I will lead 
 you you shall seize him as he hides." 
 
 For Joe felt in his heart that these two quiet sol- 
 diers in mufti, being wholly familiar with the psychol- 
 ogy of his like, were in no way deceived by his protes- 
 tations of frankness were merely biding their time 
 with him. The vision that he saw when he closed his 
 eyes filled his veins with ice. 
 
88 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 How should he clear himself? By truly telling all the 
 truth? The thing was impossible to him. And, fly 
 that he was on the rim of the wheel, he knew that these 
 terrible Troopers understood that also. 
 
 Once, while Buono was yet a first enlistment man, 
 worrying at a case with all his young heart and mind, 
 he brought home a certain statement extracted from 
 a man of this sort. Repeating it carefully to the 
 Barracks reserve, he finished with pride: "And I be- 
 lieve the fellow was speaking the truth." 
 
 "Son," commented the First Sergeant, between 
 draughts on his good-night pipe, "listen to me: There 
 is just one time, with any of these people, when you 
 might properly act on that hypothesis of yours; that 
 time is when your man confesses to murder and produces 
 corroborative evidence." 
 
 And every old-timer in the room grinned acqui- 
 escence. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Buono meekly, to those assembled 
 elders in mass. 
 
 And he never forgot it. Nor do the elders expect 
 to speak twice. 
 
 So, not visibly in company, the two Troopers and 
 the cobbler moved upon the city of New York. First 
 to a Mulberry Street house, then to several places 
 on Mott Street, then to Brooklyn, the cobbler led the 
 hunt, but without success. 
 
 "No good. About eight months ago Tony Froio 
 shot a man in Brooklyn," at last reported the friend of 
 the Law, crestfallen. "He will scarcely come back so 
 soon." 
 
 This was on April 8th. 
 
BIG MINE RUN 89 
 
 The Troopers returned to Pennsylvania, working 
 on other leads working, too, on unallied quests en- 
 trusted to their care; each rubbing down his horse at 
 night, each cleaning stall and accoutrements of a 
 morning with well-trained hands, while his mind 
 wrestled ceaselessly with plots and mystifications. 
 
 Then, on April 24th, came the first fruits of the 
 traps set upon the mails of West Virginia. The Ital- 
 ians living in the house of Pasquale Mariano, in Lowe, 
 said the message, were sending letters to Syracuse 
 and to Fulton in New York; to Plainfield and West- 
 field in New Jersey; and to Cincinnati. And the full 
 addresses on these letters were appended. Further, 
 Pasquale Mariano himself had received a letter post- 
 marked "Port Richmond, N.Y." 
 
 Next came the news that twice a week Pasquale 
 was receiving letters from Port Richmond, although 
 none were going thither from Lowe or from any of 
 the neighboring post-offices. How else might mail go 
 out? Through mail clerks on the trains? 
 
 Again their machine fulfilled its purpose and the 
 Troopers learned that twice a week a little Italian 
 child was handing letters to a railway mail clerk 
 at a small station on the Virginian road letters 
 
 addressed: "Mrs. Maria Mariano, Box 88, B y 
 
 Avenue, Staten Island, N.Y." 
 
 The scene now shifted back to the East. Without 
 the loss of an hour, Smith and Buono returned to New 
 York, to Staten Island, to determine the location of 
 Box 88. Box 88 proved to be a wayside receptacle far 
 out on a country road, and owned by the keeper of 
 a hotel in the locality. Several Italians, habitues of 
 
90 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 his tavern or dwelling roundabout, received their 
 mail through this man's agency. The address, there- 
 fore, was somewhat indefinite. 
 
 The Troopers did not want to alarm the caution 
 of the innkeeper by inquiring of him directly. To do 
 so would have been to arouse all his race loyalty, 
 all his fear of nameless complications and conse- 
 quences. So, incognito, they watched the scattered 
 Italian settlement. Three days and nights they 
 watched it, without fruit. Meanwhile they arranged 
 that the rural mail-carrier should present a regis- 
 tered letter slip at the hotel office, for Maria. 
 
 "Where is this person?" asked the postman, slip 
 in hand. 
 
 "I don't know," answered the innkeeper. 
 
 "But," persisted the postman, "here is the address 
 your address. Can't you find the woman?" 
 
 "I don't know," replied the wily Italian. "If you 
 send the letter here I'll see that she gets it. That's 
 all I can do for you." 
 
 Then the two officers reversed their tactics. De- 
 claring themselves openly, they pounced upon the 
 innkeeper with all brusqueness, demanding to know 
 what he had done with letters addressed to Maria Ma- 
 riano. What? 
 
 The man stood trembling before them. Conflicting 
 fears held him helpless and confused. 
 
 "Get your hat and coat," ordered Smith. 
 
 "But but it was not I, it was the dish-washer 
 that carried the letters away." 
 
 "Then call the dish-washer." 
 
 Now thoroughly scared, the two men became 
 
BIG MINE RUN 91 
 
 slightly communicative. Maria Mariano, with her 
 husband and baby, lived, they said, in the house of 
 another Italian, about half a mile from the inn. They 
 had taken some rooms were housekeeping. Maria's 
 husband worked at the linoleum factory about four 
 miles from Port Richmond. 
 
 "If you should be lying, now " breathed Buono, 
 vaguely suggestive. He had watched the trolley at 
 the linoleum factory for two mornings and two nights. 
 But one Italian got on and off at that station. 
 
 "How does this man get to his work?" he con- 
 cluded sharply. 
 
 "By a bicycle by the back road." 
 
 "We'll see," said Smith, "and meantime, just to 
 make sure that no changes take place behind us, we'll 
 hobble this team." 
 
 They took their two hostages straight to a neigh- 
 boring police box in which an officer of the New York 
 City force is always to be found. Into the keeping 
 of New York police officials, upon whose full and 
 friendly cooperation the Troopers of the sister State 
 have found they can always rely, they now handed 
 the dish-washer and his padrone. 
 
 Then they sped for the linoleum plant, to inspect 
 its books. Five Italians had entered service there 
 during the past two weeks. 
 
 "Will you let me see these men?" asked Smith. 
 
 "Sure," said the foreman; "come on over into the 
 shop." 
 
 The first Italian that they saw was Antonio Froio. 
 
 Tony lifted his handsome head at the shadow of 
 men before him and looked the two officers straight 
 
92 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 in the eye. Slowly, then, a great shiver ran through 
 him. It was like a wave of relief, and you could see 
 that a tension died out of his frame. 
 
 "I'm glad you've come," he said simply "I'm 
 glad you've come. I suppose you want me for mur- 
 der because I went away with Maria." 
 
 Then, when they had put him in safety, they went 
 to look for the girl. 
 
 In a shack in the woods they found her a little 
 one-and-a-half-story shack. As Sergeant Smith stood 
 in the door no one was visible. 
 
 "Maria!" he called, in his quiet, kindly voice. 
 
 "Ecco mil" came the answer, quick and light, as 
 Maria's lovely face appeared at the top of the ladder 
 leading to the room above. In perfect calm she gazed 
 down at him, smiling slightly, gently. 
 
 "I knew you would come to-day," she said. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "I dreamed it last night. I knew it all the time. 
 You got Tony? Yes, I know, I know." 
 
 Before leaving the shack the Sergeant, looking it 
 over, found an excellent 38-calibre revolver, all cham- 
 bers filled. 
 
 But the girl's one concern was: 
 
 "My baby my baby. You know my little baby 
 has not been baptized? " 
 
 "Your baby shall be baptized," exclaimed the Ser- 
 geant, "shall be! Do you understand? Baptized 
 to-night. Don't fret about that any more. He shall go 
 to the Sisters. They will look after him well for you 
 till you want him again." 
 
 Without a question the girl accepted the comfort 
 
BIG MINE RUN 93 
 
 that her instinct told her she could trust. That night 
 the baby slept in the Guardian Angels' Home, saved 
 from the pains of Purgatory and that night Tony 
 Froio, in his cell, tried in vain and by a very terrible 
 method to end his life. 
 
 But Maria, faintly smiling, sat silent in the nimbus 
 of an incredible calm. 
 
 The arrests of Maria and Tony occurred on the 18th 
 of May. On May 19th, Privates Buono and Flint, 
 of " C " Troop, State Police, arrested Frank Dini, down 
 in the dripping black alleys of a coal mine, twelve 
 hundred feet below ground. Following clues picked 
 up in West Virginia, Buono had discovered, weeks 
 ago, where he could lay hands at will, not only upon 
 Dini, but also upon Pasquale Diolatti, who, with 
 Rizzi the bone-burier, had fled out of the South after 
 Tony the King, a charge of murder at their heels. 
 Every movement of the two had been known to the 
 Troopers, from day to day. But no obvious notice 
 had been taken of them until Tony should be caught, 
 lest Tony take alarm. At this stage, however, Dini 
 could safely be jailed, as a material witness. 
 
 Now, with Tony in prison, Joe Rizzi the cobbler 
 judged the chances of safety to indicate further obla- 
 tion to the Law. "I dared not tell all the truth before. 
 With Tony loose it was too great a risk. They would 
 have killed me. But now I will tell you everything. 
 Listen : 
 
 "The day that Pangollo was murdered, I went to 
 Rosa Borrusco's store. I saw Pangollo and Tony Froio 
 quarrelling together. I saw Pangollo, very angry, go 
 outside, and walk up and down on the porch, talk- 
 
94 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 ing to himself in a rage. Then I left the place. So 
 much I told you before, and it is true. 
 
 "But I lied when I said I saw no more that day. 
 That afternoon, a little before the shooting of Pan- 
 gollo, I saw Tony Froio, Joe Froio his cousin, and 
 Domenico Fruscu those three together coming 
 toward the trolley station at Woodland Park. 
 
 "I know no more. But I think that Joe Froio and 
 Domenico Fruscu are in Syracuse, New York." 
 
 Now, Joe Froio and Domenico Fruscu, familiars of 
 the wider circle of Big Mine Run, had already been 
 in the Troopers' hands arrested while planning to 
 leave the settlement immediately after Pangollo's 
 death. The Troopers definitely suspected them, but, 
 for lack of evidence at that time, could not keep them 
 under arrest. They had followed the later movements 
 of the pair, however; knew that they had gone to 
 Syracuse; and had gradually piled up a collection of 
 addresses in that place addresses at which the sus- 
 pects, when wanted, might be found. 
 
 Incidentally, they had discovered that Joe the 
 cobbler, friend of the Law, must possess a knowledge 
 of Syracuse that might prove useful that Joe, in 
 fact, had once lived in Syracuse for a considerable 
 time, part of which he had passed hi prison, convicted 
 of larceny and of carrying concealed deadly weapons. 
 
 On May 26th, Judge Tiernan, of the County of 
 Richmond, New York, pursuant to a writ for extra- 
 dition and in accordance with section 827 of the 
 Criminal Procedure of the State, gave over the per- 
 sons of Antonio Froio and Maria Mariano into the 
 hands of Sergeant Smith and Private Buono. 
 
BIG MINE RUN 95 
 
 "Only let me have my bambino," begged Maria, 
 when they told her that once more she must move 
 on. 
 
 So the good Sisters came to her, bringing the child, 
 clothed now in dainty and ample garments, and, with 
 words of gentle comfort, laid him in her arms. 
 
 On the way back to Pennsylvania, Tony spoke 
 little. But once he said: 
 
 "Have you got my cousin, Joe Froio, and Domenico 
 Niccolo? They fired the shots that killed Pangollo, 
 not I." 
 
 Later, in the Schuylkill County Jail, in the pres- 
 ence of District Attorney Charles A. Whitehouse, of 
 Sergeant Smith, and of Private Buono, Tony denied 
 every damaging accusation. 
 
 "I did purchase the Colt * Police Positive' re- 
 volver at the Weyanoke Coal & Coke Company Store 
 at Lowe. But I sold it last October to my cousin, 
 Joe Froio. 
 
 "I never bought a revolver at Conner's store in 
 Giatto, which Frank Dini stood good for. 
 
 "I was not in a shooting scrape in Modac, West 
 Virginia, on December 20, 1915. 
 
 "On the day of the murder at Big Mine Run, I 
 asked Pangollo to have something to eat with me. He 
 refused. I then went for a walk by myself. When I 
 came back, I heard he was killed. 
 
 "Two days after the murder, as I was coming up 
 the steps of Rosa Borrusco's house, I heard Joe Froio, 
 my cousin, and Domenico Fruscu and Domenico 
 Niccolo talking inside. 
 
 "'We won't run away now,' they said.] 'The State 
 
96 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Troopers have let us go. They don't seem to have 
 any suspicions at all.' 
 
 "Then my cousin Joe said: *I had the Special and 
 got a good shot at him.' 
 
 "Fruscu said: *I had only the little revolver and 
 could n't do much.' ' 
 
 After which Tony was returned to the solitude of 
 his cell. 
 
 The prisoner, Frank Dini, was now questioned: 
 
 "I was in Lowe, on December 20th," he affirmed. 
 "Tony Froio, Pasquale Diolatti, and I did shoot a 
 man in Modac on that day. All three of us fired. Tony 
 was using a Smith & Wesson six-shooter that he got 
 and that I stood good for at Mr. Conner's store in 
 Giatto. After that shooting, five of us ran away 
 North. We came to Big Mine Run on Christmas 
 Eve." 
 
 But when Dini, brought face to face with Tony 
 Froio in the office of the jail, repeated this statement, 
 Tony categorically denied all. 
 
 "How, then," asked Sergeant Smith, "did you 
 regain possession of the revolver that you bought in 
 W T est Virginia? Where did you get the revolvers that 
 you gave to Rocco to bury? " 
 
 "On February 24th last," Tony replied, "I went 
 out into -the woods with Domenico Niccolo, Joe 
 Froio, my cousin, and Domenico Fruscu. These 
 three, after taking me into the woods, drew revolvers 
 and started to fire on me. I ran and fell down, to 
 deceive them. I suppose they thought they had killed 
 me. 
 
 "Later I saw them hide the guns and a razor under 
 
BIG MINE RUN 97 
 
 a rock. I watched them from the window of an old 
 house. Then, when they were gone, I stole out, got 
 the guns and the razor, and gave them to Rocco to 
 keep for me. 
 
 "The next day I wanted the revolvers, so I sent to 
 Rocco to get them. He came back and told me they 
 were gone. Then we both went to hunt, but could not 
 find them. 
 
 "On February 26th I left for New York with 
 Maria." 
 
 Then Maria was questioned. 
 
 "What can I say!" sighed she. "While we lived 
 in the woods, over there in New York, Tony told me 
 he did the murder. Again, he told me that it was not 
 true that he had only been fooling me. What can 
 I say? What do I know?" 
 
 Later, of her own accord, she sent a message to Ser- 
 geant Smith, begging him to come to her in her cell. 
 Sergeant Smith had been always gentle with her, and 
 she had known but little gentleness in her life. And 
 he had got her baby baptized! She felt very lonely 
 and apart. She would like to talk a little, to his friendly 
 face. 
 
 She detailed to him the story of her life as Pan- 
 gollo's companion the story of their rapid moves 
 from point to point, as his restless mind, or purpose 
 foiled, or some fresh act of guilt drove him on; told of 
 the birth of the baby, and dwelt again on Pangollo's 
 steadfast refusal to let its soul be saved partly for 
 love of tormenting her parents, partly because he 
 feared the inevitable questioning of the priest and 
 what it might uncover; told of their arrival in Mount 
 
98 THE STANDARD-BEAREES 
 
 Cannel, near Big Mine Run, on the night of January 
 28th, and of Pangollo's bestowal of her and the baby 
 in the house of the brother of a member of Pangollo's 
 West Virginia gang; told of her remaining alone there 
 that night, and of Pangollo's reappearance next day 
 in company with Domenico Niccolo and Tony Froio, 
 both of whom she had seen in her father's house in 
 Lowe, before Pangollo stole her away before her 
 troubles began; told how, in company with these 
 and other men, she had gone on the trolley to Big 
 Mine Run, and how Tony Froio had spoken to her 
 kindly on the way spoken about Lowe, her father, 
 and the baby, while Pangollo seemed strangely 
 brooding; told of their arrival at Rosa Borrusco's 
 house that night; told how, the next noon, in the pa- 
 drona's place, when Tony invited Pangollo to eat, 
 Pangollo refused with fury; told how all the men then 
 drifted out of the house, singly or in groups, and how, 
 later, looking from the window, she saw Pangollo and 
 three others going up the road together. Their backs 
 were turned; therefore she did not recognize them. 
 After that she saw Pangollo no more. 
 
 "Then, you said Pangollo was dead. ... I had no 
 place to go. . . . My father would not have me. . . . 
 There was no place to go. ... And by and by Tony 
 said he would take me and my baby. 
 
 "So, I went with Tony." 
 
 That day, Sergeant Smith's regular report to his 
 Troop Captain contained these words: 
 
 "I do not think that it will be necessary to for- 
 ward the description and addresses we have to the 
 Police Department of Syracuse, as Private Buono 
 
BIG MINE RUN 99 
 
 and I will be able to identify the men. And, better 
 still, if it were possible to take Joe Rizzi along, he 
 could help us to locate the two; and their arrest would 
 be a simple matter if they are either in that city or in 
 Fulton, New York." 
 
 Joe Rizzi the cobbler, now thoroughly scared by 
 the visible tightening of the net of the Law, alacri- 
 tously agreed to do as he was asked. Carrying Joe 
 with them the two Troopers betook themselves once 
 more across the border. 
 
 Quick and true they struck into the seething, hiving 
 mass of the foreign quarter of Syracuse. On the very 
 day of their arrival in that town they had their men. 
 
 "Arrests made. Awaiting extradition papers. 
 Hotel St. Cloud," the Sergeant telegraphed his 
 Captain that night. 
 
 And so the party in the clean white cells of the 
 Schuylkill County Jail was rounded out at last. 
 
 But the party was not congenial. Even from its 
 several cells on their several tiers it found means of 
 inter-accusations. It whispered things at night, in 
 hisses lent wings by hatred. And Maria, with her 
 baby in her arms, sat silent in the midst, hearing all. 
 
 "But hold your tongue, fool!" they would finally 
 adjure each other. "If such a miracle can happen as 
 that you hold your tongue and tell nothing to Smith, 
 the carabiniero, we shall all go free yet. Hold your 
 tongue!" 
 
 To the intermittent questioning of the two Troopers, 
 however, the prisoners answered for a time very stead- 
 ily, each with his original tale. 
 
 "Joe Froio, my cousin, Domenico Niccolo, and 
 
100 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Domenico Fruscu tried to shoot me in Woodland 
 Park on February 24th," Antonio Froio doggedly per- 
 sisted. "I know nothing of the murder of Pangollo." 
 "Tony Froio tried to shoot Domenico Niccolo and 
 me, in Woodland Park, about February 24th," main- 
 tained Joe. "And I was away over in Frackville at 
 the time of the murder and knew nothing of it." 
 
 "I was in Frackville when Pangollo was murdered. 
 I know nothing," Fruscu repeated always. 
 
 Then Joe Rizzi the cobbler, friend of the Law, 
 he who had three times already told "all" that he 
 knew, discovered yet another mite in the depths of 
 his sack. 
 
 "I with these ears of mine that you see I 
 heard Tony Froio say, on the day of Pangollo's mur- 
 der, that he would 'do the job before night.' And I 
 saw him quite plainly I saw him hand a revolver 
 to Joe Froio, his cousin." 
 
 "Now," said the Sergeant, with an extraordinary 
 mildness, "there is yet another thing you might do, 
 Joe. You might tell just that to Joe Froio and to 
 Fruscu. And will you tell them, too, that you will so 
 testify in court? And that you will also testify that 
 you saw them both at Rosa Borrusco's on the day of 
 the murder?" 
 
 "I will do anything," groaned the cobbler, "to earn 
 your honor's favor. But surely it will be reckoned a 
 shield to me before the Law?" 
 
 "Joe," answered the Sergeant, in heavy tones, 
 "nothing can change the truth that you are an acces- 
 sory after the fact." 
 
 Meantime, Maria sat in her cell, nursing her baby. 
 
MARIA SAT IN HER CELL, NURSING HER BABY 
 
BIG MINE RUN 
 
 The place was very white and clean and bare. Some 
 of the other cells had carpets, framed family photo- 
 graphs, pictures of saints and of naked dancing-girls 
 impartially mingled, and embroidered mottoes, such 
 as, "God Bless Our Home." But Maria's cell was 
 white and clean and bare. She swept it daily with the 
 broom they gave her. She made her bed trig and firm. 
 She smoothed her black hair till it shone like polished 
 jet, and she ran her big silver dagger through its 
 coils at an angle that filled the place with vitality. 
 
 Her dress was neat and careful. And she kept her 
 baby clean. Her beauty remained undimmed, and 
 one judging from her gentle manner and her delicacy 
 of feature would have thought her a well-brought- 
 up girl of intelligent and superior stock would have 
 said, moreover, that she had seen nothing of life's 
 seamy side. 
 
 But Tony, in his distant cell, was troubled con- 
 cerning her. Would she desert him? He knew that the 
 sergeant of State Police saw her frequently. What 
 was she saying to him? Tony's hot brain tore at the 
 doubt till it stabbed and blazed within him. 
 
 He wrote her note after note, putting each on the 
 dustpan that took the daily sweepings of his cell. The 
 prisoner who collected the pans was his fellow-pris- 
 oners' secret messenger. But this time the missives 
 tended to wander astray. 
 
 At first the notes that Private Buono translated 
 carried only messages imploring caution. All de- 
 pended on Maria, urged the writer. Let her talk as 
 little as possible. Let her tell nothing to Buono or 
 to Smith. 
 
102 TIpS STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 As for himself, the carabinieri did not visit him. 
 But he knew that they talked with Maria every 
 second day, and all night he wept in his cell for fear 
 of what she might have told them. Let her be care- 
 ful that they did not confuse her and lead her into 
 speaking of him that which would separate them 
 forever. Let her be wise, and in a little while, free, 
 he should hold her in his arms. 
 
 The Troopers left the man un visited still. His own 
 thoughts were merciless visitants, and the strain of 
 doubt and surmise the surest educers of the truth. 
 
 The notes grew frantic, under the torment of soli- 
 tude, silence, and dread: 
 
 "Fidelity to you. A thousand kisses to you. Oh, 
 my dear, if you love me, I love you. If you love me 
 not, then my love for you is dead. And listen: If you 
 desire to survive with me, then, when Smith talks to 
 you, tell him that I was shot at. That I gave the 
 revolvers to you and told you they belonged to Do- 
 menico Niccolo, and Joe Froio, my cousin. Tell him 
 also that when you heard that the revolvers were 
 never mine, you did not want me to keep them at all 
 and you told me to throw them away. And that I 
 then did throw them away. And if you tell this to 
 Smith, all will be well, because you are believed by 
 Smith, and I would not be believed by him at all. 
 So tell him this only, and if you love me tell no 
 more. Remember that all you tell is written down. 
 And you must write to me as I write to you, and 
 tell me what they say about me. Because they never 
 come to see me at all." 
 
 Then, at last, receiving no answer and robbed by 
 
BIG MINE RUN 103 
 
 the gnawing devil within him of the final atom of light, 
 Tony scrawled upon papers furious charges, couched 
 in words from the pit: Maria was false to the utter- 
 most fibre of her being. The dregs of womanhood had 
 been dragged for vices when she was born. Her si- 
 lence now proved her treachery. Let her take care 
 how she scorned him. He would denounce her to 
 the carabinieri. He would say that she she and 
 no other had urged him to kill Pangollo. Now she 
 was tired of him, Tony, also. Now she wanted him 
 out of her way so that she might in safety enjoy a new 
 lover. Men! Men! What did the lives of men matter 
 to her, so long as she had plenty of them! Whore! 
 Carrion! Ghoul! 
 
 Sergeant Smith brought Maria into the prison 
 parlor. There he spread before her all the notes that 
 had come to his hand. 
 
 Maria, having read them once in silence, went 
 back to her cell and returned with yet six others. To- 
 gether they made for their author a terrible array. 
 
 But the mad last note did more than that it un- 
 covered in the girl all the native fire of Sicily. 
 
 For the last three years a wanderer, a fugitive, a toy 
 of wild men's whims, she had led a life of privation, 
 suffering, dread. And she had not yet reached her 
 seventeenth birthday! By childhood tendency gentle 
 and cool, the necessity, even in her father's house, of 
 obedience to the arbitrary wills around her had kept 
 her from the normal development of her kind had 
 kept her self-effacing, submissive, speechless, patient, 
 almost without individual life. Blows she had borne 
 from more hands than one, as a matter of course. 
 
104 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Pangollo had filled her with terror, whether in his 
 love or in his horrible malice. Her father's heartless 
 dismissal of her plea for escape and rescue had im- 
 posed still another stone against the prison door of her 
 hot Southern blood. She had dropped with scarcely a 
 new emotion from the loosened grip of Pangollo into 
 Froio's outstretched, passion-mad hands. It was a 
 part of her fate. Froio had offered her asylum, with 
 her child. Afterward, he had struck her, sometimes. 
 He gave her food and shelter and in the main he 
 had meant to be good. She had no particular feeling 
 for him in any way. 
 
 Never in her life, either now or at any earlier time, 
 had it seemed relevant that she should particularly 
 feel. 
 
 But, here was this letter this last letter some- 
 thing new. She read it again and yet again, drawing 
 together her level brows, while a slow flame rose be- 
 hind the mystic veil of her eyes. 
 
 When she lifted her head at last and looked at the 
 Sergeant, it was another creature that confronted 
 him. The veil was gone. She had been born anew. 
 
 "I am afraid no longer," she said. "Let them kill 
 me when they are ready. The Black Hand will kill me. 
 That is sure. They belong to it, every one of them. 
 But what does anything matter, after words like 
 these!" and she struck the paper with the gesture 
 that would have driven a blade. "Now, write down 
 clearly what I shall tell you and be quick." 
 
 "Are you ready? Good! When Joe Pangollo left 
 the house of Rosa Borrusco, five minutes before he 
 was killed, the three men who went with him were 
 
BIG MINE RUN 105 
 
 Tony Froio, Joe Froio, and Domenico Fruscu. Five 
 minutes before he was killed, I say. 
 
 "Is it written? Good. Write once more: 
 
 " Three nights ago, when the prison was asleep and 
 still as death, Tony Froio called softly over to Joe, his 
 cousin, and said : 
 
 "'Do not be afraid that Fruscu will tell who killed 
 our man. He dare not, for you remember it was he 
 who fired the first shot.'" 
 
 Then the Sergeant ordered Joe Froio to be brought 
 into the room. Very coolly Maria made her statement 
 to his face. 
 
 The man being withdrawn, Fruscu was produced, 
 and Maria as coolly repeated her words. Like Joe, 
 Fruscu denied their truth utterly. 
 
 Last, Tony Froio was led into the room. At the 
 first glimpse of him, all the chained-up force, all the ac- 
 cumulated resentments of long years of silent suffer- 
 ing, burst into blaze. The girl's slight body swayed 
 like a tree in a storm. The daughter of ^Etna had 
 found herself! 
 
 In whispers like the strike of a snake, she repeated 
 the things he had said of her, the names he had called 
 her in his last mad note, that and that and that ! 
 
 "And you thought you could frighten me so!" she 
 ended in final fierce contempt. " But for this folly I 
 would never have spoken. For you did feed me and 
 my child. But now I will gladly die to make you 
 pay." 
 
 "You told me to kill Pangollo," Tony threw back. 
 
 "You lie lie lie ! But you told me you killed 
 him. See! Bring me a crucifix and let me swear!" 
 
106 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Tony, railing bitterly, denied everything. But 
 that night in his cell, he wrote another note, seeking 
 to undo his mistake: 
 
 "Oh, my pretty wife, I excuse all your words 
 because I know you are mad. I will love you to the 
 hour of my death because you are the flower of my 
 life. I salute you with a thousand kisses on your 
 sweet lips, and then again I kiss you. And I pray you 
 when Smith comes, do not talk." 
 
 Herewith the case entered upon a fresh phase. 
 Antonio Froio, Joe Froio, and Domenico Fruscu, 
 newly informed against for the joint murder of Pan- 
 gollo, were arraigned accordingly and committed 
 without bail. Maria Mariano and Domenico Nic- 
 colo, released from charges, were recommitted as 
 material witnesses. Rosa Borrusco, Frank Dini, and 
 a swarm of other minor characters were kept securely 
 within reach of hand. 
 
 And now came a day when Sergeant Smith, late of 
 the Sixth United States Cavalry, and Private Buono, 
 late of the Twelfth, dropped in at the house of Rosa 
 Borrusco for a friendly call. 
 
 Singularly, it happened that all of the padrona's 
 lodgers were at home at that time. And, equally 
 casually, it chanced that not one of them left the 
 place until the Troopers were ready to see him go. For 
 the two old campaigners, shut into that house in the 
 midst of the villainous gang, appreciated to the last 
 stiletto's point at their backs exactly what risk they 
 ran, and knew exactly how to handle it. 
 
 Also, during the past few months of inquiry, they 
 had accumulated an extraordinary amount of data 
 
BIG MINE RUN 107 
 
 concerning the life histories of this company. And, 
 again, if one were to dispose of them quietly now, 
 among discreet friends, other Troopers and yet others 
 would follow to avenge their taking-off. State boun- 
 daries, time, space, alarms, and obstacles would mean 
 nothing in their path. And sooner or later would come 
 the electric chair. So better let Tony and Joe and 
 Domenico go first. Yes, one and all, gladly would the 
 padrona's household appear at the jail to confront 
 the three prisoners. Gladly would they affirm that 
 Pangollo had walked forth from their sight with that 
 trio with Tony, Joe, and Domenico five min- 
 utes before his end. 
 
 So it was done. And under that pressure, Joe Froio 
 and Domenico Fruscu "broke." 
 
 Out of the roots of the several confessions the truth 
 now sprang to light. With the threads of the several 
 stories some long and complicated, some of the 
 briefest, yet essential to the whole was rewoven 
 the tragedy of the past, was substantiated the theory 
 built by the Troopers in Lowe. Clearly enough, all 
 links supplied, its sequence stood for a logical whole. 
 
 Pangollo, natural bandit, bird of prey, blood-guilty, 
 fleeing from the feet of the pursuers, came to the 
 mountains of West Virginia. Here, by the knowledge 
 common to his kind, he knew he should find no law. 
 Statutes stood upon the books, without doubt, but 
 who was there to enforce these statutes? Such as he 
 could defy "the authorities" almost at will. There- 
 fore, the region was their asylum and their happy hunt- 
 ing-ground in very fact. He preferred an Italian com- 
 munity for his manner of life, since Italians were 
 
108 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 already educated to the methods of The Society and 
 the education saved time. So he came to Lowe and 
 there, by force of the dominance of his nature, proved 
 in a few drastic examples, rapidly established himself 
 as Black Hand King. 
 
 For a time he throve undisputed. His tolls were 
 paid humbly, from each vassal's weekly wage. He 
 wore fine clothes, and his dagger hand was calloused 
 by no sordid tool of toil. To make his kingship richer, 
 the prize of beauty budded within his reach. And 
 then came the pretender the rival to threaten 
 all. 
 
 Tony, younger in years and experience, but with a 
 spirit as wild and reckless as his own, dared make 
 himself friends and followers even dared look him 
 straight in the eye and laugh. And there was some- 
 thing in Tony's laugh that, while it stirred every 
 devil within him, still kept his hand from the butt of 
 his gun twitching just off the butt of his gun. 
 
 Yet, were it only for supremacy as expressed in 
 levies of cash, he would have finished it brusquely, 
 with lead or steel. But there was more there was 
 the girl the loveliest thing in the mountains, coveted 
 by every man that had seen or heard of her. She was 
 the very symbol of the crown. To be killed by Tony 
 would be to leave her to Tony's hand. To kill Tony 
 and possibly be obliged to fly might be to leave the 
 girl behind. Her indifference, too, maddened him. 
 How could she be indifferent to him, the King? Had 
 she another image in her heart behind her mild 
 eyes? 
 
 Then came her father's refusal, incredibly daring, 
 
BIG MINE RUN 109 
 
 and Tony's level gaze and Tony's laugh. He, Pan- 
 gollo, must be revenged on them, every one. 
 
 He laid his plan. It would cost him his present 
 kingdom, to be sure, but others lay ripe for the tak- 
 ing, and the game was worth the sacrifice. He would 
 mock his rival by snatching the girl from under his 
 hand. He would flay old Pasquale by making his 
 daughter a shame to his name. As for the girl herself 
 he would have her at his leisurely mercy. 
 
 So he stole the child away, and for almost a year 
 dragged her after him, in his fevered repetition of crime 
 and flight. Hither and yon they wandered, Pangollo 
 adding hither and yon to the sum of his villainies. 
 
 Meanwhile Tony, his rival, back in the Southern 
 hills, was ruling over the field that had been his own. 
 Work was abundant there, and the new King lightly 
 took his toll of each man's earnings. He toiled not, 
 neither did he spin, and his raiment expressed his 
 plenty. 
 
 Word of it came North from time to time, travelling 
 by The Society's wireless. And the word cankered 
 Pangollo's heart. 
 
 But easy success begets carelessness, and to hot- 
 blooded youth a too-submissive prey grows weari- 
 some. So came the night of December 20th, nearly 
 a year after the old King's flight, when the new King, 
 supported by certain of his vassals, shot a man in a 
 style so bald that, even in West Virginia, his next 
 step must be flight. 
 
 Hotly though the thing had been done, it did no vio- 
 lence to the traditions of the stock, produced no crisis, 
 no confusion, in Tony's mind. Therefore he did not 
 
110 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 flee at random, but as coolly as quickly picked out 
 an asylum where he knew that his trade would thrive. 
 And he took with him five of his men, that he might 
 arrive well attended as befitted his rank and purpose. 
 
 On Christmas Eve, 1916, supported by Joe Froio, 
 his cousin, and by Frank Dini, Pasquale Diolatti, 
 Rocco Rizzi, and Domenico Fruscu, he made his entry 
 into the town of Big Mine Run, at once erecting his 
 standard there. 
 
 Big Mine Run, awed by his state, his bearing, and 
 the tales told by his men, hastened to do obeisance 
 before him. From the very beginning there was no 
 resistance at all. On pay-days at the colliery, Tony 
 collected from every miner's envelope that which he 
 saw fit. His scribe was Pasquale Diolatti, and each 
 Sunday Diolatti obsequiously sat before him writing 
 letters to Italians of larger means shopkeepers and 
 the like to indicate the royal pleasure as to their 
 assessments of tribute due. That tribute was obedi- 
 ently rendered in precisely the manner ordained. 
 
 All this simple machinery so old and familiar 
 after centuries of inheritance and practice that it runs 
 like a force of nature operated smoothly enough 
 in Tony Froio's hands. Practically without incident 
 it operated for five whole weeks. And then, by the 
 marvellous nicety of fate, the old King, Pangollo the 
 wanderer, Pangollo, who might as probably have 
 drifted anywhere else on earth, drifted like a chip 
 into the vortex of a maelstrom drifted into Big 
 Mine Run. 
 
 Big Mine Run, very surely, well knew Pangollo's 
 name. The wireless had often been burdened with it, 
 
BIG MINE RUN 111 
 
 joining it to terrors that marked him as one of The 
 Society's first. When now it saw the man in the flesh, 
 it trembled before him, without mask or shame. 
 
 Pangollo, the wanderer, the King in exile, starving 
 and thirsty for homage, saw it tremble, and rejoiced. 
 Here would he rest awhile, build up his fortunes, add 
 by unequalled deeds to The Society's grim fame. 
 There was money here; he would take it. There were 
 men here; they should serve him on all fours. And 
 then what was this? Impossible! Out from among 
 the bobbing rabbit folk swung Tony Tony Froio, 
 shouldering his way to the front. And Tony once 
 more looked him straight in the eye as of old, and 
 laughed laughed from the depths of a heart of glee. 
 
 Pangollo would have drawn upon him then and 
 there, but his rival's men stood around him and 
 again that mysterious something withheld his hand. 
 
 "Benvenutot Benvenuto !" cried Tony. "Welcome 
 to you, comrade. And why have you left la Bella 
 behind? Was it to find if this place would suit your 
 comfort together? Why, this very place, believe me, 
 was ordained for you before all time! Andiam! Let 
 us go and bring her, taking old friends with us, to 
 make a, fiesta of the coming of the Queen!" 
 
 So together they went to Mount Carmel, where 
 Maria sat patiently waiting, and together, by the 
 cross-country trolley, they brought her back to Big 
 Mine Run. On that journey the men talked lightly, 
 like old mates glad to meet. Giving and taking, they 
 dealt out the news of the West Virginia hills. 
 
 But Pangollo's eyes were restive the while, like eyes 
 that nothing must escape. And Maria saw that he 
 
THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 had rage and fear in his heart and much confusion of 
 thought. Yet her own pulses were still, her own eyes 
 veiled. What did it matter? What did all these tur- 
 moils bring to her? When her time came, some one 
 would take her where she must be. Why should she 
 trouble to think? 
 
 Wearily, she shifted the child on her breast. 
 
 "Let me hold the bambino. You are tired, little 
 pretty one." 
 
 Tony whispered the words into the coils of her hair 
 as he took her burden from her, and his eyes said 
 more than his tongue. 
 
 Pangollo, fine as a striking cobra, half rose from his 
 seat, hand at hip. But Tony's gaze met him squarely, 
 alight with that hateful laugh. And the henchmen's 
 resilient poise showed how ready they were to spring. 
 With a curse in his teeth Pangollo sank back. 
 
 That night they all slept in Rosa Borrusco's house, 
 or in neighboring lodgings. Next morning Pangollo 
 rose late, as one loath to begin the day. In a black 
 humor he descended to the common room, hanging 
 aloof from the company there, silent and sinister, 
 like a hovering hawk debating his plunge. 
 
 After a time, toward noonday, he went out, only 
 to fall into the hands of Tony, who, liberally beam- 
 ing, led him back to the padrona's room. Pangollo an- 
 swered his companion's amenities with surly growls, 
 until the invitation to break bread. Then his endur- 
 ance snapped short. 
 
 "I'll have your blood before this day is done!" he 
 burst forth, and rushed from the room. 
 
 Thus crudely the old King blazoned the thing, 
 
BIG MINE RUN 113 
 
 exposing both the crisis and his own weakened nerve. 
 Plainly enough, there could be no space for the two 
 in one principality. The question was simple man 
 to man, the victory to the ablest, and a field fair 
 enough for any true pluck. But Pangollo's nerve had 
 begun to go. 
 
 The day was Sunday the day each week set 
 aside for the writing of letters giving notice of assess- 
 ments due to the King. Tony had work to do; he 
 must dictate these letters to Diolatti, his scribe. 
 In orderly fashion he proceeded to finish the regular 
 task. Then, at his leisure, about four o'clock in the 
 afternoon, he summoned Joe Froio, his cousin and 
 squire. 
 
 "Go, bring me Domenico Fruscu," said he; "I 
 have work for you to do." 
 
 The two men before him, he outlined their task. 
 
 "Joe, do you know Pangollo by sight? " he asked 
 "Pangollo, who was in Lowe?" 
 
 "No," said Joe; "he had left Lowe before I went 
 there." 
 
 "Domenico, do you know Pangollo's face?" 
 
 "Sure," answered Domenico; "I knew him in 
 Lowe." 
 
 " Good. Here is a gun for each of you, and a stiletto 
 apiece. Go find your man at once. Take him out and 
 kill him." 
 
 "I'm afraid," begged Domenico; "he always car- 
 ries his guns." 
 
 "We are afraid," begged Joe. 
 
 "Be afraid, then, of me" said Tony. "I shall walk 
 just behind you, ready to shoot if he gets the drop on 
 
114 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 you. But if you do not kill him, 1 shall certainly kill 
 both of you, on the spot." 
 
 And they knew he would prove every whit as good 
 as his word. 
 
 Not once did they ask why Pangollo should be 
 lulled. That was not their business, but the business 
 of Tony, their King. Not once did they question even 
 in their own minds why Tony did not do the deed 
 himself, if the deed must be done. To their way of 
 thinking it is the prerogative of kingship to delegate 
 to henchmen dull work like this work requiring 
 no skill or daring, work whose consequences may 
 mean flight. If one day they also should become 
 kings, they also would delegate such work, and them- 
 selves rest serene in the land, taking tribute peacefully 
 while their agents ran for their lives. So it is in The 
 Society. 
 
 Therefore, without argument or further protest, 
 Joe Froio and Domenico Fruscu sought out Pangollo 
 and invited him for a walk in Woodland Park. 
 
 As they moved down the road from the house of the 
 Padrona Borrusco, the usual Sunday afternoon stroll- 
 ers met or passed them, Italians all. And it is signifi- 
 cant of the temper and experience of these people that 
 the would-be murderers felt it quite unnecessary to 
 avoid their knowledge of the act. 
 
 With Pangollo between them, the two, chatting 
 easily, moved on for about a hundred yards. This 
 brought them into the cut by which the trolley line 
 traverses the side of a little wooded hill. Here Do- 
 menico, after a glance over his shoulder that showed 
 him Tony, revolver in hand, not six paces behind, 
 
BIG MINE RUN 115 
 
 suddenly halted, snatched out the gun that had been 
 given him the little nickel gun and fired. 
 
 Pangollo, one step ahead, received the charge in 
 his back. Wheeling, he drew his own revolver, but the 
 safety stuck, and before he could release it, Joe 
 Froio's first bullet had shattered the elbow of his 
 right arm. The impact spun him around, to catch 
 under each shoulder-blade the shots that ended his 
 life. 
 
 Regardless of the Italians looking on, knowing 
 that their silence was sure, the two assassins yet 
 feared the approach of a trolley car. So, their task 
 fulfilled, they dashed up the side of the little wooded 
 hill and disappeared. 
 
 Tony Froio, satisfied, without haste, dropped his 
 gun into his pocket, turned on his heel, and walked 
 back through the town, placidly nodding as he passed 
 to Joe Rizzi, cobbler and friend of the Law, and to 
 other witnesses to the act. 
 
 Then he extended his stroll, circled, and met his 
 squires in the hill woods. 
 
 "Take this six-shooter of mine," he commanded, 
 "and go over to Joe Rizzi the cobbler, in Frackville. 
 That is six miles away. He is on the road home now. 
 Give him my gun to take care of, with the two you 
 have just used, and the two stilettos. You can pass 
 the night with him. Then you may go to Syracuse. 
 Our people there will look after you." 
 
 The faithful two acted accordingly. That night 
 they slept with the friend of the Law and gave him 
 the guardianship of the guns of the Colt's "Police 
 Positive" number 126505, sold on November 17, 
 
116 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 1915, by the Weyanoke Coal & Coke Company to 
 Antonio Froio; of the Smith & Wesson six-shooter 
 number 213732, sold to Antonio Froio through Frank 
 Dini in Mr. Conner's store; and of the little nickel- 
 plated pistol too humble to have a number, but worth 
 the life of a man. 
 
 These weapons, to Tony, were the tools of his trade, 
 important. But for the moment they were better out 
 of his hand. So he made capital of the emergency; 
 he caused them to be received by Joe Rizzi, man of 
 property, with vested interests and established trade. 
 
 Joe Rizzi thereby became accessory after the fact. 
 From the moment he accepted the guns, Tony would 
 have a particular hold on him. He could clear Joe's 
 cash-till to-morrow, then clear it again, at his pleas- 
 ure. Should Joe attempt to protest, Tony would say, 
 quite simply, "Very well, you go to jail." It was not a 
 picturesque method, but it would serve its little turn, 
 among the rest. 
 
 Joe the cobbler, friend of the Law, was afraid to 
 refuse. He knew too much. Rage hi his heart, he ac- 
 cepted the trust laid upon him. 
 
 Next morning his two guests asked at a railway 
 station concerning trains to Syracuse, and, as every 
 station, road, or egress of any sort, within a wide 
 circle, was already covered by the State Police, an- 
 other hour saw them prisoners hi "C" Troop Bar- 
 racks. 
 
 At "C" Troop Barracks the pair told a plausible 
 tale of innocence and ignorance, in every point of 
 which they were vigorously supported by Joe the 
 cobbler, friend of the Law. The tale had been care- 
 
BIG MINE RUN 117 
 
 fully made and learned among the three. Not a word 
 of it did Captain Wilhelm nor Sergeant Smith nor 
 Private Buono believe; moreover, they entertained 
 the gravest suspicions as to the guilt of the two men. 
 But no evidence yet in hand justified holding them. 
 Therefore they turned them loose. 
 
 Reassured by their release, and confident that the 
 State officers, whom alone they feared, had no ink- 
 ling of the truth, they remained about the place for 
 an interval that afforded ample opportunity to deter- 
 mine the list of their acquaintance and that of the 
 Italian colony in general, in Syracuse. This oppor- 
 tunity "C" Troop did not neglect. 
 
 But all the work was done quietly so quietly 
 that it gave not the shadow of a sign. Sergeant 
 Smith and Private Buono, day and night drilling in 
 the depths, published no bulletins of their progress. 
 
 "They are blocked!" thought Tony, "and blocked 
 forever. We are perfectly safe." 
 
 So he went to Joe the cobbler and took back his 
 sinews of war his stilettos and his guns. 
 
 Almost at once, as though born of their possession, 
 arose a new impulse to kill. On the 24th of February, 
 only three weeks and a half after the death of Pan- 
 gollo, Tony took Joe Froio, his cousin, with Domenico 
 Niccolo, "the sheep," out into the wooded park, and 
 there attempted their lives. 
 
 The motives here involved made a drama in them- 
 selves. Niccolo was a man of better nature, inclined 
 to industry and peace. Joe Froio, being thrown into 
 his company, developed a friendship for him, and 
 with that began vaguely to regret the crimes that 
 
118 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 stained his own life, and to fear their consequences. 
 Niccolo, drawn to Maria by her beauty, her misery, 
 and their old acquaintance, was taking on a suitor's 
 air. Maria was not repulsing him. 
 
 In all this, Tony the King saw, first, the loss of 
 the prize- woman a thing not to be endured; and, 
 second, the possible defection of a henchman, who 
 might betray his master to placate the State or to 
 serve a new friend. So he struck to kill both rival 
 and doubtful supporter struck and failed. And to 
 fail in such matters bodes ill to a Black Hand King. 
 
 Once more Tony bundled his side-arms together 
 his three revolvers and his knife. Calling Rocco 
 Rizzi, his man, within the hour, he ordered him to 
 hide them until such time as he, the King, should ask 
 them back. 
 
 Rocco, frightened and nervous but always obedient, 
 buried the weapons in the safest spot he could think 
 of in the skirts of the Great Dump. But the very 
 next day Tony's will veered again. He demanded his 
 armament back. 
 
 So Rocco ran to retrieve, and behold! there was 
 no bone! The hole was rifled, the thing was gone. 
 
 Tony, hovering near in the concealment of wayside 
 brush, fell into a fury at the news. Rocco might go 
 back once more dig once again. Perhaps he had 
 mistaken the spot. But if he failed this time, Tony 
 would know that he had dared be false that he 
 had stolen the guns and Tony would kill him where 
 he stood. 
 
 Rocco went back dug once more, with hurrying, 
 trembling hands, and found nothing. Tony, hidden 
 
BIG MINE RUN 119 
 
 at a distance, watched him with eyes that already 
 feasted on the blood spurting from his heart. And 
 then he saw the descent of the two Troopers, heard 
 Rocco's volley of protest, and knew that this bone- 
 burier was the prisoner of the State Police. 
 
 Now nothing remained but flight. Taking Maria 
 with him, he broke away for New York. 
 
 Such were the facts that the Troopers' work re- 
 vealed. 
 
 In the digest of the case now prepared by Sergeant 
 Smith for the benefit of the District Attorney, its 
 upbuilding from day to day was set forth with extra- 
 ordinary clarity in exact order of incident. The final 
 phrase read: 
 
 "The confessions in the case are in such shape that 
 they can be used on the witness stand against all 
 three defendants." 
 
 The trials came on in the September term of court, 
 those of Joe Froio and Domenico Fruscu leading. 
 These two men repeated the confessions already made 
 to the officers of the State Police, and their assertions 
 were supported, point by point, by the evidence of 
 many witnesses. 
 
 In the baldest manner the prisoners related their 
 deed, underscoring the fact that they had killed 
 simply because they were told to kill, without heat, 
 without provocation, without any promise of reward. 
 One of them had not even known the victim by sight 
 until a quarter of an hour before he shot him to death. 
 The other's acquaintance had been of the slightest. 
 They showed no regret, no shame, no scruple of any 
 sort. 
 
120 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Why should they? These things were daily life to 
 them matters of course. 
 
 Their lawyers offered no hopeful defense. No such 
 defense could be offered. The horror was too com- 
 plete. And out of it glared in all its wild monstrosity 
 the naked figure of the Black Hand. 
 
 The District Attorney asked for a verdict of mur- 
 der in the first degree. The opinion of the Judge was 
 plain. The feeling of the County was intense. But the 
 jury returned from their deliberations, happily snig- 
 gering, as an angry press reported, to render a ver- 
 dict of murder in the second degree. 
 
 Then, in the face of the outraged Judge, the entire 
 panel, walking over to the two grinning prisoners at 
 the bar, congratulated them warmly and shook their 
 hands. 
 
 Immediately thereafter came the trial of Antonio 
 Froio. 
 
 Joe, his cousin, and Domenico Fruscu, were the 
 principal witnesses of the State, despite a vigorous 
 effort on the part of the defense to keep them from 
 the stand. 
 
 "Let them be cautioned, at least," urged their law- 
 yers, "that they need give no evidence to degrade 
 or incriminate themselves." 
 
 Whereon even the Court commented caustically. 
 
 Tony's statement was an elaborate attempt to foist 
 the whole burden of the murder upon the shoulders 
 of his two associates, and a sweeping denial of any 
 personal knowledge of the crime. Long before he had 
 finished, Joe and Domenico themselves fairly panted 
 to testify, and it was obvious that they would willingly 
 
BIG MINE RUN 
 
 further incriminate themselves if by so doing they 
 could make heavier the punishment of their treacher- 
 ous leader. 
 
 One after another, additional witnesses were put on 
 the stand. Rarely or never had that always busy 
 County Court heard a case in which was introduced 
 so much evidence of an important character. The 
 testimonies dovetailed with deadly precision. The 
 structure of the prosecution, as built by the State 
 Police, was superb. 
 
 At last Maria was brought in. As she took her seat 
 within the court enclosure Tony was speaking. For 
 some moments she sat unheeding, with bent head. 
 Then through the haze of her embarrassment his 
 words began to penetrate. He was spinning the in- 
 tricate falsehood of his defense. 
 
 She stared at him with eyes dilated, listening 
 amazed to the facile flood. He uttered her name. She 
 leaned forward with lips apart, not to lose a syllable. 
 She had confessed to many a lover, he ran on. She 
 was a loose woman. Once, even, he had been im- 
 pelled to drive her out of his house in righteous 
 wrath. 
 
 Out of that cloud, mercifully, it was the Homeric 
 jest that first stood forth to the girl's mind, irresistible. 
 With all simplicity Maria threw back her head and 
 laughed turned deliberately, as if for understand- 
 ing, to the Italians crowding the back of the chamber, 
 and laughed aloud. 
 
 The People's case, now soon concluded, was per- 
 fect in every part. With so much skill, foresight, and 
 knowledge of the law had the State Police knitted the 
 
THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 fabric that it proved literally impregnable without 
 a flaw. 
 
 But the jury, nevertheless, and after five hours of 
 deliberation, once more returned a verdict of murder 
 in the second degree. 
 
 In the face of the solid facts, what can explain it? 
 This: 
 
 As at the trial of Joe and Domenico, as at the trial 
 of any Black Hand case, the Court was packed with 
 Italians from far and near friends of the prisoner, 
 allies in their trade. From New York City, from Syra- 
 cuse, from many another town in that State, from 
 points farther afield, and from the entire home re- 
 gion, men had flocked to the support of the accused, 
 whether from personal motives, dark and obscure, or 
 for The Society's prestige. They were known to com- 
 mand money in large sums. And their mere presence 
 did not fail of its calculated suggestion and effect. 
 
 Again, in full sight of the jury, was displayed on 
 a table a row of knives and revolvers, the exhibits in 
 the case. Rough gouges in hafts and barrels told the 
 number of lives that each weapon had sped. And 
 through the evidence educed in the trial pierced once 
 and again the ominous fact that the group of gunmen 
 here in custody was but the visible point of a large and 
 active class a class pervading wide areas and many 
 States, bound together for mutual protection by an 
 extraordinary loyalty, served hand and foot, in fear 
 and trembling, by the non-criminal element of its own 
 blood, and absolutely steeped in murderous crime. 
 
 In neither trial did any juryman bear an Italian 
 name. By the gauge of name, most were of German 
 
BIG MINE RUN 123 
 
 extraction or of English or Irish blood. But they 
 lived in or near towns where the Italian population is 
 large. They rated their own lives and comfort high. 
 And their sense of civic responsibility was perhaps of 
 the average size. So ... 
 
 The Honorable H. O. Bechtel, President Judge of 
 the Court of Common Pleas, before whom these trials 
 were held, in passing sentence upon Antonio Froio, 
 said: 
 
 "... Where on earth there appears in this tale any 
 sort of extenuating circumstance, I cannot say. . . . 
 I cannot, as a lawyer, understand how any jury could 
 reach the conclusion that any of these men were not 
 guilty of first-degree murder. They were either guilty 
 of first-degree murder or they were not guilty at all. 
 . . . These verdicts can only result in the commission 
 of further crimes, in the bringing of the administra- 
 tors of justice into ridicule and contempt. . . . How- 
 ever, the only thing for the Court to do is to impose 
 sentence, and I propose, in sentencing the prisoner, to 
 give him the full limit of the law. 
 
 "I believe in my conscience that all three of them 
 should have been sent to the chair instead of to the 
 jail. And this man was the brains of the whole con- 
 spiracy. He is the man who planned the murder, who 
 started the machinery to carry out the plan, who sent 
 the men to carry it into execution, who went to the 
 spot to see it properly done. I sentence him to pay 
 the costs and to undergo imprisonment in the Eastern 
 Penitentiary for a period of not less than nineteen nor 
 more than twenty years." 
 
 Antonio Froio, so sure had he been of receiving the 
 
124 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 penalty of death, so great was his horror of the elec- 
 tric chair, had thrice attempted to commit suicide 
 while in jail awaiting trial. Now he listened to the 
 Judge's words like one shaken out of his wits. 
 
 Even he could not be grateful for such a sentence. 
 The logic of the thing was too preposterous. If the 
 deed he had done was not murder, of malice pre- 
 pense, was not the crime entailing the extreme 
 penalty, then surely no such crime exists, then 
 the whole matter was illusion, and he had done 
 nothing at all. 
 
 Why, then, were they imposing upon him the pun- 
 ishment attached to some other crime some crime 
 that he had not committed? He felt suddenly angered, 
 aggrieved, oppressed. 
 
 "Do I have to serve so long?" he petulantly asked 
 the Court. 
 
 But later, swayed by the hopes and felicitations of 
 his friends and remembering the Pardon Board, he 
 complained no more. 
 
 Joe and Domenico, not less surprised by similar 
 sentences, displayed a cheerful front. But those who 
 observed Domenico closely said that whenever the 
 two were together his eyes sought Tony's with a pe- 
 culiarly meaning contempt, while Tony avoided his 
 gaze. And they predicted a classic reckoning between 
 these two when the Penitentiary doors should open 
 to set them free. 
 
 The County papers stormed over the "cowardly 
 verdict." "It is a notice to the Black Hand all over 
 the country, perhaps in Europe as well, that Schuylkill 
 County has the softest jurors in the world," said one. 
 
BIG MINE RUN 125 
 
 "Doubtless," said another, "the young assassins 
 thought their heinous crime was commendable, clever, 
 smart, when the jurymen shook their hands and 
 said, * God Bless You!'..." 
 
 Maria, propelled as ever by an extraneous fate, was 
 sent to new fields, and to the welcome and shelter of 
 a true friend. The greatest care has been taken that 
 no one in any of the scenes of her strange adventures 
 should know of her whereabouts, and as yet it is be- 
 lieved that the secret is intact. 
 
 But Maria herself has no illusions. Twice she has 
 written to her trusted ally, Sergeant Smith, and twice 
 she has said, in effect: 
 
 "Of course the Black Hand will get me some day, 
 but I pray it may not be yet. I am very happy here 
 with the good new mamma you found for me, and my 
 baby grows strong and big." 
 
V 
 
 THE HUNGRY ROPE 
 
 CHARLES WILSON was known to the brethren 
 as a "bad nigger," and no one in Schuylkill 
 County remembered a day when the term had not 
 described him. At the age of seventeen he had already 
 piled up a lurid past. And when he then added to his 
 record a full-grown burglary, Judge Bechtel, of the 
 County Bench, decided to deliver a harried public 
 from his presence for a considerable time to come. 
 
 So he gave him six years. 
 
 As Wilson was led from the courtroom, after the 
 pronouncing of the sentence, he shook his fist in the 
 face of the Judge, and swore that his first business, 
 on emerging from prison, should be to kill the Judge, 
 the Sheriff, and the town officer who had arrested him. 
 
 Whereupon His Honor summoned him back into 
 Court and gave him three years more. 
 
 At the time when he indulged in this particular 
 demonstration Wilson was in the employ of a farmer 
 of Tumbling Run Valley, William Yeager by name. 
 Later, in the seclusion of the Eastern Penitentiary, 
 he bethought himself of Mr. Yeager as a possible 
 avenue of escape. So he wrote several letters to his 
 former employer asking for assistance asking him 
 at least to file an application for parole. 
 
 Mr. Yeager remaining unmoved, the prisoner then 
 wrote once more, merely to say that the name of 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 127 
 
 Yeager was added to the list of the doomed that 
 from the day when he, Wilson, should regain his free- 
 dom, by whatever means, the farmer might begin to 
 count his life by hours and minutes. 
 
 All this history was now more than nine years old. 
 Judge Bechtel had completely forgotten it, among the 
 crowding events of his busy life. Mr. Yeager, in the 
 even round of a farmer's seasons, had quite lost sight 
 of it long ago. But Charles Wilson, "bad nigger" and 
 time-expired man, had walked out of the gates of the 
 Eastern Penitentiary with but one clear purpose in 
 his incommodious brain to get back to Schuylkill 
 County and make his threats good. 
 
 Now, on Saturday, October 28, 1916, he was mov- 
 ing thither as fast as his means allowed. 
 
 At midday, as a coal-train pulled slowly through 
 Port Clinton Station on the Philadelphia & Reading 
 tracks, a watchful officer of railroad police caught a 
 glimpse of something that excited his zeal. He felt 
 sure that he had seen a man scramble aboard on the 
 far side, and crawl toward the top of a loaded car. 
 
 So, being an earnest officer, he ran as fast as he 
 could, with some difficulty boarded the train himself, 
 and after a few active moments of clutching and climb- 
 ing, was about to rear his head above the slope of 
 glittering jet on which he believed his appointed prey 
 to lie. 
 
 He cautiously reared his head, taking care to present 
 the muzzle of his revolver close beside it, and he care- 
 fully focussed his mind and his eyes for a spot about 
 halfway down the car. Therefore, to find himself 
 suddenly gazing, at the range of two or three feet, no 
 
128 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 more, into the eyes of a very large negro who seemed 
 by no means scared, had almost the effect of making 
 him cross-eyed and hysterical at one blow. 
 
 The negro, in very fact, was big. He would have 
 stood over six feet tall, and he weighed some two hun- 
 dred and thirty pounds. Even spread flat as he now 
 was, his massive bulk was apparent and his great 
 shoulders told a story that needed no proof. 
 
 "Mr. P'liceman," he said, with a cheerful grin, "Ah 
 want yo' gun." And he shoved a gun of his own 
 about five inches beyond his nose. 
 
 The railroad policeman was watchful and earnest, 
 but he was also rather small, and it seemed to him 
 only discreet to accede. He handed up the revolver. 
 
 "Now," said the negro, reversing the muzzle, "Mr. 
 P'liceman, sah, you beat it!" 
 
 The policeman did the thing the phrase implied. 
 He fell off the train, which had attained its mean 
 velocity. He sprawled as he fell. Then he picked 
 himself up and ran back to Port Clinton as fast as his 
 two legs would take him. There he wired an alarm 
 up the road. 
 
 As the coal-train rolled into Tamaqua, seventeen 
 miles or so farther on, the contraband from his perch 
 perceived that a welcome awaited him. Several men, 
 whom instinct told him to avoid, hovered expectantly 
 on the station platform. So, without waiting for 
 closer approach, he slid over the far side of his car, 
 dropped to earth with his negro's awkward ease, and 
 took to the underbrush. 
 
 As he ran he hugged under his arm something dark 
 that looked about the size of a big squash. 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 129 
 
 With a view-halloo the railroad police broke after 
 him hunted him on and away into the deep woods. 
 Sometimes thereafter they caught half a glimpse of 
 him and fired. Once and again he fired back. 
 Twenty-five cartridges had been wasted before dusk 
 fell and the pursuers abandoned the chase as hope- 
 less. 
 
 But they abandoned it only for the night. They were 
 the official protectors of the railroad, employed and 
 paid for the performance of certain duties, of which 
 the apprehension of stealers of rides was not the least. 
 They could not accept a defeat so flagrant. So they 
 telegraphed for more railway police, and with the 
 coming of the morning started out for a general bush- 
 beating . 
 
 But ever their man eluded them. Again and again 
 their clutch closed over his still stirring cover, only to 
 find him "stole away." At last the scent grew stale 
 and cold. 
 
 And it was after that, in the second day, that 
 they made known their trouble to "C" Troop, State 
 Police. 
 
 Now, over in "C" Troop Barracks, near Pottsville, 
 there was, at the moment, great dearth of men. 
 Captain, Lieutenant, and almost all of the command 
 were away on special duty, leaving the First Sergeant 
 to do his best at home with a scant handful. 
 
 But First Sergeant Snyder, old veteran of the 
 Regular Army, and member of the Force since the 
 Force was, is a tried and proved man. First Sergeant 
 Snyder's best is no child's play. 
 
 In the start he gave his few patrols instructions 
 
130 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 concerning "an unusually large negro," which hazy 
 phrase comprised the whole description afforded by 
 the railroad police. For no one at this time connected 
 the name of Charles Wilson with the hero of the 
 coal-train. Charles Wilson had been nine years out 
 of the mind of all Schuylkill County, and the coal- 
 train affair seemed to the public merely an anony- 
 mous contribution to public cheer. 
 
 But as Tuesday afternoon sank into the dusk of 
 evening, a streamer of news flew over the country, 
 of a color that blanched the earlier tale invisible: A 
 murder had been committed. The victim was one of 
 those solid farmers that are SchuylkilTs special pride. 
 All jests and laughter were forgotten in the shock 
 all other concerns laid aside. 
 
 This time the State Police were the first to receive 
 the alarm. 
 
 "Daniel Wagner's shot. We're just sending hrnri 
 in to the Pottsville hospital. I think he's dying. Oh, 
 go quick!" a woman's voice gasped over the tele- 
 phone. 
 
 First Sergeant Snyder lost not a moment in acting 
 on the report. Jumping into the Troop motor, he 
 reached the hospital just as the wounded man had 
 been put to bed. 
 
 "Shot through the side," said the doctor. "A bad 
 case. Here's where we've got him" as he spoke 
 he opened a door for the officer to pass. "He's very 
 weak. Make the most of a few minutes. I can't let 
 him be taxed beyond that." And he led the way to 
 his patient's cot. 
 
 Daniel Wagner was a Pennsylvania German of the 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 131 
 
 pure type stout, florid, sturdy, phlegmatic, sound. 
 He was about thirty-five years old a married man 
 with a wife and little children waiting for him at home. 
 But his round face was white and sunken now, and 
 as he lay with closed eyes it seemed as if his place in 
 the world would scarcely know his living presence 
 again. 
 
 With a heavy effort he lifted his mind through the 
 deeps of stupor, in answer to the Sergeant's voice. 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "Daniel Wagner." 
 
 "Where do you live?" 
 
 Clearly, but with great labor, the wounded man 
 made his reply. 
 
 "I'm shot. I'm dying," he added, vague terror 
 in his eyes. 
 
 "Who shot you?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Was he black or white?" 
 
 "Don't know. I only saw him a second. 
 I was napping. As I waked up he fired 
 I" the weak voice trailed off into a whisper and 
 ceased. The lips fell apart. 
 
 "Come away," said the doctor. "He can't stand 
 any more." 
 
 "Queer thing," he added, as they walked off, "the 
 poor fellow was n't robbed. We found his bill-fold 
 in his pocket, apparently untouched except for the 
 bullet. Thai had drilled right through leather, bills, 
 and all." 
 
 As the Sergeant crossed the threshold, his quiet 
 step changed to a stride. As he jumped into the Troop 
 
132 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 car, he gave a word to the young recruit at the wheel 
 that lent the wheels wings. 
 
 It was only about six miles from the hospital door 
 to the farmhouse whence had come the first report 
 the house whence Wagner had just been brought. In 
 that house the people waited anxiously to tell all that 
 they knew. But, as Sergeant Snyder soon found, they 
 knew little enough. 
 
 It was now a quarter to six o'clock. At about 
 twenty minutes after four, they said, they had heard 
 a great pounding of hoofs on the road outside, and 
 had run to the window just in time to see a gallop- 
 ing team whirl into their yard and stop. The driver 
 seemed to be kneeling by his seat, but before they 
 could reach the spot, he had disappeared fallen 
 back into his cart. 
 
 Then they recognized Daniel Wagner, their friend 
 and neighbor, who in the early morning had driven 
 by on his way to New Philadelphia, a little town some 
 miles beyond, with a load of produce to sell. And they 
 saw that Daniel Wagner was badly hurt. 
 
 So they lifted him down and carried him into the 
 house, while some one took his wild-eyed, panting 
 team in charge. 
 
 Wagner was then quite clear of mind, they said, and 
 yet could tell them practically nothing of what had 
 occurred. He had sold his produce, had finished his 
 business in the market town, and was jogging peace- 
 fully home, his money in his wallet. The afternoon 
 was soft and dark. He must have fallen asleep with 
 the reins in his hands while his good old farm-team 
 guided themselves in their sober, leisurely way. 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 133 
 
 Suddenly something had happened. He could not 
 say what, nor where. He had only one hazy impres- 
 sion in his mind the fragment of a fragment like 
 the memory of a thing half seen in the flare of a light- 
 ning flash an impression of some shock some 
 stunning impact of a man standing in the road 
 no more. 
 
 Later he did not know how much later he had 
 begun to realize himself to think. Then he per- 
 ceived that he had slid from his seat to the wagon bot- 
 tom that he had the reins in his hands that the 
 team was running away that a farmyard gate opened 
 just ahead. He turned the team into the gateway. 
 
 The wounded man could tell no more. His friends, 
 seeing his growing weakness, had hurried him to the 
 hospital. And the moment he was out of the house, 
 one of the women of the family flew to the telephone 
 to warn the State Police. She it was who now told the 
 tale, trembling with excitement, twisting her hands, 
 weeping. The men had not yet returned from town. 
 
 "Thank you," said Sergeant Snyder. "Now I'll 
 have a look outside." 
 
 At the farmyard entrance he picked up the trail of 
 the galloping team, thence with his pocket flashlight 
 tracing it back and back along the road. Clearly 
 enough it stood out the deep imprints of springing 
 hoofs distinct among the marks of common traffic 
 for a full quarter-mile. Then it suddenly stopped. 
 
 "Look!" said the Sergeant to the recruit who ac- 
 companied him. "Right here's where they gave their 
 first jump. Here's where the shot was fired. We'll 
 search the sides of the road." 
 
134 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Carefully they hunted through brush, briar, and 
 the deep, dry tangles of tall dead weeds and grass. 
 The recruit made the first discovery. 
 
 "Here's a bucket," he announced "an old brown 
 bucket and two doughnuts hi it one with a piece 
 bitten out." 
 
 The Sergeant stood at his shoulder before he fin- 
 ished the phrase. "That bucket might have been here 
 a month," said the Sergeant. "These doughnuts" 
 and he held his flashlight close "could be a week 
 old. But as for the bite that's as fresh as paint. 
 Thai was done within the last few hours." 
 
 Then again he turned his light upon the ground. 
 "Here's where somebody's been sitting, this after- 
 noon bent grass, broken stalks See 'em? And 
 what's this?" 
 
 He was stooping over an old tree-stump, first scru- 
 tinizing its surface, then feeling around it, then 
 twitching gently at some object lodged beneath its 
 spreading roots. With a last persuading tension he 
 drew it forth. 
 
 "Hold the light, till we look," he commanded, 
 straightening up, with the thing in his hands. 
 
 The recruit turned his lamp on the Sergeant's find 
 a crumpled piece of white cotton cloth. The Ser- 
 geant carefully smoothed it out. It was a sort of rude 
 sack, and about the size of a meagre pillow-case. In 
 one side four holes had been cut, like the holes in a 
 Jack-o'-lantern face. The two ends were raw, and 
 had been torn, not cut. 
 
 "This stuff is new," Sergeant Snyder pronounced. 
 "It has never been washed. Moreover, it has been 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 135 
 
 under that stump only a matter of a very few hours. 
 Feel of it. It has n't lost its stiffness yet. And see 
 these loam-marks, where the outside creases came 
 how fresh and sharp-edged they are still. The man 
 that had this mask bunched it up in his hands and 
 rammed it under this stump no longer ago than Daniel 
 Wagner's shooting. That rounds out his picture: 
 
 "He was sitting here hidden in the tall weeds, 
 waiting; and eating doughnuts while he waited. In his 
 pocket he had the mask. He dozed, maybe, a 
 darky always will doze, you know, on the slightest 
 chance, and waked up with a jerk at the sound 
 of a team close on him. He lifts his head, sees only 
 one man in the wagon, drops his precious, half-eaten 
 doughnut back into the pail for safe-keeping, pulls 
 on his mask, jumps out, and blazes away at poor 
 Wagner. 
 
 "But he had forgotten the horses. The horses run, 
 carrying Wagner, Wagner's purse, if that was what 
 was wanted, and above all, the evidence of the 
 crime. 
 
 "So the fellow knows it is only a question of hours, 
 or less, when the chase will be on. He must make the 
 most of the interval. He is scared badly scared. 
 He grabs off his mask, balls it up in his two hands, and, 
 as he thinks, sticks it out of sight under this old stump. 
 
 "But he does n't take time to make a good job of 
 it. He knocks off a bit of loose bark in his haste and 
 leaves that mark, there, blazed on the stump, a tell- 
 tale. Then he cuts and runs." 
 
 "Who was he?" the recruit baldly bleated. 
 
 "How should I know!" the Sergeant sadly replied. 
 
136 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "But in the morning, my lad, you'll be out with the 
 first crack of dawn. And you '11 be looking for that big 
 darky that collects guns." 
 
 Meantime, other wheels had been turning wheels 
 set in motion on the first alarm by the Sergeant's prac- 
 tised touch. "C" Troop's resources, depleted though 
 they were, had all been sensitized to the need of the 
 hour. And so it was that Private Buono, prospecting 
 with purpose around the town of Pottsville, made 
 a discovery. 
 
 The discovery was that one Charles Wilson, colored, 
 before the day of the State Police sentenced to nine 
 years' imprisonment and therefore to them unknown, 
 had but just finished serving his full term; that Wilson 
 was a very large man; and that his mother now lived 
 in Pottsville. Upon this, having in view the stealer of 
 rides, the collector of guns, Private Buono, in civilian 
 clothes, had betaken himself at once to the house 
 indicated. 
 
 There in her kitchen Private Buono sat talking 
 with the negress, the convict's mother, gathering, as 
 he felt, some valuable points, when a slight change 
 of expression seemed to flit across her face, and 
 he thought she made a signal to some one behind 
 him. 
 
 He swung around to look. No third person was in 
 sight. But, "Ah reckon Ah '11 be goin' now," called a 
 big, half -laughing negro voice somewhere in the outer 
 hall. And the street door slammed. 
 
 With a j ump Private Buono followed . As he reached 
 the street he saw the man whom he believed to have 
 preceded him running ahead. 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 137 
 
 Private Buono pursued. The runner turned, levelled 
 his revolver, and fired a shot that whistled very close 
 to the Trooper's ear. 
 
 It was dark now after six o'clock and the 
 narrow streets and alleys of the quarter were pockets 
 of night. Doubling in and out, the fugitive managed 
 after a time to throw his pursuer off the track, until 
 once more he betrayed himself, yielding to the temp- 
 tation to fire again, from an alley mouth, as the 
 Trooper ran past. 
 
 But, though the range was close, the aim failed. 
 Private Buono wheeled into the alley. The negro 
 dashed out at the farther end, and, rapidly turning 
 corners, again escaped from sight. 
 
 A swelling crowd of excited onlookers now com- 
 plicated the situation blocked the view. 
 
 "There! There he goes!" yelled a voice on the far 
 outskirts. 
 
 "There! "shrieked others. "There he runs! There 
 below!" 
 
 Following their indication Trooper Buono clove his 
 way through the throng and plunged down the steep 
 incline the slope of the hill on which the town is 
 built. At the bottom the fugitive stood as if waiting, 
 gun in hand. As the officer neared he fired once more, 
 then sprang over the fence and dived into an old 
 cemetery where, hidden and lost among tombs and 
 the far-extended planting about them, he passed be- 
 yond any one man's powers of discovery. 
 
 Hot over his failure Private Buono still had no 
 need to stop to think. Help he must have. Useless to 
 report to Barracks, for, as he well knew, not another 
 
138 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 man could now be drawn from that source. So he 
 must ask for the town police. 
 
 His call came in to City Hall just as the night men 
 filed in for duty. The night men were seven. 
 
 "Jump onto this job, every last soul of you," Chief 
 Hoepstine commanded. "Take the first motor you 
 find in the street and light out!" 
 
 They lit out. At the door they found not only a 
 motor, but a motor with a driver ready and eager for 
 the chase. It was only a four-passenger car, to be sure, 
 but with two standing on either running-board, it 
 served as well as a bus. Through the thickly crowded 
 main thoroughfare they drove with care. But they 
 whipped into the first available side-street, speeding 
 apace, and when they came to their proper corner, 
 had, in their enthusiasm, attained such headway 
 that they could not make the turn. 
 
 The car skidded, crashed into a tree. Its occupants 
 shot hither and yon. And the first of the crowd that 
 rushed to the scene found eight dazed men, sitting or 
 lying about the roadbed, all somewhat injured, two 
 badly hurt. 
 
 For a time the wholesale calamity befallen the 
 guardians of the town consumed the town's attention. 
 But by hah* after seven o'clock the prior interest again 
 prevailed, and City Hall overflowed with citizens of- 
 fering themselves and their vehicles for the hunt. 
 
 Trooper Buono sped in the first car. Railway police 
 officers cast themselves into those that followed. Dur- 
 ing hah* an hour the town of Pottsville threw off 
 motors into the night as a pin- wheel throws off sparks. 
 For general belief now held that the fugitive negro 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 139 
 
 and Daniel Wagner's assassin were one, and not a man 
 in the county could give a thought to other concerns 
 while that assassin remained at large. 
 
 Flying in every direction, singly or in pairs, the cars 
 covered the territory immediately outlying the town. 
 Every house, barn, or saloon that conceivably might 
 shelter the negro, was searched, every passer on the 
 road was questioned, every patch of woods and brush 
 was combed, the brickyard, with all its ovens and 
 drying-houses, was ransacked. Wild rumors fluttered 
 down out of the skies, and, as each one alighted, a car 
 darted out in whatever direction that rumor pointed. 
 
 But at three o'clock in the morning, when the 
 searchers foregathered at City Hall, not one had a 
 ray of news to offer, and by common consent the en- 
 tire company went home to bed. 
 
 At dawn the dawn of Wednesday, November 1st 
 First Sergeant Snyder put his every available man 
 on the job, the citizens helping with a will. All negro 
 and foreign settlements in every town in the county 
 were searched, the mountains hunted over, and each 
 report of the presence of an unknown black, whence- 
 ever it came, sifted to a conclusion. By means of 
 track-walkers, switchmen, station agents, and train- 
 hands, the two railroads had been turned into man- 
 traps on the first alarm. But still another day ran 
 on another night dragged through its hours, with- 
 out result. 
 
 On Thursday popular excitement and the popular 
 activity remained at fever pitch. North, east, and 
 south there was mounting and riding over the hills. 
 South, east, and north, sped false alarms. 
 
140 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 But well on into Thursday afternoon came at last 
 a word that rang with a new sound. It rose from out 
 of the west, and if there yet remained an able-bodied 
 man who had not joined the chase, he joined it now. 
 
 Then First Sergeant Snyder, wise in times and sea- 
 sons, feeling that the hour was nigh, quietly laid 
 aside another and most vital work, and took the 
 open road. 
 
 The hunt burst into western Schuylkill with a rush. 
 The trail grew hot and hotter, and yet again and 
 again disappointment dashed sure hope. By nine 
 o'clock on this, the third night of the pursuit, most of 
 the chase, tired out and discouraged, had once more 
 turned back toward home. And then it was, and not 
 till then, that Sergeant Snyder got his real news. 
 
 He was scouting about the little town of Donaldson 
 when it came, borne by a breathless messenger. 
 
 "They've caught him! Over in Tremont! Shut 
 him up in a swamp! Some hunters beyond the creek 
 saw a light in a cabin where nobody lives. They guessed 
 it might be the nigger, so they went and told the man 
 that owns the shack. He told the Chief Burgess and 
 everybody else he met. The Chief Burgess turned out, 
 and the whole town after him. When they got to the 
 cabin cabin's on the creek-bank Burgess threw 
 his car headlights square on it. Then the nigger runs 
 out of the door and jumps over the bank must be 
 eighteen feet high into the creek below. From 
 there he cuts into the swamp, and now the crowd is 
 surrounding the swamp, shooting." 
 
 Sergeant Snyder covered the distance between 
 Donaldson and Tremont at a speed that the emer- 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 141 
 
 gency condoned. With his mind's eye he saw the em- 
 battled farmers falling in windrows, dropped by the 
 cross-fire of their own guns. Was it in the power of 
 engines to rush him there in time? 
 
 As his car dashed into the scene the visible gravity 
 of the situation confirmed his thought. Two hundred 
 men and more, armed with shotguns and rifles and 
 pitchforks, had encircled the swamp. The headlights 
 of several cars, placed at intervals, struck sharp rays 
 into its murky depths, exaggerating every little flicker 
 across the shadowy planes. 
 
 Crack! went a rifle, off to the left. The Sergeant 
 almost winced, in anticipation of a cry of pain from 
 some wounded man. Even if they did not slaughter 
 each other, they were tempting the madness of their 
 quarry. Whatever creature they held penned among 
 them was a creature fighting for his life. 
 
 Now, First Sergeant Walter Snyder, like every 
 other officer of the Force, sees his own relation to 
 given crises purely from the Force's standpoint; 
 which standpoint, in the matter of personal danger, 
 hurt, and cost, even to cost of life itself, affords no 
 view at all. 
 
 So, very promptly, he requested the Burgess to call 
 off his men. 
 
 "But we've come out to get the hound!" pro- 
 tested the Burgess hotly. 
 
 "You have got him, Burgess. You've held him. 
 Now I'll just go fetch him out for you, that's all." 
 
 "You mean you'll go in there?" 
 
 "As soon as you draw off your men. It's the only 
 thing to do." 
 
142 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "But" 
 
 "Don't you see, Burgess, how nervous they are? 
 Firing like this . . ." 
 
 Crack! Crack! Crack! a little tempest of hys- 
 terical shots broke loose even as he spoke. 
 
 "Cross-firing like this, it's the Lord's mercy they 
 have n't killed each other already, filling the woods 
 with lead." 
 
 The Burgess, moved against his will, sent the mes- 
 sage around the line. Growling resentfully, the far- 
 mers fell back. 
 
 "Put them way off way off. Tell 'em to close up 
 the escapes," the Sergeant advised. 
 
 But while he so both advised and exacted, his 
 deepest motive lay hid in his own breast. 
 
 He watched them fall back, back, spreading far- 
 ther apart. Quickly then he turned to the Trooper 
 attending him : 
 
 "See that they stay there. Don't let them get to 
 shooting again. Head the car for the home road. Keep 
 them as far away from it as you can, and stand by. 9 ' 
 
 Then he waded into the swamp. 
 
 It was a swamp of big brush of rhododendrons 
 spreading heavy screens of green, of bull-briar snares, 
 of saplings massed in bulk, of tall trees bent and over- 
 lapping, of tussocks and oozy bog a perfect hiding- 
 place a perfect ambush. 
 
 Using his searchlight the Sergeant covered back 
 and forth, back and forth, in that night-black, many- 
 veiled morass, scanning three feet at a time offer- 
 ing in his own person, as he well knew, the best of tar- 
 gets for the armed outlaw hidden and at bay. 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 143 
 
 "This is my job. I 've got to get him myself . It's 
 the only way," he was thinking as he raked the 
 darkness through. 
 
 And not once did he waste a thought on how easily 
 his difficult task could be reversed how exceedingly 
 easily the hiding and desperate man could take the 
 life of his solitary pursuer. 
 
 But still he saw nothing nothing but the shapes 
 of leaf and branch and moving shadow heard 
 nothing but the suck and slide and crackle of his 
 own steps. Almost it seemed as if the cover was 
 blank. 
 
 Then suddenly, sweeping under the silvery, sagging 
 rails of an old fence, his light caught on something 
 that glittered caught and stood fast on staring 
 eyeballs in a black face. 
 
 The Sergeant's gun was up. 
 
 "Coon, what are you doing in there?" 
 
 But why did he almost whisper the words? 
 
 "Ah's de one you's lookin' fer, please, sah!" 
 strangely the negro whispered back. 
 
 "Get up." 
 
 The negro arose all of six feet in height, great 
 in bulk. He carried a revolver in his hand, hanging as 
 if he had forgotten it. 
 
 "Give that gun here. Have you got another?" 
 
 "Yes, sah, please. Here dey is, sah." 
 
 Two guns exchanged hands. 
 
 "Now," said First Sergeant Snyder, and still his 
 voice came below his breath, "I'm not going to hand- 
 cuff you, because I want you to move before me. Just 
 as I tell you. Quietly and quick. If you try to get 
 
144 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 away, I shall shoot you. But if those people out there 
 once get at you " 
 
 "Yes, sah! Ah know, sah!" The negro's teeth 
 were rattling, although the sweat stood heavy on his 
 face. 
 
 "All right, then. Start. Quiet, remember!" The 
 Sergeant pointed in the direct line back toward his 
 car. 
 
 With deliberate pace, as if still searching, he pushed 
 along, the negro before him creeping so cautiously that 
 his captor's footsteps drowned such little sound as he 
 made. 
 
 So proceeding, they neared the verge of the marsh. 
 
 "Duck!" whispered the Sergeant suddenly. 
 
 The ray of a headlight lay across their path. 
 
 Instantly the negro flattened himself on all fours, 
 to glide like a dingy alligator among roots and under- 
 brush, and through the black bog water. Unseen, he 
 slid into the night beyond. 
 
 Moving always like a careful searcher, the soldier 
 used the utmost tongue of cover the farthest string 
 of laurel thicket extending toward the road. Then, 
 where no more shelter offered, he spoke to the prisoner 
 again. 
 
 "See that car with its tail-light turned this way? 
 We're after that. Steady, now, no matter what hap- 
 pens. // you break you 9 re done" 
 
 "Y-yes, sah!" 
 
 With even, rapid, unhasty steps they moved 
 through the open, in the lessened dark, and had come 
 within sixty yards of the motor before any one but the 
 Trooper standing by the wheel remarked then* pas- 
 

 THE HUNGRY ROPE 145 
 
 sage. Then some nearest townsman detected the two 
 figures, recognized the Sergeant's firm silhouette. 
 
 "Hi! Trooper's got him!" he shouted. " Troop- 
 er 's got him ! This way, boys ! " 
 
 "Hi yi! Hurrah! Hurrah! Bring the rope! The ' 
 rope! The rope!" 
 
 In an instant the air was filled with shouts, wild 
 laughter, and the sound of plunging footsteps, merg- 
 ing into a shapeless, oncoming roar. 
 
 "Into the car with you!" the Sergeant snapped. 
 
 The negro sprang to obey, crouching on the floor of 
 the tonneau. The Trooper at the wheel had pressed 
 his self-starter. But the engine, it seemed, would 
 balk. First Sergeant Snyder stood quietly at the side 
 of the car, service Colt in hand, when the first man 
 reached him on the run. 
 
 "Give him here, we'll fix him!" he panted, and his 
 voice rasped hoarse and hard. 
 
 "He is my prisoner," the Sergeant answered coolly. 
 "You will not lay a finger on him." 
 
 The man stopped short, an oath on his lips 
 turned and shouted to his friends. 
 
 "Here's the nigger! Here's the nigger that killed 
 Dan Wagner. And the Troopers won't give him up ! " 
 
 "The rope! The rope!" the gathering crowd 
 howled back, brandishing shotguns and rifles, swing- 
 ing pitchforks and crowbars and clubs. 
 
 First Sergeant Snyder, jumping into the tonneau, 
 stood to face them. It was the situation that he had 
 foreseen from the first. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said he, "this negro is under the pro- 
 tection of the State. Not one of you will molest him." 
 
146 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 The faces before him, in sharp gleams and distorting 
 patches, half swallowed by the night, seemed almost 
 the faces of a strange people. There were Slavic types 
 among them, Italians, Huns, miners come in from 
 the coal-fields roundabout. But most of them were 
 farmers Pennsylvania Dutch. And the good old 
 Pennsylvania Dutch, in mind and in practice, are a 
 law-abiding folk. 
 
 But now these sturdy burghers, in a manner of 
 speaking, had seen their dead. Daniel Wagner, hon- 
 est man and honest neighbor, one of themselves, had 
 been brutally slain, in the midst of their life of their 
 own most sacred and honored peace. It was as if the 
 outrage had befallen each man's very hearth. It as- 
 sailed the balance of their world. It was a thing to be 
 stamped upon to be strangled and here, and now. 
 
 " The rope ! The rope ! " they howled. " The rope ! " 
 
 The Sergeant raised his revolver, slowly swinging 
 it back and forth along the turbulent mass. 
 
 "Stop where you are," said he coolly. And his 
 voice, well tuned to be heard and obeyed, reached 
 every man before him as clearly as if it came from the 
 sky. "Not one move more. I shall defend the prisoner 
 of the State." 
 
 For a moment dead silence succeeded the words. 
 Then came a broken, inarticulate murmur, hesitating, 
 indeterminate vague. With it mingled a new note 
 the song of the engine, spasmodic at first, but set- 
 tling into a steady purr. Men's muscles began in- 
 sensibly to relax their eyes to become self-conscious. 
 And the wheels of the car turned. 
 
 " Let her go ! " the Sergeant threw over his shoulder. 
 
"I SHALL DEFEND THE PRISONERS OF THE STATE' 
 

THE HUNGRY ROPE 147 
 
 The Trooper let her go, indeed. 
 
 Another minute and the lurid scene by the bog was 
 sinking into a blot a spark had vanished in the 
 engulfing night. 
 
 Then the First Sergeant turned and looked down, 
 where a big, lumpish bulk crouched shivering and 
 sobbing at his knees. He thrust the Colt back into 
 his holster. He took from his pocket some small 
 thing that chinked. 
 
 "Hold your hands up, Wilson," said he. "I'll put 
 the irons on you now." 
 
 "Yes, sah! Yes, sah, please!" 
 
 Awhile they ran on in silence, the car lunging 
 heavily over heavy roads. The prisoner sat by his 
 captor's side, as limp as if every bone in his great body 
 had turned to paste. 
 
 "Wilson," said the Sergeant at last, "how many 
 cartridges have you got on you?" 
 
 "Reckon Ah's got 'bout forty, sah!" 
 
 "And just what was the reason you did n't try to 
 shoot me?" 
 
 " Good Lawd ! " The feeling in the exclamation sur- 
 passed all feigning. "Ah's jest a common nigger, 
 but, praises be, Ah's no such fool as that! Don't 
 Ah know what happened at Coatesville? Ain't Ah 
 heard tell about you gen'lemans whiles Ah was in the 
 Pen? Did n't Ah know, down there in that bog-hole, 
 that a State Trooper comin' along was my onlies' 
 chance on earth against against the slow fire 
 and the stake? " 
 
 Again a tremor shook his whole frame as the words 
 chattered through his teeth. 
 
148 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "Why, the sight of that uniform you-all's got on 
 was the blessedest sight my eyes could see! Ah had 
 n't never seen one befo', but the fellers in the Pen done 
 often describe it to me when they told what you 
 State's men do. Me shoot a Trooper and the stake- 
 fire so nigh lit under me that Ah fair heerd it cracklin* 
 and smelled my roastin' meat! Gawd! Oh, Gawd!" 
 
 His voice cracked, negro-fashion, and he broke 
 again into shivering tears. 
 
 "But why," the Sergeant pursued, "did you shoot 
 Daniel Wagner?" 
 
 The sobs stopped short. Silence in the tonneau; 
 after which the prisoner, having reflected, spoke. 
 
 "I did n't shoot Dan'el Wagner." 
 
 "Why did you shoot Daniel Wagner?" 
 
 "Ah ain't goin' to say nothing, because Ah don't 
 want to tell lies." 
 
 And in this attitude the black steadily persisted 
 even to the day of his trial, while his own simple 
 vanity carried him in the interval far and farther 
 wrong. 
 
 Meantime, First Sergeant Snyder had been quietly 
 pursuing his own devices, building up by faithful re- 
 search the history of Charles Wilson's life. Shortly it 
 stood on paper, systematically tabulated, with due 
 indications of sources and of corroborative evidence 
 in form. 
 
 By this it appeared that until his sixteenth year 
 Wilson had gone to school, taking fairly kindly to 
 study; that he was bright, wrote an excellent hand, 
 and had finished a common education. Thence he 
 graduated so promptly and thoroughly into crime 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 149 
 
 that only a year, more or less, had elapsed before he 
 entered the Penitentiary. 
 
 In the Penitentiary his record had been thoroughly 
 bad, so that no commutation of his sentence was con- 
 sidered. Released at last, he had moved quickly upon 
 his old hunting-ground, Schuylkill County, his mind 
 filled with the plan that he had sedulously nursed 
 during his long years in prison. 
 
 First, he was going to kill Charles Yeager, the man 
 who had refused to plead that he be turned loose upon 
 an unhappy countryside. Then, reenforced by the 
 contents of Charles Yeager's purse, he would complete 
 his programme at his ease. 
 
 At SchuylkilPs very threshold, Port Clinton, he had 
 stopped to lay in material for his campaign. He had 
 already bought a revolver with a store of cartridges, 
 and the purchase had taken almost all his means. 
 Still, by careful calculation, the little remainder would 
 suffice to fulfil his purpose and to make him happy 
 the while. 
 
 Food was his first requisite food enough to carry 
 him, if need be, through an interval of dearth. In 
 those nine years of prison, woven through his daily 
 and nightly dream of liberty and revenge, had run a 
 thread of lighter hue the thought of doughnuts. 
 Doughnuts had been his infant passion. Never in his 
 life had he had his fill of their soft charms. Could 
 he accomplish it now? 
 
 He walked into a little thread-needle shop. "Ah 
 want a piece of white cloth," said he. 
 
 "What kind of white cloth?" asked the woman be- 
 hind the counter. 
 
150 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 The negro seemed nonplussed. "Why jest 
 white cloth, Ah reckon." 
 
 "What do you want to do with it?" pursued the 
 practically minded shopkeeper. 
 
 "Why why to make to make maybe a 
 pillow-case, maybe." 
 
 The woman took down a bolt of pillow-case cotton, 
 tore off a length sufficient to cover the sort of pillow 
 that she assumed the negro would possess, rolled it 
 up in a bit of wrapping-paper, and handed it to her 
 customer. 
 
 He thrust the parcel into his pocket. And, as he 
 turned to leave the shop, she noticed that he was very 
 carefully studying and muttering over the change 
 that she had just laid in his palm. 
 
 "Does that darky think I've cheated him?" she 
 exclaimed to herself. 
 
 Coming to the door, she watched him move down 
 the street. 
 
 Thus watching, she saw him stop short, and stare 
 down an alleyway upon which opened the back doors 
 of certain houses and shops. Then the negro turned 
 into the alley and disappeared, to emerge at once 
 carrying in his hand an old, half-wrecked, brown- 
 painted bucket. 
 
 "He's picked that up off the rubbish-heap. Must 
 be a looney! I'll get back to my work," concluded 
 the watcher, and gave the affair not a second thought 
 until Sergeant Snyder's inquiry. 
 
 A few moments later a comfortable baker of the 
 neighborhood, sitting among his loaves and cakes in an 
 atmosphere sweet to the noses of his patrons, heard 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 151 
 
 his swan-necked doorbell tinkle and saw a negro enter 
 the shop. 
 
 "What can I do for you to-day?" asked the baker 
 urbanely. 
 
 "Doughnuts!" breathed the negro a very large 
 man and the baker remarked how his great mouth 
 enwrapped and fondled the word. " Is you-all got any 
 doughnuts?" 
 
 " Heaps of 'em," the baker responded, with sym- 
 pathetic unction. "Hot and fresh. How many will 
 you have?" 
 
 The negro slapped a handful of silver down upon 
 the counter. 
 
 "You don't want all that!" exclaimed the baker, 
 startled out of his tradesman's poise. 
 
 "Put 'em in this here bucket, let me see," the other 
 replied. 
 
 Handful after handful, the baker cast them in, 
 packing them evenly to save room. Now and again 
 he looked at his customer, to catch the sign "enough." 
 
 But always the negro's eyes stared into the filling 
 bucket, while his lips worked accordeon-wise in suc- 
 culent delight. 
 
 At last the level reached the bucket's battered rim. 
 
 "You've still got thirty-two cents left," said the 
 baker. 
 
 "Heap her up, high's she'll stand. Then we'll tie 
 a piece of paper over the top." 
 
 The thing was done. But still some silver remained 
 unconverted into doughnuts. 
 
 "Ah '11 tote the rest in my pockets," said the negro. 
 And so, with both coat-skirts bulging, and with his 
 
152 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 precious bucket under his arm, he left the shop penni- 
 less, making off in the direction of the railway station. 
 
 Then, in short order, came his stolen ride, his ad- 
 venture with the railroad policeman, his acquisition of 
 a second revolver, and his sudden alarm at the sight of 
 the reception committee awaiting him at Tamaqua 
 Station. 
 
 Slipping off his grimy conveyance at this point, and 
 taking to the woods, he had not forgotten to carry his 
 bucket with him. And whenever he turned to fire, his 
 pursuers, from their distance, had seen without recog- 
 nizing the dark bulk under his arm. 
 
 Cutting across a country once wholly familiar to 
 him, and which had changed in little or nothing during 
 his nine years' absence, Wilson soon emerged in the 
 village of New Philadelphia. Here, entering a saloon, 
 he made talk with the loungers there, incidentally 
 asking, as the bar-keeper later recalled, whether 
 Charles Yeager still did his marketing in the little 
 town. 
 
 "Sure," said the bar-keeper; "he comes in on 
 Tuesdays." 
 
 "Got his regular day, has he?" the other rejoined. 
 
 "Regular as clock-work, Yeager is." 
 
 That night the negro slept in the open. Next morn- 
 ing, Sunday, he knocked at the door of a cottage on 
 the outskirts of the village, begging ten cents to pay 
 his fare to Pottsville. 
 
 Later in the day the middle-aged woman who had 
 answered his knock and given the alms said to her 
 husband : 
 
 "Joe, I've just remembered who that big darky 
 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 153 
 
 is him that came begging with the bucket under his 
 arm. It 's that rascal Charles Wilson that they sent to 
 the Pen eight or nine years ago. I'll think my ten 
 cents well spent if it takes him away from here, that I 
 will!" 
 
 Wilson, in very fact, took the trolley to Pottsville, 
 but alighted at some distance on the hither side of the 
 town, climbed into the hills and found a lair in an old 
 abandoned shed. Here he lay hidden; and here for 
 the Sergeant found the exact bits of cotton on the 
 ground he fashioned his Jack-o'-lantern mask, 
 knotting the cloth together and cutting the holes for 
 eyes, nose, and mouth. 
 
 Then, in the dark of Tuesday morning, once more 
 he resumed the familiar wood trails over Tuscarora 
 Mountain, toward the road that Yeager must travel 
 on his way from his farm to New Philadelphia. In 
 the first light of Tuesday's dawn a matutinal farmer 
 chanced to see a great negro passing toward the New 
 Philadelphia road, and the farmer noticed that the 
 negro carried in his hand a brown pail. 
 
 Knowing that the railroad police must be on his 
 track, Wilson had no fancy to expose himself by light 
 of day. Therefore, having gained the position on the 
 highroad that he sought, he effaced himself there in 
 the tall, dead grass, to await the hour of his revenge. 
 And so, being a true negro, no sooner was he quiet and 
 comfortable than he fell fast asleep. 
 
 When he awakened, the sun was high overhead, 
 and he knew that Yeager, if indeed he had gone to 
 market that day, had passed him by. 
 
 But, "What goes up must come down." So he 
 
154 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 lay easily dozing and waiting until after the hour of 
 four. 
 
 He was putting a doughnut into his mouth when the 
 creak and rumble of heavy wheels caught his atten- 
 tion. Parting the grasses, peering stealthily through, 
 he saw coming down the road a wagon such as every 
 farmer in the region drives. Nodding on the box, sat 
 Charles Yeager the very image of Charles Yeager 
 as he had known him years ago. 
 
 The negro's eyes turned red. Snatching at his 
 pocket, he jerked out his mask and fitted it over his 
 head. Then, as the wagon drew abreast, he leaped to 
 the side of the road, firing point-blank at the uncon- 
 scious figure before him at the man, as he believed, 
 whose death he had vowed, and whose purse should 
 now finance him. 
 
 But his leap and his shot undid the plan. From 
 under his very fingers the terrified horses swept his 
 plunder away, and sped the news of his wickedness. 
 
 And now he must have money. From the hue and 
 cry that would soon be sharp on his heels, he must 
 have means to escape, farther and faster than his 
 legs could carry him. Where was he to find it? 
 
 He did not suspect that Charles Yeager, with a 
 well-stuffed wallet in his pocket, was jogging straight 
 toward him, down the New Philadelphia road 
 Charles Yeager, who nine long years ago had looked 
 as Daniel Wagner looked to-day. He did not know 
 that his revenge had failed utterly and that he had 
 sold his right to live, by the fruitless murder of a 
 stranger. 
 
 And so, racking his brains for help, he thought of 
 
THE HUNGRY ROPE 155 
 
 his mother, in her cottage down in Pottsville. She, of 
 course, would give him all she had. And, under the 
 cover of night, he could visit her and get away with- 
 out recognition. Therefore, abandoning his empty 
 bucket, forgetting even a doughnut in his fright, un- 
 consciously leaving the unconscious Yeager close be- 
 hind him, he cut across the mountain once more, and 
 descended into Pottsville. 
 
 Stealing up on his mother's house, he crept through 
 her chamber window, finding his burglar's skill but 
 little rusted as he noiselessly moved within. Voices in 
 the kitchen. He would listen, sneaking near. And lo! 
 he himself, his bygone life, and certain unpleasant 
 later details, made the subject of the talk. It was his 
 mother, innocently gossiping with a detective! 
 
 What a joke on her! What a joke on every one 
 concerned! Wilson's racial bravado, with his racial 
 spirit of careless laughter, did the rest. He could not 
 resist the temptation to speak. 
 
 "Ah reckon Ah '11 be goin' now," he tossed at the 
 pair, and fled into the outer night. 
 
 So much of the story of the negro's latter days at 
 large did First Sergeant Snyder rapidly and exactly 
 build up from sound foundations of fact supported 
 by ample evidence. These facts, orderly presented in 
 form for immediate use, and this evidence, reposed on 
 the day of the trial in the hands of District Attorney 
 Whitehouse, of Schuylkill County. 
 
 Charles Wilson, led into Court, walked with a 
 swaggering lurch that told its own tale of restored 
 self-confidence. 
 
 As the irons dropped from his wrists he turned 
 
156 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 deliberately to bestow on Judge-President Bechtel, 
 whose life he had promised to take, a look so boldly 
 evil that a State Trooper quietly moved to the front 
 of the Judge's seat. 
 
 Then, as the trial opened, the vanity of the prisoner 
 reached its height. Having pleaded "Not Guilty" on 
 all counts, he now proceeded to discard his able coun- 
 sel and to conduct his own defense. 
 
 But even without that folly, his case was hopeless. 
 First Sergeant Snyder's structure, built on scientific 
 legal lines, in the manner of the State Police, stood 
 like rock. Beginning with the revolver taken from 
 the railway officer on the top of the coal-car at Port 
 Clinton and recovered by First Sergeant Snyder from 
 the negro in the swamp, the series of exhibits was com- 
 plete. The roster of witnesses showed as handsomely. 
 
 It was therefore due solely to an extraneous circum- 
 stance that the prisoner escaped with his life. Daniel 
 Wagner, after days in the very doorway of the other 
 world, was getting well was now safe. Conse- 
 quently Wilson's sentence, which must otherwise 
 have been the electric chair, became twelve years in 
 prison. 
 
 After those twelve years, what? 
 
VI 
 
 ISRAEL DRAKE 
 
 TSRAEL DRAKE was a bandit for simple love of 
 * the thing. To hunt for another reason would be a 
 waste of time. The blood in his veins was pure Eng- 
 lish, unmixed since long ago. His environment was 
 that of his neighbors. His habitat was the noble hills. 
 But Israel Drake was a bandit, just as his neighbors 
 were farmers just as a hawk is a hawk while its 
 neighbors are barnyard fowls. 
 
 Israel Drake was swarthy-visaged, high of cheek- 
 bone, with large, dark, deep-set eyes, and a thin- 
 lipped mouth covered by a long and drooping black 
 mustache. Barefooted, he stood six feet two inches 
 tall. Lean as a panther, and as supple, he could clear 
 a five-foot rail fence without the aid of his hand. He 
 ran like a deer. As a woodsman the very deer could 
 have taught him little. With rifle and revolver he was 
 an expert shot, and the weapons he used were the 
 truest and best. 
 
 All the hill-people of Cumberland County dreaded 
 him. All the scattered valley-folk spoke softly at his 
 name. And the jest and joy of Israel's care-free life 
 was to make them skip and shiver and dance to the 
 tune of their trepidations. 
 
 As a matter of fact, he was leader of a gang, out- 
 laws every one. But his own strong aura eclipsed the 
 rest, and he glared alone, in the thought of his world, 
 endued with terrors of diverse origin. 
 
158 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 His genius kept him fully aware of the value of 
 this preeminence, and it lay in his wisdom and pleas- 
 ure to fan the flame of his own repute. In this it 
 amused him to seek the picturesque the unex- 
 pected. With an imagination fed by primeval humor 
 and checked by no outward circumstance of law, he 
 achieved a ready facility. Once, for example, while 
 trundling through his town of Shippensburg on the 
 rear platform of a freight train, he chanced to spy a 
 Borough Constable crossing a bridge near the track. 
 
 "Happy thought! Let's touch the good soul up. 
 He's getting stodgy." 
 
 Israel drew a revolver and fired, neatly nicking the 
 Constable's hat. Then with a mountaineer's hoot, 
 he gayly proclaimed his identity. 
 
 Again, and many times, he would send into this or 
 that town or settlement a message addressed to the 
 Constable or Chief of Police: 
 
 "I am coming down this afternoon. Get away out 
 of town. Don't let me find you there." 
 
 Obediently they went away. And Israel, strolling 
 the streets that afternoon just as he had promised to 
 do, would enter shop after shop, look over the stock 
 at his leisure, and, with perfect good-humor, pick out 
 out whatever pleased him, regardless of cost. 
 
 "I think I'll take this here article," he would say 
 to the trembling store-keeper, affably pocketing his 
 choice. 
 
 "Help yourself, Mr. Drake! Help yourself, sir! 
 Glad we are able to please you to-day." 
 
 Which was indeed the truth. And many of them 
 there were who would have hastened to curry favor 
 
ISRAEL DRAKE 159 
 
 with their persecutor by whispering in his ear a word 
 of warning had they known of any impending at- 
 tempt against him by the agents of peace. 
 
 Such was their estimate of the relative strength of 
 Israel Drake and of the law forces of the Sovereign 
 State of Pennsylvania. 
 
 In the earlier times they had tried to arrest him. 
 Once the attempt succeeded and Israel went to the 
 Penitentiary for a term. But he emerged a better and 
 wilier bandit than before, to embark upon a career 
 that made his former life seem tame. Sheriffs and 
 Constables now proved powerless against him, what- 
 ever they essayed. 
 
 Then came a grand, determined effort when the 
 Sheriff, supported by fifteen deputies, all heavily 
 armed, actually surrounded Drake's house. But the 
 master-outlaw, alone and at ease at an upper window, 
 his Winchester repeating-rifle in his hand and a smile 
 of still content on his face, coolly stood the whole 
 army off until, weary of empty danger, it gave up the 
 siege and went home. 
 
 This disastrous expedition ended the attempts of 
 the local authorities to capture Israel Drake. Thence- 
 forth he pursued his natural course without pretense 
 of let or hindrance. At the time when this story be- 
 gins, no fewer than fourteen warrants were out for 
 his apprehension, issued on charges ranging from 
 burglary and highway robbery through a long list 
 of felonies. But the warrants, slowly accumulating, 
 lay in the bottom of official drawers, apprehending 
 nothing but dust. No one undertook to serve them. 
 Life was too sweet too short. 
 
160 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Then came a turn of fate. Israel chanced to be- 
 think himself of a certain aged farmer living with his 
 old wife near a spot called Lee's Cross-Road. The 
 two dwelt by themselves, without companions on 
 their farm, and without neighbors. And they were 
 reputed to have money. 
 
 The money might not be much might be ex- 
 ceedingly little. But, even so, Israel could use it, and 
 in any event there would be the fun of the trick. So 
 Israel summoned one Carey Morrison, a gifted mate 
 and subordinate, with whom he proceeded to act. 
 
 At dead of night the two broke into the farmhouse 
 crept into the chamber of the old pair crept 
 softly, softly, lest the farmer might keep a shotgun 
 by his side. Sneaking to the foot of the bed, Israel 
 suddenly flashed his lantern full upon the pillows 
 upon the two pale, deep-seamed faces crowned with 
 silver hair. 
 
 The woman sat up with a piercing scream. The 
 farmer clutched at his gun. But Israel, bringing the 
 glinting barrel of his revolver into the lantern's shaft 
 of light, ordered both to lie down. Carey, slouching 
 at hand, awaited orders. 
 
 "Where is your money?" demanded Israel, indi- 
 cating the farmer by the point of his gun. 
 
 "I have no money, you coward!" 
 
 " It 's no use your lying to me. Where 's the money ? " 
 
 "I have no money, I tell you." 
 
 "Carey," observed Israel, "hunt a candle." 
 
 While Carey looked for the candle, Israel surveyed 
 his victims with a cheerful, anticipatory grin. 
 
 The candle came; was lighted. 
 
ISRAEL DRAKE 161 
 
 "Carey," Israel spoke again, "you pin the old 
 woman down. Pull the quilt off. Clamp her feet to- 
 gether. So!" 
 
 Then he thrust the candle-flame against the soles 
 of those gnarled old feet thrust it close, while the 
 flame bent upward, and the melting tallow poured 
 upon the bed. 
 
 The woman screamed again, this time in pain. The 
 farmer half rose, with a quivering cry of rage, but 
 Israel's gun stared him between the eyes. The woman 
 screamed without interval. There was a smell of 
 burning flesh. 
 
 "Now we'll change about," remarked Israel, beam- 
 ing. "I'll hold the old feller. You take the candle, 
 Carey. You don't reely need your gun now, do ye, 
 boy!" 
 
 And so they began afresh. 
 
 It was not a game to last long. Before dawn the 
 two were back in their own place, bearing the little 
 all of value that the rifled house had contained. 
 
 When the news of the matter spread abroad, it 
 seemed, somehow, just a straw too much. The Dis- 
 trict Attorney of the County of Cumberland blazed 
 into white heat. But he was powerless, he found. Not 
 an officer within his entire jurisdiction expressed any 
 willingness even to attempt an arrest. 
 
 "Then we shall see," said District Attorney Rhey, 
 "what the State will do for us, since we cannot help 
 ourselves!" And he rushed off a telegram, confirmed 
 by post, to the Superintendent of the Department 
 of State Police. 
 
 The Superintendent of the Department of State 
 
162 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Police promptly referred the matter to the Captain 
 of "C" Troop, with orders to act. For Cumberland 
 County, being within the southeastern quarter of 
 the Commonwealth, lies under "C" Troop's special 
 care. 
 
 It was Adams, in those days, who held that com- 
 mand Lynn G. Adams, now Captain of " A " Troop, 
 although for the duration of the war serving in the 
 regular army, even as his fathers before him have 
 served in our every war, including that which put the 
 country on the map. Truer soldier, finer officer, braver 
 or straighter or surer dealer with men and things need 
 not be sought. His victories leave no needless scar be- 
 hind, and his command would die by niches rather 
 than fail him anywhere. 
 
 The Captain of "C" Troop, then, choosing with 
 judgment, picked his man picked Trooper Edward 
 Hallisey, a Boston Irishman, square of jaw, shrewd of 
 eye, quick of wit, strong of wind and limb. And he 
 ordered Private Hallisey to proceed at once to Car- 
 lisle, county seat of Cumberland, and report to the 
 District Attorney for service toward effecting the ap- 
 prehension of Israel Drake. 
 
 Three days later it was the 28th of September, 
 to be exact Private Edward Hallisey sent in his 
 report to his Troop Commander. He had made all 
 necessary observations, he said, and was ready to 
 arrest the criminal. In this he would like to have 
 the assistance of two Troopers, who should join him 
 at Carlisle. 
 
 The report came in the morning mail. First Ser- 
 geant Price detailed two men from the Barracks re- 
 
ISRAEL DRAKE 163 
 
 serve. They were Privates H. K. Merryfield and Har- 
 vey J. Smith. Their orders were simply to proceed 
 at once, in civilian clothes, to Carlisle, where they 
 would meet Private Hallisey and assist him in effect- 
 ing the arrest of Israel Drake. 
 
 Privates Merryfield and Smith, carrying in addi- 
 tion to their service revolvers the 44-calibre Spring- 
 field carbine which is the Force's heavy weapon, left 
 by the next train. 
 
 On the Carlisle station platform, as the two Troop- 
 ers debarked, some hundred persons were gathered 
 in pursuance of various and centrifugal designs. But 
 one impulse they appeared unanimously to share 
 the impulse to give as wide a berth as possible to a 
 peculiarly horrible tramp. 
 
 Why should a being like that intrude himself upon 
 a passenger platform in a respectable county town? 
 Not to board a coach, surely, for such as he pay no 
 fares. To spy out the land? To steal luggage? Or 
 simply to make himself hateful to decent folk? 
 
 He carried his head with a hangdog lurch his 
 heavy jaw was rough with stubble beard. His coat 
 and trousers fluttered rags and his toes stuck out of 
 his boots. Women snatched back their skirts as he 
 slouched near, and men muttered and scowled at 
 him for a contaminating beast. 
 
 Merryfield and Smith, drifting near this scum of 
 the earth, caught the words "Four-thirty train" and 
 the name of a station. 
 
 "Right," murmured Merryfield. 
 
 Then he went and bought tickets. 
 
 In the shelter of an ancient, grimy day-coach, the 
 
164 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 scum muttered again, as Smith brushed past him in 
 the aisle. 
 
 "Charles Stover's farm," said he. 
 
 "M'm," said Smith. 
 
 At a scrap of a station, in the foothills of ascend- 
 ing heights the tramp and the Troopers separately 
 detrained. In the early evening all three strayed to- 
 gether once more in the shadow of the lilacs by 
 Charles Stover's gate. 
 
 Over the supper-table Hallisey gave the news. 
 "Drake is somewhere on the mountain to-night," 
 said he. "His cabin is way up high, on a ridge called 
 Huckleberry Patch. He is practically sure to go home 
 in the course of the evening. Then is our chance. 
 First, of course, you fellows will change your clothes. 
 I've got some old things ready for you." 
 
 Farmer Stover, like every other denizen of the rural 
 county, had lived for years in terror and hatred of 
 Israel Drake. Willingly he had aided Hallisey to the 
 full extent of his power. He had told all that he knew 
 of the bandit's habits and mates. He had indicated 
 the mountain trails and he had given the Trooper 
 such little shelter and food as the latter had stopped 
 to take during his rapid work of investigation. But 
 now he was asked to perform a service that he would 
 gladly have refused; he was asked to hitch up a horse 
 and wagon and to drive the three Troopers to the 
 very vicinity of Israel Drake's house. 
 
 "Oh, come on, Mr. Stover," they urged. "You 're a 
 public-spirited man, as you've shown. Do it for your 
 neighbors' sake if not for your own. You want the 
 county rid of this pest." 
 
ISRAEL DRAKE 165 
 
 Very reluctantly the farmer began the trip. With 
 every turn of the ever-mounting forest road his 
 reluctance grew. Grisly memories, grisly pictures, 
 flooded his mind. It was night, and the trees in the 
 darkness whispered like evil men. The bushes huddled 
 like crouching figures. And what was it, moving 
 stealthily over there, that crackled twigs? At last he 
 could bear it no more. 
 
 " Here 's where / turn 'round," he muttered hoarsely. 
 "If you fellers are going farther you'll go alone. I 
 got a use for my life!" 
 
 "All right, then," said Hallisey. "You've done 
 well by us already. Good-night." 
 
 It was a fine moonlight night and Hallisey now 
 knew those woods as well as did his late host. He led 
 his two comrades up another stiff mile of steady climb- 
 ing. Then he struck off, by an almost invisible trail, 
 into the dense timber. Silently the three men moved, 
 threading the fragrant, silver-flecked blackness with 
 practised woodsmen's skill. At last their file-leader 
 stopped and beckoned his mates. 
 
 Over his shoulder the two studied the scene before 
 them: A clearing chopped out of the dense tall timber. 
 In the midst of the clearing a log cabin, a story and 
 a half high. On two sides of the cabin a straggling 
 orchard of peach and apple trees. In the cabin window 
 a dim light. 
 
 It was then about eleven o'clock. The three Troop- 
 ers, effacing themselves in the shadows, laid final plans. 
 
 The cabin had two rooms on the top floor and one 
 below, said Hallisey, beneath his breath. The first- 
 floor room had a door and two windows on the north, 
 
166 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 and the same on the south, just opposite. Under the 
 west end was a cellar, with an outside door. Before the 
 main door to the north was a little porch. .This, by 
 day, commanded the sweep of the mountain-side; and 
 here, when Drake was "hiding out" in some neigh- 
 boring eyrie, expecting pursuit, his wife was wont to 
 signal him concerning the movements of intruders. 
 
 Her code was written in dish-water. A panful 
 thrown to the east meant danger in the west, and vice 
 versa ; this Hallisey himself had seen and now recalled 
 in case of need. 
 
 Up to the present moment each officer had carried 
 his carbine, taken apart and wrapped in a bundle, 
 to avoid the remark of chance observers by the way. 
 Now each put his weapon together, ready for use. 
 They compared their watches, setting them to the 
 second. They discarded their coats and hats. 
 
 The moon was flooding the clearing with high, 
 pale light, adding greatly to the difficulty of their 
 task. Accordingly, they plotted carefully. Each 
 Trooper took a door Hallisey that to the north, 
 Merryfield that to the south, Smith that of the cellar. 
 It was agreed that each should creep to a point op- 
 posite the door on which he was to advance, ten 
 minutes being allowed for all to reach their initial 
 positions; that at exactly five minutes to midnight 
 the advance should be started, slowly, through the 
 tall grass of the clearing toward the cabin; that in 
 case of any unusual noise or alarm, each man should 
 lie low for exactly five minutes before resuming this 
 advance; and that from a point fifty yards from the 
 cabin a rush should be made upon the doors. 
 
ISRAEL DRAKE 167 
 
 According to the request of the District Attorney, 
 Drake was to be taken "dead or alive," but according 
 to an adamantine principle of the Force, he must be 
 taken not only alive, but unscathed if that were hu- 
 manly possible. This meant that he must not be given 
 an opportunity to run and so render shooting neces- 
 sary. If, however, he should break away, his chance 
 of escape would be small, as each Trooper was a dead 
 shot with the weapons he was carrying. 
 
 The scheme concerted, the three officers separated, 
 heading apart to their several starting-points. At 
 five minutes before midnight, to the tick of their syn- 
 chronized watches, each began to glide through the 
 tall grass. But it was late September. The grass 
 was dry. Old briar-vines dragged at brittle stalks. 
 Shimmering whispers of withered leaves echoed to 
 the smallest touch; and when the men were still some 
 two hundred yards from the cabin the sharp ears of 
 a dog caught the rumor of all these tiny sounds, 
 and the dog barked. 
 
 Every man stopped short moved not a finger 
 again till five minutes had passed. Then once more 
 each began to creep reached the fifty-yard point 
 stood up, with a long breath, and dashed for his 
 door. 
 
 At one and the same moment, practically, the three 
 stood in the cabin, viewing a scene of domestic peace. 
 A short, square, swarthy woman, black of eye, high 
 of cheek-bone, stood by the stove calmly stirring a 
 pot. On the table beside her, on the floor around her, 
 clustered many jars of peaches jars freshly filled, 
 steaming hot, awaiting their tops. In a corner three 
 
168 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 little children, huddled together on a low bench, 
 stared at the strangers with sleepy eyes. Three chairs; 
 a cupboard with dishes; bunches of corn hanging from 
 the rafters by their husks; festoons of onions; tassels 
 of dried herbs all this made visible by the dull light 
 of a small kerosene lamp whose dirty chimney was 
 streaked with smoke. All this and nothing more. 
 
 Two of the men, jumping for the stairs, searched 
 the upper half-story thoroughly, but without profit. 
 
 "Mrs. Drake," said Hallisey, as they returned, 
 "we are officers of the State Police, come to arrest 
 your husband. Where is he?" 
 
 In silence, hi utter calm the woman still stirred her 
 pot, not missing the rhythm of a stroke. 
 
 "The dog warned them. He's just got away," said 
 each officer to himself. "She's too calm." 
 
 She scooped up a spoonful of fruit, peered at it 
 critically, splashed it back into the bubbling pot. 
 From her manner it appeared the most natural thing 
 in the world to be canning peaches at midnight on 
 the top of South Mountain in the presence of officers 
 of the State Police. 
 
 "My husband's gone to Baltimore," she vouch- 
 safed at her easy leisure. 
 
 "Let's have a look in the cellar," said Merryfield, 
 and dropped down the cellar stairs with Hallisey at 
 his heels. Together they ransacked the little cave 
 to a conclusion. During the process, Merryfield con- 
 ceived an idea. 
 
 "Hallisey," he murmured, "what would you think 
 of my staying down here, while you and Smith go off 
 talking as though we were all together? She might say 
 
ISRAEL DRAKE 169 
 
 something to the children, when she believes we're 
 gone, and I could hear every word through that thin 
 floor." 
 
 "We'll do it!" Hallisey answered, beneath his 
 voice. Then, shouting: 
 
 "Come on, Smith! Let's get away from this; no 
 use wasting time here!" 
 
 And in another moment Smith and Hallisey were 
 crashing up the mountain-side, calling out: "Hi, 
 there! Merryfield Oh! Merryfield, wait for us!" 
 as if their comrade had outstripped them on the trail. 
 
 Merryfield had made use of the noise of their de- 
 parture to establish himself in a tenable position under 
 the widest crack in the floor. Now he held himself 
 motionless, subduing even his breath. 
 
 One two three minutes of dead silence. Then 
 came the timorous half- whisper of a frightened child : 
 
 "Will them men kill father if they find him?" 
 
 "S-sh!" 
 
 "Mother!" faintly ventured another little voice, 
 "will them men kill father if they find him?" 
 
 "S-sh! S-sh! I tell ye!" 
 
 "Ma-ma! Will they kill my father?" This was the 
 wail, insistent, uncontrolled, of the smallest child of 
 all. 
 
 The crackling tramp of the officers, mounting the 
 trail, had wholly died away. The woman evidently 
 believed all immediate danger past. 
 
 "No ! " she exclaimed vehemently, "they ain't goin* 
 to lay eyes on yo' father, hair nor hide of him. Quit 
 yerfrettin'!" 
 
 In a moment she spoke again: "You keep still, now, 
 
170 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 like good children, while I go out and empty these 
 peach-stones. I '11 be back in a minute. See you keep 
 still just where you are!" 
 
 Stealing noiselessly to the cellar door as the woman 
 left the house, Merryfield saw her making for the 
 woods, a basket on her arm. He watched her till the 
 shadows engulfed her. Then he drew back to his own 
 place and resumed his silent vigil. 
 
 Moments passed, without a sound from the room 
 above. Then came soft little thuds on the floor, a 
 whimper or two, small sighs, and a slither of bare legs 
 on bare boards. 
 
 " Poor little kiddies ! " thought Merryfield, " they 're 
 coiling down to sleep!" 
 
 Back in the days when the Force was started, the 
 Major had said to each recruit of them all: 
 
 "I expect you to treat women and children at all 
 times with every consideration." 
 
 From that hour forth the principle has been grafted 
 into the lives of the men. It is instinct now self- 
 acting, deep, and unconscious. No tried Trooper de- 
 liberately remembers it. It is an integral part of him, 
 like the drawing of his breath. 
 
 "I wish I could manage to spare those babies and 
 their mother in what's to come!" Merryfield pon- 
 dered as he lurked hi the mould-scented dark. 
 
 A quarter of an hour went by. Five minutes more. 
 Footsteps nearing the cabin from the direction of the 
 woods. Low voices very low. Indistinguishable 
 words. Then the back door opened. Two persons 
 entered, and all that they now uttered was clear. 
 
 "It was them that the dog heard," said a man's 
 
ISRAEL DRAKE 171 
 
 voice. " Get me my rifle and all my ammunition. I'll 
 go to Maryland. I'll get a job on that stone quarry 
 near Westminster. I'll send some money as soon as 
 I'm paid." 
 
 "But you won't start to-night!" exclaimed the wife. 
 
 "Yes, to-night this minute. Quick! I would n't 
 budge an inch for the County folks. But with the 
 State Troopers after me, that's another thing. If I 
 stay around here now they '11 get me dead sure and 
 send me up too. My gun, I say!" 
 
 "Oh, daddy, daddy, don't go away!" "Don't go 
 away off and leave me, daddy ! " " Don't go, don't go ! " 
 came the children's plaintive wails, hoarse with fa- 
 tigue and fright. 
 
 Merryfield stealthily crept from the cellar's out- 
 side door, hugging the wall of the cabin, moving to- 
 ward the rear. As he reached the corner, and was 
 about to make the turn toward the back, he drew his 
 six-shooter and laid his carbine down in the grass. 
 For the next step, he knew, would bring him into 
 plain sight. If Drake offered any resistance, the en- 
 suing action would be at short range or hand to 
 hand. 
 
 He rounded the corner. Drake was standing just 
 outside the door, a rifle in his left hand, his right hand 
 hidden in the pocket of his overcoat. In the doorway 
 stood the wife, with the three little children crowding 
 before her. It was the last moment. They were say- 
 ing good-bye. 
 
 Merryfield covered the bandit with his revolver. 
 
 "Put up your hands! You are under arrest," he 
 commanded. 
 
178 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "Who the hell are you!" Drake flung back. As he 
 spoke he thrust his rifle into the grasp of the woman 
 and snatched his right hand from its concealment. In 
 its grip glistened the barrel of a nickel-plated revolver. 
 
 Merryfield could easily have shot him then and 
 there would have been amply warranted in doing 
 so. But he had heard the children's voices. Now he 
 saw their innocent, terrified eyes. 
 
 "Poor little kiddies!" he thought again. 
 
 Drake stood six feet two inches high, and weighed 
 some two hundred pounds, all brawn. Furthermore, 
 he was desperate. Merryfield is merely of medium 
 build. 
 
 "Nevertheless, I'll take a chance," he said to him- 
 self, returning his six-shooter to its holster. And just 
 as the outlaw threw up his own weapon to fire, the 
 Trooper, in a running jump, plunged into him with 
 all fours, exactly as, when a boy, he had plunged off 
 a springboard into the old mill-dam of a hot July 
 afternoon. 
 
 Too amazed even to pull his trigger, Drake gave 
 backward a step into the doorway. Merryfield's 
 clutch toward his right hand missed the gun, fasten- 
 ing instead on the sleeve of his heavy coat. Swearing 
 wildly while the woman and children screamed be- 
 hind him, the bandit struggled to break the Trooper's 
 hold tore and pulled until the sleeve, where Merry- 
 field held it, worked down over the gun in his own 
 grip. So Merryfield, twisting the sleeve, caught a 
 lock-hold on hand and gun together. 
 
 Drake, standing on the doorsill, had now some 
 eight inches advantage of height. The door opened 
 
ISRAEL DRAKE 173 
 
 inward, from right to left. With a tremendous effort 
 Drake forced his assailant to his knees, stepped back 
 into the room, seized the door with his left hand and 
 with the whole weight of his shoulder slammed it to, 
 on the Trooper's wrist. 
 
 The pain was excruciating but it did not break 
 that lock-hold on the outlaw's hand and gun. Shoot- 
 ing from his knees like a projectile, Merryfield flung 
 his whole weight at the door. Big as Drake was, he 
 could not hold it. It gave, and once more the two 
 men hung at grips, this time within the room. 
 
 Drake's one purpose was to turn the muzzle of his 
 imprisoned revolver upon Merryfield. Merryfield, 
 with his left still clinching that deadly hand caught in 
 its sleeve, now grabbed the revolver in his own right 
 hand, with a twist dragged it free, and flung it out of 
 the door. 
 
 But, as he dropped his right defense, taking both 
 hands to the gun, the outlaw's powerful left grip 
 closed on Merryfield 's throat with a strangle-hold. 
 
 With that great thumb closing his windpipe, with 
 the world turning red and black, "Guess I can't put 
 it over, after all ! " the Trooper said to himself. 
 
 Reaching for his own revolver, he shoved the 
 muzzle against the bandit's breast. 
 
 "Damn you, shoot!" cried the other, believing his 
 end was come. 
 
 But in that same instant Merryfield once more 
 caught a glimpse of the fear-stricken faces of the 
 Jfbabies, huddled together beyond. 
 
 "Hallisey and Smith must be here soon," he 
 thought. "I won't shoot yet." 
 
174 THE STANDARD-BEAREES 
 
 Again he dropped his revolver back into the hol- 
 ster, seizing the wrist of the outlaw to release that 
 terrible clamp on his throat. As he did so, Drake, 
 with a lightning twist, reached around to the Troop- 
 er's belt and possessed himself of the gun. As he 
 fired Merryfield had barely time and space to throw 
 back his head. The flash blinded him scorched his 
 face hairless. The bullet grooved his body under the 
 upflung left arm still wrenching at the clutch that 
 was shutting off his breath. 
 
 Perhaps, with the shot, the outlaw insensibly some- 
 what relaxed that choking grip. Merryfield tore loose. 
 Half-blinded and gasping though he was, he flung 
 himself again at his adversary and landed a blow in 
 his face. Drake, giving backward, kicked over a row 
 of peach jars, slipped on the slimy stream that poured 
 over the bare floor, and dropped the gun. 
 
 Pursuing his advantage, Merryfield delivered blow 
 after blow on the outlaw's face and body, backing 
 him around the room, while both men slipped and 
 slid, fell and recovered, on the jam-coated floor. The 
 table crashed over, carrying with it the solitary 
 lamp, whose flame died harmlessly, smothered in 
 tepid mush. Now only the moonlight illumined the 
 scene. 
 
 Drake was manoeuvring always to recover the gun. 
 His hand touched the back of a chair. He picked the 
 chair up, swung it high, and was about to smash it 
 down on his adversary's head when Merryfield seized 
 it in the air. 
 
 At this moment the woman, who had been crouch- 
 ing against the wall nursing the rule that her husband 
 
ISRAEL DRAKE 175 
 
 had put into her charge, rushed forward clutching 
 the barrel of the gun, swung it at full arm's length as 
 she would have swung an axe, and brought the stock 
 down on the Trooper's right hand. 
 
 That vital hand dropped fractured, done. But 
 in the same second Drake gave a shriek of pain as a 
 shot rang out and his own right arm fell powerless. 
 
 In the door stood Hallisey, smoking revolver in 
 hand, smiling grimly, in the moonlight, at the neat- 
 ness of his own aim. What is the use of killing a man, 
 when you can wing him as trigly as that? 
 
 Private Smith, who had entered by the other door, 
 was taking the rifle out of the woman's grasp 
 partly because she had prodded him viciously with 
 the muzzle. He examined the chambers. 
 
 "Do you know this thing is loaded?" he asked her 
 in a mild, detached voice. 
 
 She returned his gaze with frank despair in her 
 black eyes. 
 
 "Drake, do you surrender?" asked Hallisey. 
 
 "Oh, I'll give up. You've got me!" groaned the 
 outlaw. Then he turned on his wife with bitter anger. 
 "Did n't I tell ye?" he snarled. "Didn't I tell ye 
 they'd get me if you kept me hangin' around here? 
 These ain't no damn deputies. These is the State 
 Police /" 
 
 "An' yet, if I'd known that gun was loaded," said 
 jshe, " there 'd 'a' been some less of 'em to-night!" 
 
 They dressed Israel's arm in first-aid fashion. 
 Then they started with their prisoner down the 
 mountain-trail, at last resuming connection with their 
 farmer friend. Not without misgivings, the latter 
 
176 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 consented to hitch up his "double team" and hurry 
 the party to the nearest town where a doctor could 
 be found. 
 
 As the doctor dressed the bandit's arm, Private 
 Merryfield, whose broken right hand yet awaited 
 care, observed to the groaning patient: 
 
 "Do you know, you can be thankful to your little 
 children that you have your life left." 
 
 "To hell with you and the children and my life. 
 I'd a hundred times rather you'd killed me than take 
 what's comin' now." 
 
 Then the three Troopers philosophically hunted up 
 a night restaurant and gave their captive a bite of 
 lunch. 
 
 "Now," said Hallisey, as he paid the score, " where 's 
 the lock-up?" 
 
 The three officers, with Drake in tow, proceeded 
 silently through the sleeping streets. Not a ripple did 
 their passing occasion. Not even a dog aroused to 
 take note of them. 
 
 Duly they stood at the door of the custodian of the 
 lock-up, ringing the bell again and again ringing 
 it. Eventually some one upstairs raised a window, 
 looked out for an appreciable moment, quickly low- 
 ered the window, and locked it. Nothing further oc- 
 curred. Waiting for a reasonable interval the officers 
 rang once more. No answer. Silence complete. 
 
 Then they pounded on the door till the entire block 
 heard. 
 
 Here, there, up street and down, bedroom windows 
 gently opened, then closed with finality more gentle 
 yet. Silence. Not a voice. Not a foot on a stair. 
 
ISRAEL DRAKE 177 
 
 The officers looked at each other perplexed. Then, 
 by chance, they looked at Drake. Drake, so lately 
 black with suicidal gloom, was grinning ! Grinning as 
 a man does when the citadel of his heart is comforted. 
 
 "You don't understand, do ye!" chuckled he. 
 "Well, I'll tell ye: What do them folks see when they 
 open their windows and look down here in the road? 
 They see three hard-lookin' fellers with guns in their 
 hands, here in this bright moonlight. And they see 
 somethin' scarier to them than a hundred strangers 
 with guns they see ME! There ain't a mother's 
 son of 'em that'll budge downstairs while I'm here, 
 not if you pound on their doors till the cows come 
 home." And he slapped his knee with his good hand 
 and laughed in pure ecstasy a laugh that caught all 
 the little group and rocked it as with one mind. 
 
 "We don't begrudge you that, do we, boys?" 
 Hallisey conceded. "Smith, you're as respectable- 
 looking as any of us. Hunt around and see if you can 
 find a Constable that isn't onto this thing. We'll 
 wait here for you." 
 
 Moving out of the zone of the late demonstration, 
 Private Smith learned the whereabouts of the home 
 of a Constable. 
 
 "What's wanted?" asked the Constable, respond- 
 ing like a normal burgher to Smith's knock at his 
 door. 
 
 "Officer of State Police," answered Smith. "I have 
 a man under arrest and want to put him in the lock- 
 up. Will you get me the keys?" 
 
 "Sure. I'll come right down and go along with you 
 myself. Just give me a jiffy to get on my trousers and 
 
178 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 boots," cried the Constable, clearly glad of a share in 
 adventure. 
 
 In a moment the borough official was at the Troop- 
 er's side, talking eagerly as they moved toward the 
 place where the party waited. 
 
 "So he's a highwayman, is he? Good! And a bur- 
 glar, too, and a cattle-thief! Good work! And you've 
 got him right up the street here, ready to jail! Well, 
 I'll be switched. Now, what might his name be? 
 Israel Drake? Not Israel Drake I Oh, my God!" 
 
 The Constable had stopped in his tracks like a man 
 struck paralytic. 
 
 "No, stranger," he quavered. "I reckon I I I 
 won't go no further with you just now. Here, I'll 
 give you the keys. You can use 'em yourself. These 
 here's for the doors. This bunch is for the cells. 
 Good-night to you. I'll be getting back home!" 
 
 By the first train next morning the Troopers, con- 
 veying their prisoner, left the village for the County 
 Town. As they deposited Drake in the safe-keep- 
 ing of the County Jail and were about to depart, he 
 seemed burdened with an impulse to speak, yet said 
 nothing. Then, as the three officers were leaving the 
 room, he leaned over and touched Merryfield on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Shake ! " he growled, offering his unwounded hand. 
 
 Merryfield "shook" cheerfully, with his own re- 
 maining sound member. 
 
 "I'm plumb sorry to see ye go, and that's a fact," 
 growled the outlaw. "Because well, because you 're 
 the only man that ever tried to arrest me." 
 
VII 
 
 THE COON-HUNTERS 
 
 "ilTHEN "C" Troop delivered Israel Drake into 
 
 * the grasp of the District Attorney of Cumber- 
 land County, the District Attorney's soul was suf- 
 fused with joy. Then, because it was good, he asked 
 for more asked for the body of Carey Morrison. 
 
 In the interval, however, "C" Troop had been so 
 besought for help from many other quarters, both 
 official and private, that not a single man of the com- 
 mand remained free to aid the District Attorney of 
 Cumberland. So the Superintendent of State Police 
 referred the request to **B " Troop, presiding over the 
 next nearest State Police section, with orders that 
 two Troopers report at once to departmental head- 
 quarters at Harrisburg. 
 
 In accordance with the command, Sergeant Her- 
 bert Smith and Private Chalkley N. Booth forthwith 
 reported at Harrisburg. Here they received, first, a 
 warrant for the arrest of Carey Morrison, wanted 
 for arson, burglary, felonious assault, and minor of- 
 fenses; second, a pencil sketch roughly showing the 
 region in which Morrison was supposed to be lurk- 
 ing; and, third, the instruction, bare of all detail, 
 to "go get the man." 
 
 Sergeant Smith and Private Booth had talked over 
 a possible line of campaign while en route to head- 
 quarters. Nothing that they learned there having 
 
180 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 affected their notion, they now went out, bought 
 themselves canvas hunting-suits and borrowed two 
 shotguns. Then they took the next train from Harris- 
 burg to Mount Holly Springs Junction. At this junc- 
 tion they transferred to a goat-path railroad heading 
 up into the hills. 
 
 Then* destination was a tiny mountain settlement, 
 about fifteen miles, as the crow flies, north of Gettys- 
 burg. The two Troopers, as the little engine labored 
 up the heavy grades, gossiped carelessly with the 
 train-hands concerning it. It was a place of about 
 ninety inhabitants, they learned twenty houses; a 
 general store and post-office; poor mountain people; 
 had a hard life of it, generally. Carey Morrison, one 
 of Israel Drake's gang, had worked it over pretty 
 thoroughly, with no light hand. Now, since Drake's 
 capture by the Troopers, folks did say Carey was 
 hiding out, but better not count on that! 
 
 At the General Store and Post-Office the two of- 
 ficers asked where they could find board. They let 
 it be understood that they were Philadelphia sports- 
 men, friends of Mr. Cameron, owner of much forest 
 thereabout, and that they would like to do a little 
 hunting by themselves while waiting the arrival of 
 their host with the dogs. 
 
 Only one house in the settlement could accommo- 
 date boarders, they were told. So they applied and 
 were received at that little farm. For a day or two 
 they tramped the woods with their guns, stopping 
 hither and yon at mountain cabins for a light for 
 their pipes, for a drink of water, for a bit of casual 
 talk, striving always to pick up news. 
 
THE COON-HUNTERS 181 
 
 But news of Carey Morrison was very hard to get. 
 The entire mountain population was literally afraid 
 to mention his name. In this his peculiar haunt he was 
 as greatly dreaded as was his leader, Israel Drake, in 
 a wider field. Three times he had robbed the store 
 and rifled the post-office safe. Twice he had burned 
 the mountain-side. He had committed innumerable 
 robberies and assaults. Once he had walked up to a 
 farmer as he stood in his shed chopping wood, with 
 the peremptory demand : 
 
 "I want five dollars of ye!" 
 
 And when the farmer ventured to demur, Carey, 
 snatching the axe out of the man's grasp, chopped off 
 his right hand. 
 
 Almost every Constable in the County held a copy 
 of the warrant for Carey's arrest, but, small blame to 
 them, Carey still went free. Very recently the local 
 Constable had "hired out" to a farmer to pick the 
 apples in an orchard high on the mountain-side. 
 Perhaps the orchard lay too high, too near his own 
 eyrie, to please Carey Morrison. At all events, when 
 Carey, moving over his domain, espied the village of- 
 ficer so engaged, he descended at once to the orchard- 
 owner's house. 
 
 Towering in the doorway, shutting out the sunlight 
 with the terror of his big and sinewy bulk, he issued 
 his edict: 
 
 "Constable is picking apples up in your orchard. 
 Tell him if I ever see him there again I am going to kill 
 him." 
 
 The farmer tremblingly obeyed. The Constable 
 tremblingly conformed. And no one would willingly 
 
182 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 pronounce the name of Carey Morrison for fear the 
 very shadows might be his messengers. 
 
 Yet through their silence pierced once and again 
 some little rays of light. Brought all together these 
 showed the general direction and area in which the 
 man should be sought. Unfortunately, that area lay 
 in a territory obviously bad for hunting, while the 
 good game-grounds stared from the opposite quarter. 
 
 The two officers were by no means blind to this flaw 
 in their pose, yet for the mo^nent they saw no choice 
 but to risk the suspicion that it brought upon their 
 heads. 
 
 Meantime, in the boarding-house, the strongly 
 developed native curiosity of their host and hostess in- 
 creased apace. On the very day of their arrival the 
 Troopers had seen the necessity of satisfying it with 
 food fit for their ends. Private Booth, therefore, had 
 written two decoy letters one to an imaginary 
 friend in Boston, another to a creature of his brain 
 elsewhere addressed, dealing with hunting-dogs and 
 discussing plans for a trip. These letters he had left 
 on his bureau carelessly unsealed; and he had found 
 with satisfaction, when next he returned to his room, 
 that the two missives had met their intended fate. 
 
 But the soporific did not long suffice, and, to make 
 matters vastly worse, it chanced that a series of bur- 
 glaries, begun in the region just previous to their ar- 
 rival, now continued nightly. The spinster teacher 
 of the district school, resident in the house, conceived 
 the pestilential idea that the two "hunters" were no 
 other than the burglars in disguise. Harping on that 
 string, she so imbued the rest of the household with 
 
THE COON-HUNTERS 183 
 
 her own belief and fear that several persons sat up 
 each night to spy upon the possible goings and com- 
 ings of the "Philadelphia sportsmen." 
 
 This was hampering enough, but when at last the 
 village Constable, he who dared not displease Carey 
 Morrison, began stealthily trailing them about in the 
 woods, the two officers were more amused than vexed. 
 
 Nevertheless, the diurnal routine of losing the Con- 
 stable came soon to be rather a handicap. For now 
 the trail was growing warm. The "hunters" had dis- 
 covered, in a mountaineer named Cox, a brother-in- 
 law of Morrison's. 
 
 Cox, lank and idle, butternut-jeaned, lived high 
 among the ledges, far above the settlement, and alone. 
 Constitutionally suspicious of all strangers, he, too, 
 was prone to curiosity, in the wildwood way of his 
 kind. Like wily snarers of a light-winged bird, the 
 Troopers at first played for his interest by hunting 
 around his perch, without visible remark of his exist- 
 ence beyond a passing nod. Next day they drew a 
 little nearer. Later, they ventured a word, and so, by 
 increasingly rapid degrees, became friends. 
 
 Some odds and ends of dogs were hanging about 
 the shack. 
 
 "These look like promising coon-dogs," hazarded 
 Private Booth. 
 
 "Good coon-dogs, them be!" rejoined the moun- 
 taineer with warmth. 
 
 "If there's anything I do love it's coon-hunting!" 
 cried Booth. 
 
 "Good coon-hunting back yonder," vouchsafed 
 Butternut-Jeans, with a jerk of the thumb toward 
 
184 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 the high woods, "but them dogs belong to a brother- 
 in-law of mine. They won't work their best for me." 
 
 "I'll give you ten dollars if you'll take us out with 
 'em, anyway," Booth pursued, with growing enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 "Nothin' ag'in' that," assented the mountaineer. 
 "When d' yer want to go?" 
 
 "Well, let's see "Booth pondered, looking in- 
 terrogatively at Smith. 
 
 "Not before to-morrow night, I reckon. Make it 
 to-morrow night," responded Smith, with decision. 
 
 And so, having arranged to meet again at Cox's 
 cabin on the following noon, they parted for the day. 
 
 As the two Troopers dropped down the mountain- 
 side toward supper and their distrustful house-mates, 
 Sergeant Herbert Smith divulged his plan. The de- 
 tails of that plan are his secret the fruit of his own 
 wily brain. But his statement to his comrade ended 
 thus: 
 
 "And so, you see, Cox will be called away. He'll 
 leave to-morrow afternoon. And we two will manage 
 the rest very easily." 
 
 True to their appointment the two reappeared at 
 Cox's shack at the hour agreed. The mountaineer sat 
 on his doorstep, his hat pushed back on his head, 
 whittling a stick without purpose. Plainly, his state 
 of mind was mixed. 
 
 "Reckon I can't take you fellers out to-night, after 
 all," he remarked, without looking up. 
 
 "Oh, come now!" remonstrated Booth, "what's 
 come over you, man?" 
 
 "Got a call to go away for a couple o' days," 
 
THE COON-HUNTERS 185 
 
 answered the whittler, gruff with embarrassing pride. 
 "Business. Got to leave before sundown, sure." 
 
 "Well, now," ejaculated Sergeant Smith, "if that 
 is n't the meanest yet! Why, we've got to get back 
 home in a couple of days ourselves, and I did want a 
 night's coon-hunting the worst way!" 
 
 "I kinder hate to lose that ten dollars, too," re- 
 flected Cox. 
 
 "Oh, look here!" protested Smith. "We can't let 
 it go like this. Say, if you'll find some one to take 
 us out with the dogs to-night we'll give you that ten 
 dollars, anyway, and square it with the other man 
 besides." 
 
 Cox meditated, brightening. 
 
 "Mebbe I might fix that," he conceded. "But 
 there's only one other man could work them dogs. 
 That's my brother-in-law, that owns 'em. And I ain't 
 sure he'd do it. You see, you don't know who my 
 brother-in-law is, yet. Well, I'll tell ye: He 9 s Carey 
 Morrison!" 
 
 Cox paused with patent satisfaction, to watch the 
 bomb fall. 
 
 "You don't mean it!" gasped the coon-hunters, 
 looking askance over their shoulders as though the 
 woods had suddenly rustled with ghosts. 
 
 " Thought it'd scare ye!" chuckled Cox. "But you 
 don't need to be scared of him jest now, not so much 
 as usual. Fact is, he's hidin' out these days. You 
 see, he's done what he pleased in these here moun- 
 tains so long that he did n't ever reckon no other 
 way. He'd got all the folks trained to give him his 
 own will, peaceable. They never interfere with him. 
 
186 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 But here, the other day, after a little sport that Israel 
 Drake had with a couple of old misers, what does the 
 District Attorney down to Carlisle do but up and 
 hand out a warrant to the State Wild Cats! 
 
 "And I'm damned if them crazy Wild Cats did n't 
 go in and nab Israel Drake the very first jump ! Him 
 that had laughed at the whole County for years and 
 years! You most could n't believe it! 
 
 "So now, that's why Carey's a little skeered. He 
 does n't mind nobody else on God's green earth, but 
 he sure does fear Them that got Israel Drake. 
 
 "Of course, there's a lot of us that's his brothers 
 and cousins, kin and kind, 'round on the Mountain, 
 that will stand by him till hell freezes shet. But it 
 seems like he's got these State's men on his mind. I 
 reckon he's hipped about it. They ain't never been 
 seen 'round these woods. And none of 'em ain't goin' 
 to dare show themselves here, neither. But since they 
 got Israel Drake, Carey's like he's plumb locoed. 
 He 's looking for 'em behind every bush, not knowin* 
 what shape they '11 come in. But you fellers wait for 
 me here and I '11 go over to Carey's place and ask him. 
 Reckon he might like a little money himself, just now, 
 to skip away out of this." 
 
 The two Troopers let Cox get out of sight. Then, 
 with their trained woodsmen's skill, they trailed him, 
 soundless as Indians. As he reached his destination 
 a little barn-like slab shack buried in thick brush 
 by the edge of an abandoned slate quarry they had 
 him well in view. 
 
 "Carey!" Cox called within the door, and again in 
 a suppressed voice around the place, " Carey ! Carey I " 
 
THE COON-HUNTERS 187 
 
 No answer. Cox sought a little further, as though 
 his man might be sleeping in the cover of some rock 
 or bush. Then he turned, evidently convinced that 
 the search was useless. When he regained his own 
 cabin the two coon-hunters were lying on their backs 
 in the shade of the wall, half asleep, smoking their 
 pipes. 
 
 "Well," asked Smith, rearing up on one elbow with 
 a yawn. "Did you find him?" 
 
 "He ain't there. But I reckon to find him on my 
 way out. I '11 start now, so 's to have time to hunt him 
 and I'll send him back here to ye. Will that do?" 
 
 "First-rate," answered Smith heartily. "Where 
 shall I leave the money for you, if he comes up?" 
 
 "Oh, leave it in yonder coffee-can, inside on the 
 shelf , under the beans. I '11 tell Carey about it." And 
 the mountaineer, with a good-bye nod, vanished into 
 the forest. 
 
 Hours passed, while the pair conscientiously en- 
 acted the role of care-free idlers, dozing and loafing 
 about the empty cabin. Well aware that the wary 
 eyes of the outlaw might be scanning their every 
 move from behind some near-by screen of leaves, 
 they gave their best thought to the behavior natural 
 to coon-hunters under such circumstances, and they 
 conducted themselves accordingly to a hair's breadth. 
 
 But though chipmunks, rabbits, and blue jays came 
 to gaze upon them with impartial interest, no human 
 being appeared no Carey Morrison. 
 
 "No use," murmured Smith, at last, as twilight 
 began to fall. "Either Cox did n't find him, or else 
 he's too scary and won't come." 
 
188 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "My idea," said Booth, "would be to go back to 
 the settlement and get a fresh start in the morning." 
 
 That night, as Sergeant Smith blew out his candle, 
 he was distinctly aware of an eye withdrawn from his 
 keyhole of a rustle retreating down the hall. 
 
 "If we don't provide some excitement for her soon, 
 it will be a cruel and unusual punishment! " he said 
 to himself, as he dropped into his first sleep. 
 
 Next dawn as the Troopers sat over their cornbread 
 and bacon, their host's face was full of puzzled dis- 
 trust. As he left the table he crossed the room and 
 took his gun from its nail on the wall. 
 
 "They was another house-breaking on the Moun- 
 tain last night," said he casually, examining the lock 
 of the weapon. "If we could lay hands on them fellers 
 once " And he looked up sharply at his two stranger 
 guests as though he expected to surprise them wearing 
 faces of guilt. 
 
 That morning the village Constable, cheerfully un- 
 conscious that he was himself observed, kept up his 
 forest watch with the tenacity of a dragging bramble, 
 so that it cost the Troopers a half-hour of patient 
 doubling to lose him effectually. 
 
 "This sort of thing would get to be a nuisance," 
 growled Smith, as they finally cast off their pursuer. 
 "Now, let's get down to the job." 
 
 Cutting across buttresses and ravines that they had 
 come to know as well as they knew the insides of their 
 own pockets, they made for the old slate quarry 
 smothered in the brush. 
 
 As they neared the spot, they separated, with the 
 agreement that Sergeant Smith should come up upon 
 
THE COON-HUNTERS 189 
 
 the rear of the shack, while Private Booth approached 
 from the other direction. 
 
 Gliding noiselessly, Smith had already attained his 
 chosen position, the cover of a stone wall close at 
 the back of the cabin, while Booth had advanced to 
 within two hundred feet of the front door, when 
 that door opened and a man came out, a big man, 
 heavy and tall. His manner was unconcerned and 
 free. Clearly, he thought himself alone. 
 
 "Hello, Cox," called Booth. 
 
 No answer, but the man, looking up, instantly 
 averted his head. 
 
 The glimpse had been enough. In that full, heavy 
 visage, in those black eyes, Booth recognized beyond 
 a doubt the description of Carey Morrison. 
 
 "Morrison," he commanded, "throw up your 
 hands. You are under arrest." As he spoke, he 
 cocked one barrel of his shotgun. 
 
 Morrison, swinging like a flash, drew a heavy re- 
 volver an Army Colt fired twice, and missed. 
 In the same instant Booth fired also. 
 
 Morrison flinched, as though lead had touched him, 
 and jumped for the cover of a tree at the side of the 
 house. But this move brought him unawares within 
 range of Sergeant Smith. And so, as Private Booth, 
 standing in the open, coolly waited his chance at a 
 shot at Morrison, and as Morrison, behind his tree, 
 as coolly debated the deadliest moment for Private 
 Booth, Sergeant Herbert Smith, congratulating him- 
 self on the unusual ammunition that he had per- 
 suaded his duck gun to hold, shot the bandit with 
 exact calculation just above the knee. 
 
190 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "Don't shoot! Oh, don't shoot any more. I give 
 up!" implored Morrison, crumpling down in a heap, 
 then writhing his full length on the ground. 
 
 Booth was running in, had almost reached him, 
 when the outlaw, with a snarl, jerked himself to 
 his elbow and threw up his gun to fire. 
 
 But before he could drop the hammer something as 
 sudden as a thunderbolt happened to that aiming arm, 
 and Morrison found himself again sprawling on his 
 back, gazing with amazement into the disconcerting 
 eyes of Sergeant Herbert Smith. 
 
 "Here!" said the Sergeant reproachfully, "don't 
 you know you 're under arrest? Now, be still till we 
 put a tourniquet on you, or you'll bleed to death." 
 
 As the two officers worked over the body of the 
 prostrate man, the pain of the wound, the fear of 
 punishment, the dread of prison, so worked upon his 
 mind that before them his nerve disappeared utterly. 
 
 "Shoot me! Shoot me now!" he entreated. "Jest 
 shoot me through the head and be done with it. I 
 can't live in prison. I can't stand this pain. Oh, shoot 
 me now! Do! Do!" 
 
 Soon the practised skill of the officers had stopped 
 the flow of blood from the wounded leg. So much 
 achieved, Trooper Booth started off to find a convey- 
 ance, while the Sergeant remained with the prisoner. 
 Nothing was more probable than an attempt at 
 rescue should Morrison's friends learn of his plight. 
 So the Sergeant, after looking to his own weapons, 
 reloaded the outlaw's gun and laid that, too, ready at 
 hand, while with eye and ear he kept lynx's watch 
 upon the encompassing circle of brush. 
 
THE COON-HUNTERS 191 
 
 Meantime Trooper Booth was cutting down and 
 across through the forest, seeking a man with a cart. 
 Finally, by happy chance, he found that very phe- 
 nomenon. Near a mud-chinked cabin, in a little clear- 
 ing, backed up to a pile of freshly dug potatoes, was a 
 cart. A horse stood between the shafts, and a big, 
 rawboned, thick- whiskered mountaineer was just pre- 
 paring to load the crop. 
 
 "How do you do," said the Trooper. 
 
 "Howdy," rejoined the other, civilly enough. 
 
 "I'd like to hire your horse and wagon to go to 
 Bendersville. A man has been shot up in the woods. 
 We have to take him to the nearest doctor." 
 
 "Well 't ain't very convenient. I was just get- 
 ting ready to load. But if the man is bad hurt, I sup- 
 pose you kin have the rig." 
 
 And then, idly, "Who's the man?" 
 
 "Carey Morrison." 
 
 The mountaineer dropped his hands. 
 
 "You can't have this wagon!" he exclaimed 
 roughly. 
 
 "Will you get into the wagon and come along 
 peaceably?" 
 
 "I tell ye, I won't come at all." 
 
 Booth drew his service Colt's. "Get on that 
 wagon," said he. 
 
 The mountaineer did as he was bid. 
 
 Booth guided his gloomy captive back toward the 
 quarry. They hitched the horse at the point of road 
 nearest the quarry trail. Then they went in, and, all 
 three aiding, carried the helpless prisoner out in their 
 arms. 
 
192 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 The mountaineer's bearded visage was a moving 
 map of contradictory emotions as he looked from the 
 Terror of the Mountain, now so incredibly abject in 
 his whimpering defeat, to the two who were so un- 
 concernedly bearing him away. 
 
 Carey must have given them a fight; so much was 
 sure, no matter how craven he seemed now. And 
 yet they were handling him as gently, and yet they 
 were as careful to spare him pain, as if he had been 
 their comrade and their friend! 
 
 And again, this whining mass of flesh and fear, this 
 inconsiderable carcass that could no longer hurt a 
 mouse, this was the very being that for years had im- 
 posed his bloody will upon the country-side and whom 
 all the country-side had obeyed with panic in its heart. 
 
 How had it happened? What could it mean? 
 
 "Stranger," he broke out at last, "askin* your 
 pardon, who might ye be? " 
 
 "Officers of the State Police." 
 
 "Them the bad niggers calls State Wild Cats?" he 
 ventured further, breathlessly daring. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The mountaineer looked to right and left, and be- 
 hind, as if to reassure himself of the place, of his au- 
 ditors. "Them" and he whispered as gingerly as 
 if the words might burn his lips " them as got Israel 
 Drake?" 
 
 "No," rejoined the Sergeant, "those were com- 
 rades of ours, of the State Police. But they did n't 
 have time for a little job like this" And with a 
 depreciative gesture of the chin he indicated the inert 
 figure that they were now loading into the cart. 
 
THE COON-HUNTERS 193 
 
 With dropped jaw the mountaineer drank in each 
 word. 
 
 In the whole Borough of Bendersville there are 
 about three hundred and fifty inhabitants. On the 
 main street of the town are the doctor's house, the 
 "hotel," a few shops, and a few dwellings. Into the 
 doctor's door the Troopers now bore Morrison. 
 
 "Will you be so good as to look him over, doctor, 
 and give him first aid?" requested the Sergeant. 
 "We'll take him to the nearest hospital when you've 
 fixed him up for the trip." 
 
 The doctor examined the wounded man with some 
 care. "I suppose I might bandage him up fresh," he 
 said, as he finished. "But the fact is you boys have 
 applied first aid as well as I could myself and In 
 Heaven's name, what's happening outside?" 
 
 The street outside was filled with people with 
 strange, wild-looking men, gaunt-faced, fierce-eyed, 
 lean-framed, rifles in hand and revolvers at belt 
 with women as strange, wild-eyed, and fierce. By 
 twos and threes, in carts or on horseback, they had 
 been descending into the village from the mountain 
 roads and trails ever since the advent of Carey Morri- 
 son in his captor's hands. By what telegraphy they 
 had learned, in their widely scattered eyries, of the 
 mischance befallen their kinsman and chief, who shall 
 guess? But here they were on the very heels of his 
 disaster, pressing hard around the doctor's door. 
 
 Their sympathies lay all with the prisoner that 
 was clear. Loud and louder rose their curses of the un- 
 known who had dared to intrude upon their domain. 
 
194 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Loud and louder rose their threats of attack and res- 
 cue, as their numbers grew. And then, with a rumor 
 of climax running before it, came a movement down 
 the centre of the crowd, a tossing to right and left like 
 the tossing of spray by the prow of a ship, as a tall, 
 savage woman clove her way through. 
 
 She burst open the door and stood on the thresh- 
 hold of the little office. She was hard of feature, 
 arrow-eyed, with straight, coarse, true black hair; a 
 half-breed Indian. 
 
 "Where is my man?" she demanded, in a terrible 
 voice. 
 
 Then her glance fell on the figure collapsed on the 
 doctor's lounge. She paused as if fascinated, eyes 
 riveted to Carey's white, whimpering face, while her 
 magnificent fury slowly faded into a flat contempt. 
 
 "And two strangers could bring you to thai!" she 
 said as if to herself. She wheeled to leave the room. 
 From the doorstep she flung back a barb: 
 
 "Why, if I'd been there I'd have killed them both 
 myself!" 
 
 If Carey Morrison should ever return to the world 
 he must seek a new mate. 
 
 But another, who had pressed into the room in the 
 wake of the wife, remained to gaze with wonder and 
 incredulity upon the prisoner's face. 
 
 "Who done it to ye, Carey?" he burst out at 
 last. 
 
 It was as if the tone and words gave the wreck on 
 the couch the one spur that could arouse him to 
 speech. Slowly he opened his eyes and gazed his in- 
 terlocutor full in the face. 
 
THE COON-HUNTERS 195 
 
 "Cox, it was your coon-hunters done it to me" re- 
 torted he, and gasped into silence. 
 
 Angry faces, threatening faces, came thrusting 
 over Cox's shoulder. The place was filling up. 
 
 "Doctor," said the Sergeant, "with your permis- 
 sion we will clear the office. After that we will clear 
 the town." 
 
 "Go ahead," whispered the doctor, "but don't say 
 I said so and good luck to you!" 
 
 Trooper Booth pulled out his watch. "If any of 
 you wish to say good-bye to Carey Morrison, say it 
 now," said he. "In just two minutes you will have 
 vacated this room." 
 
 He stood, watch in hand, while the crowd, lowering 
 and muttering, backed into the street. 
 
 Then Sergeant Smith addressed the mob outside. 
 
 "We are officers of the State Police," said he slowly, 
 clearly, with exceeding directness, and showing his 
 badge. "We have arrested Carey Morrison, in the 
 name of the Law. He is wounded because he unlaw- 
 fully resisted arrest. We shall now take him away to 
 jail. Meantime you will all quietly disperse to your 
 own homes. I give you just ten minutes to get out of 
 town." 
 
 For a moment the crowd stared at the officer as 
 though weighing the echo of his words testing the 
 judgment of its own ears. Then it began to move, to 
 split apart. On the outskirts arose the rattle of wheels, 
 diminishing the lessening clatter of hoofs. In ten 
 minutes' time the streets were clear. Not one of the 
 recent visitors remained. 
 
 How did it happen? Why did they do it? Perhaps 
 
196 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 they scarcely could have told, themselves. They 
 cared not a whit for any law or peace officer within 
 their ken would have thought nothing of taking 
 his life and they had never before seen the State 
 Police. 
 
 But there lay Carey Morrison. And they knew 
 the fate of Israel Drake. And this strange man, who 
 issued his orders so sternly, whose eyes were terrible, 
 like blue lightning, and who knew no fear at all 
 this strange man expected to be obeyed. 
 
 Somehow they dared not hesitate. 
 
 Since that day there has been a saying in those 
 mountains a saying with a sound basis of truth: 
 
 "When the State Police want a man from here, 
 they don't have to fetch him. They send him a post- 
 card and he comes in." 
 
 The doctor got out his two-horse wagon to convey 
 the wounded outlaw to the hospital at Carlisle. On 
 the road, they stopped at the boarding-house for the 
 Troopers' effects. Like magic the entire settlement 
 assembled to gaze upon its late guests as men with a 
 feeling utterly new. 
 
 "Why did n't you say who you were?" 
 
 "So you are State Troopers! I never guessed!" 
 
 "Well, you'll always be welcome in this town! 
 That's one sure thing!" 
 
 "I'd like to shake hands with you boys." "Me 
 too ! " " And me ! " came the greetings from every side. 
 
 But the school-teacher beamed happiest of all. "/ 
 knew they were something remarkable all along," 
 said she. "Didn't I tell you so?" 
 
vm 
 
 THE FARMERS' BATTLE 
 
 DETER AMES had a kind heart. When the social 
 -* service worker from Pottsville appeared to him 
 late one afternoon, in the midst of silo-filling time, and 
 asked for a moment's talk, he threw down his pitch- 
 fork, left the team standing, and gave her the half- 
 hour he knew she really meant. With resignation, if 
 not with gladness, he gave it, and listened to all that 
 she had to say. 
 
 She said that Peter's farm was a good one; that his 
 father before him had been a sound and sane citizen; 
 and had handed down to his son not only fruitful 
 acres, but a respected name, a solid place in the com- 
 munity. She said the little hamlet that he lived in 
 was a happy spot, and that Peter had always been 
 blessed in his "environment." And she added that 
 Peter's present comfortable condition, however much 
 he might grace it, was less his own creation than the 
 gift of circumstances with which he had nothing to do. 
 
 To all this Peter Ames assented freely, as to self- 
 evident facts. "I know that I have much to be grate- 
 ful for," said he. 
 
 "Then," pursued his visitor, "are you willing to 
 prove the sincerity of your gratitude by lending a 
 helping hand to one of the many who have not en- 
 joyed your advantages who have never had a real 
 chance?" 
 
198 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "How do you mean?" asked Peter. 
 
 "Why," said she, "I have in mind a young man 
 named Frank Mitchell. He has been rather wild, but 
 it was not his fault. His parentage was unfortunate. 
 His father was a drunkard. He had no bringing-up 
 really deserving the name. He got into some little 
 trouble and was sentenced to a year in the Peniten- 
 tiary, but they thought so well of him there that they 
 have just liberated him, after eight months. Now, I 
 want to find a good home for him, where he will live 
 under Christian family influences and develop into 
 the fine man he was meant to be. Mr. Ames, will you 
 take him into your home as a hired hand?" 
 
 Peter hesitated. "I do need help on the farm, 
 but " 
 
 "Mr. Ames, you say you need help. Think how 
 marvellously you have been helped. And this poor 
 fellow who had ever helped him? Dare you re- 
 fuse?" 
 
 So Peter consented. 
 
 "I am sure you will never regret it," said the social 
 worker, as she hurried away. "And he is such a nice- 
 looking young man, too, only about twenty-four 
 years old, nearly six feet tall, strong and wiry, clear 
 red cheeks, and so boyish-looking! You'll like him at 
 
 once." 
 
 The next day Frank Mitchell appeared. 
 
 In silo-filling season no farmer has tune to con- 
 sider aught but the heavy manual labor of the hour. 
 After that comes the threshing; then the orchard 
 work; then a dozen vital matters that refuse to 
 wait for any man's convenience. So September and 
 
THE FARMERS' BATTLE 199 
 
 October hurried away, and half of November had al- 
 ready followed them before Peter Ames had leisure to 
 notice in the newcomer much more than a pair of 
 hands. 
 
 During all this period, however, young Mitchell 
 had lived in the farmhouse, and had fulfilled his duties 
 as well as could be expected of an inexperienced man. 
 Because of his youth, and because of the words of the 
 social worker, Mrs. Ames had taken a special interest 
 in him, as had her mother, Mrs. Bolton, who shared 
 her daughter's home. Both women were pleasant, 
 kindly, warm-hearted folk, of the type that is meant 
 by "the salt of the earth," and both did their whole- 
 some best to make the young man feel that no shadow 
 of prison bars or of any other sinister thing beclouded 
 him in their eyes. 
 
 So came the 16th of November. All the morning 
 was showery or lowering. Uncomfortably the two 
 men worked between downpours, as best they could. 
 After dinner a steady rain began. 
 
 "This is for good," said Peter Ames. "We may as 
 well quit. I'll hitch up and drive over to Orwigsburg 
 to do my trading. And you, Frank, you can mend the 
 double harness the way I showed you. Take the stuff 
 over to the house, where you'll be comfortable. It's 
 getting awful raw!" 
 
 Half an hour later Peter drove out of the barnyard 
 in his buggy, jogging away down the leafless maple 
 alley into the gray of the rain and the mud, while 
 Mitchell with his armful of harness started for the 
 house. 
 
 Mrs. Ames, comely and motherly, sat in her spot- 
 
200 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 less kitchen, shelling corn. Pink geraniums bloomed 
 in the white-curtained windows, and a pot of "four- 
 o'clocks" covered with crimson flowers. Braided rag 
 rugs made the floor gay with their checkered rings of 
 black and yellow, white and purple and red. The 
 doors of the wooden cupboards smiled with painted 
 posies, and behind the shiny glass fronts of the dress- 
 ers the old blue dishes stood in rows. The tea-kettle 
 sang on the clean black stove, and over on the table 
 with the lozenged cloth stood a pan of fresh doughnuts, 
 and a plate of rosy apples and winter pears. 
 
 Across the threshold, in the sitting-room, Mrs. 
 Bolton sat sewing on a patchwork quilt. She rocked 
 cheerfully as her fingers dealt with multi-colored 
 scraps of calico, and between fragments of talk with 
 her daughter she sang bits of hymns in a sweet old 
 voice that cracked a little now and again on its high 
 notes. Her hair was snowy white, but over her steel- 
 bowed spectacles looked out a pair of eyes as blue as 
 a girl's and full of gentle goodness. 
 
 Frank Mitchell was crossing the barnyard on his 
 way to the house. Mrs. Ames, from her seat by the 
 kitchen table, saw his approach. 
 
 "Frank's coming in," she said to the elder woman. 
 "I guess Father's told him to bring his work inside. 
 Grandma, how do you feel about that boy now? I'm 
 real hopeful myself. Seems to me if we treat him like 
 our own he can't help being good. This corn is lovely ! 
 Just look what a big ear here is!" 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Bolton, "I don't see why he 
 should n't be good. Your father always said a man 
 was like his thoughts, and surely that boy has enough 
 
THE FARMERS' BATTLE 201 
 
 good things to fill his mind with now. There he goes, 
 through the woodshed." 
 
 "I'll call him in," said her daughter, and, taking 
 her milk-pan under her arm, she opened the outer 
 door. 
 
 "Frank!" she called. "Come inside. Bring your 
 work into the kitchen. You can sit right here by the 
 stove. That's right. Put your things on this other 
 chair. There ! Now you '11 be comfortable, won't you? 
 Take a doughnut before you sit down. The rain's 
 getting worse, is n't it? I do hope Father '11 get home 
 in good time for supper! It's dark so early and the 
 roads must be all a muck." 
 
 But Peter Ames could not finish his business at Or- 
 wigsburg as soon as he had hoped. When he started 
 for home it was already dark. Not until after half 
 after six o'clock did he reach the outer end of the 
 double row of maples that led to his house. 
 
 "An hour late to supper," thought Peter, "and on 
 such a night! The old mare and I won't shy at our 
 victuals this time, neither one of us!" 
 
 Then, through the haze of bare branches, he caught 
 sight of the house, a blot on the thinner darkness of 
 the sky. All the windows were black. 
 
 "No lights! Where can Mother be?" marvelled 
 Peter to himself. "Where can Mother be gone, and 
 Grandma, too? . . . and a night like this! . . . Must 
 have been awful serious, whatever it was, to take 
 them out and me not home! . . . Maybe some neigh- 
 bor's sick and Frank's had to hitch up and carry 
 them over in a hurry. Reckon I'll find a note on the 
 kitchen table." 
 
202 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Peter had driven into the barn, by now, and the 
 light of his axle-tree lantern was falling along the old 
 brown floor, catching on the cobwebs under the loft- 
 beams, showing points and parts of familiar objects 
 like hands of old friends reaching out of the dark. 
 A speckled hen sleepily complained from her perch 
 on a wagon-pole. Up at the far end four brown noses, 
 thrust over their mangers, whinnied eagerly at the 
 master's approach. 
 
 "Nickering! Then they haven't been watered 
 yet!" exclaimed Peter. "Old mare, I won't wait to 
 unharness you now. Let me make sure, first, what 
 all this means." 
 
 He flung a blanket over the dripping horse, and 
 hurried to the house. 
 
 Opening the kitchen door into the thick, black, 
 silence of the room, he paused a moment, listening. 
 Then he shuffled across, felt for the matches on the 
 mantelpiece, lighted the candle that always stood 
 ready there, and turned to look about. 
 
 The room was empty. There was no note on the 
 table. There was no sign of supper prepared. And 
 this last fact in particular filled him with vague fore- 
 bodings. Never had his wife forgotten his comfort. 
 Never did she withhold her first thought and care 
 from the comfort of his house. An unreasoning chill 
 crept over him like a fog. 
 
 Something crunched beneath his foot. He stooped, 
 holding the candle low to see what that thing had 
 been. A grain of corn. Beyond, much corn lay scat- 
 tered over the floor, and against the wall stood a milk- 
 pan, balanced eccentrically as though it had fallen 
 
THE FARMERS' BATTLE 203 
 
 and rolled there, with yet a few yellow kernels lying 
 in its rim. 
 
 Peter stood up and again looked about him fear- 
 fully. 
 
 "Mother!" he exclaimed, half -unconsciously call- 
 ing beneath his breath. 
 
 Then he moved into the sitting-room. Nothing 
 unusual there, unless it were the litter of patchwork 
 pieces lying over the carpet before the chair that 
 Mrs. Bolton was wont to use. 
 
 "But Grandma never leaves things in a muss!" 
 he said to himself protestingly, and went on toward 
 the hall and the stairs. 
 
 His foot was already on the lowest step when he 
 noticed, on the floor, a long, dark stain following the 
 channels of the matting in thick and glossy lines. 
 Again he held his candle low. The stain led to a black 
 thing lying shapeless in the shadow of the newel-post. 
 He went to it, laid his hand upon it, fell on his knees 
 by its side. 
 
 "Grandma!" he cried. "Who did it to you? Oh, 
 Grandma, speak! It is Peter, Peter. Can't you 
 hear?" 
 
 But the white head, as he lifted her, fell back, inert. 
 The hand that he thrust over her heart found no 
 life and when he withdrew it, it was red with blood. 
 Clutched in her right hand was a carving-knife. Its 
 long steel blade seemed to flash a tale that the dead 
 lips could not speak. But as yet Peter Ames missed 
 its message. 
 
 Gently he laid her back on the floor. It could not 
 hurt her now to wait a few moments longer there. 
 
204 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Nothing could ever hurt her again. And he must 
 know what was above. 
 
 As fast as his fear-stricken body would carry him, 
 he mounted the stairs, and made straight for the 
 square south chamber, his own room. The room was 
 in wild confusion. The drawers of the bureau yawned 
 wide, their contents scattered abroad; the wardrobe 
 door was swung open, the floor covered with clothes. 
 On top of the bed a great feather-bed had been cast 
 in a heap, and its striped ticking, billowing awkwardly, 
 gave the last touch of madness to an unheard-of scene. 
 
 Peter stood gazing around him in a stupor. His 
 world was gone from under his feet. He reeled in 
 space. 
 
 "Mother!" he cried, half unwittingly, as he had 
 done before. "Mother!" 
 
 Then he fancied he heard a moan. Again it came. 
 Peter dashed at the bed, seized the mountainous 
 feather-bed and flung it away. There lay his wife, 
 unconscious, with a wound on her head. Her arms 
 were bound tight to her body by turn on turn of 
 leather straps. 
 
 Even in his agony Peter looked again at those 
 straps. They were his double harness reins. 
 
 Perhaps an hour elapsed before Peter Ames took 
 thought of anything but his own. Then, snatching 
 his telephone, he called up the Justice of the Peace. 
 And the Justice of the Peace, as quickly as he could 
 get the connection, informed the State Police at Potts- 
 ville Barracks, fourteen miles away, of what had 
 occurred. 
 
AGAIN HE HELD HIS CANDLE LOW 
 
THE FARMERS' BATTLE 205 
 
 Now it happened that at that moment the force at 
 Pottsville was very small. Captain Adams, then com- 
 manding the Troop, was absent on duty. Between sub- 
 station details and details on urgent special cases, not a 
 single old enlisted man remained in Barracks for field 
 service. Lieutenant Mair and First Sergeant McCall 
 were making shift to handle the work with the aid of 
 a few raw recruits, as best they might. And so, when 
 the Justice's message came in, nothing remained for 
 it but that the Lieutenant himself should go to the 
 scene of the crime. 
 
 With six recruits he presented himself at Peter 
 Ames's door as quickly as the distance could be 
 covered. Mrs. Ames was still unconscious, but con- 
 ditions told their own story, and Peter's theory that 
 Frank Mitchell was the author of the havoc in his 
 home seemed sound. Securing the best description 
 of Mitchell that the distracted farmer could give, and 
 determining as closely as possible the hour at which 
 the crimes had been done, Lieutenant Mair now set 
 out to search the modes of egress from the place. 
 
 From a tower-man down the railroad line he pres- 
 ently learned that a youth answering the description 
 of Mitchell, and carrying a suitcase, had been seen 
 that evening walking the track toward Port Clinton, 
 the station next to the south. 
 
 Telephoning the railway agent of Port Clinton, 
 Lieutenant Mair found that such a man had bought 
 a ticket to Reading and had just taken the train in 
 that direction. Instantly, therefore, the Lieutenant 
 telephoned the railway police at Reading, requesting 
 that they watch the arrival of the train, arrest the 
 
206 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 man, and hold him prisoner for the coming of a State 
 Police officer. 
 
 Then he waited for news of the capture, which 
 should be sure. 
 
 Meantime First Sergeant John McCall sat at his 
 desk in Pottsville Barracks. First Sergeant McCall 
 had honorably served his country in the Fourth United 
 States Cavalry. Later, in the Seventh Cavalry, he 
 had fought the Indians in the grim Drexel Mission 
 affair, and again, in Arizona, among multitudinous 
 adventures, he had faced the hostile Apache chiefs. 
 As a member of the Sixth United States Infantry, he 
 had gone through the business of San Juan Hill from 
 start to finish, and after that had done his share in 
 many a hot engagement with the insurgents in the 
 Philippines. Often had he been wounded in battle. 
 Twice he had received honorable mention for saving 
 the lives of comrades. But, although he joined the 
 Force at its beginning, now years gone by, no one had 
 ever heard him speak of these things. In fact, his 
 voice was so rarely heard on any topic whatever that 
 throughout the Squadron he was known as "Silent 
 John." 
 
 And now, by a whim of Fate, it was Silent John 
 and no other who perforce must talk all night! 
 
 Silent John sat at the telephone collecting and dis- 
 tributing information, methodically centralizing the 
 work. And so it was on his ears that fell the familiar 
 voice of the Lieutenant, irately lamenting, as the 
 clock marked a quarter to ten. 
 
 The Lieutenant spoke from a tower-house, some- 
 where down the line. 
 
THE FARMERS' BATTLE 207 
 
 "He's slipped through the railway police! You 
 know the Reading Station sort of triangle. Three 
 platforms. Too much of a puzzle, I suppose. Any- 
 way, they missed him. And they say he was n't on 
 the train. But I know he was. I know he's in Read- 
 ing now. The next thing along is a coal freight. I'll 
 get the tower-man to flag it, and go down on that. 
 The first passenger train won't pull in there before 
 dawn, and he might get away ahead of it." 
 
 "Right, sir," said the First Sergeant. 
 
 Then he went on telephoning, picking up here a 
 thread, and there a thread, matching, selecting, cast- 
 ing aside. As soon as the Lieutenant should have 
 reached Reading he would give him his latest glean- 
 ings. Also, in receiving from each man on the job 
 prompt reports of all discoveries, he would keep each 
 man continually informed of the changing status of 
 affairs. Scientifically, methodically, he ordered his 
 work, like a chess-player, cool and far-sighted. 
 
 Meantime, by due progress of freight, Lieutenant 
 Mair, with his green recruits, was moving on Reading. 
 The lads were on tiptoe to do the right thing and to 
 do it handsomely, but alas! they had no experience. 
 An old Trooper needs merely to be told the general 
 object desired. His officer can then entrust the mat- 
 ter to his care, knowing that the task will be done 
 well and wisely. But the recruit must be guided step 
 by step, lest his judgment, betraying him, reflect 
 discredit on the Force. So, working in the field with 
 recruits is a slow and painful process. 
 
 In the black and splintery depths of the jolting 
 freight-car the Lieutenant therefore endeavored to 
 
208 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 save what time he could. Sitting on a nail-keg, he de- 
 livered a practical lecture to the wide-eyed youngsters, 
 revealed by high lights only, in the dismal ray of a 
 train-hand's lamp. 
 
 "Remember this," "Never do that," and, "In such 
 a case do so," he was still adjuring them when the 
 train lumbered into the Reading yard. 
 
 "Where in Sam Hill did you come from?" asked 
 the officer on duty at the Reading City Police Sta- 
 tion, sitting up with a jerk and rubbing his sleepy 
 eyes. 
 
 "Just got in from the north." 
 
 "Just got in! What time is it?" He peered at 
 the clock. "Half -past twelve. Why, there ain't no 
 south-bound train this time o' night. What d' you 
 mean?" 
 
 "Came down on a freight." 
 
 "On a freight! Well, I '11 be jiggered! What's the 
 matter with you fellers, anyway? Ain't passenger 
 trams good enough for you? " 
 
 "It happens I want to catch a criminal you've got 
 down here," said the Lieutenant, grinning. 
 
 "Oh, shucks!" fumed the other, obscurely irri- 
 tated. "Ain't there criminals enough and plenty, to 
 hunt in a reasonable, business-like way, as nature in- 
 tended, without your rushing around in the middle 
 of the night? You put me in mind of a lot of cock- 
 roaches, hanged if you don't!" 
 
 But when the Reading police heard in detail from 
 the Lieutenant's lips what had happened in the farm- 
 house to the north only six hours ago, they aroused to 
 
THE FARMERS' BATTLE 209 
 
 an interest that they had not felt before. And they 
 started out with a will to help the Troopers comb 
 the town for the missing man. 
 
 And all this time First Sergeant John McCall sat 
 talking, talking, talking over his telephone ! 
 
 Most of the points that he determined were nega- 
 tive in nature. Yet, by elimination, they narrowed 
 the field. The telephone girls over three counties, all 
 eagerness to help, were doing yeoman's service in the 
 many ways in their power, by accurate relay work, 
 by rapid connecting. Therefore, when Lieutenant 
 Mair called up his Barracks, just before starting out 
 with the Reading police, First Sergeant McCall had 
 a sheaf in hand. 
 
 One possibility he reported as definitely cut off, 
 another idea as cancelled, certain important facts 
 as established, the physical description of the man 
 cleared up and made positive. 
 
 "And, Lieutenant," finished "Silent John," "I 
 find that when this Mitchell, alias Christock, did his 
 time in the Penitentiary, he had for a cell-mate a 
 man named Fogarty." 
 
 "All right. Good-bye." 
 
 Then the Lieutenant started in, with the aid of the 
 Reading city force, to search the town. They went 
 through the cheap lodging-houses and found nothing. 
 They sifted the cheap hotels, with like result. They 
 ransacked the saloons, the livery-stables, the dives 
 and dens in vain. 
 
 "He 's not in this city," said the Reading men. "He 
 never came, or else he's gone on." 
 
 One by one they gave up the hunt went back 
 
210 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 to their sleep, until only a single pair remained on 
 the search. 
 
 But from this pair presently came happy news: 
 
 " We have the man." 
 
 Lieutenant Mair hurried to the jail to inspect the 
 prisoner. 
 
 "We picked him up in the freight-yard, asleep in 
 an empty," said one captor proudly. 
 
 But the Lieutenant shook his head. "I don't be- 
 lieve he's Frank Mitchell," said he; " the description 
 does n't quite fit." 
 
 "Oh, it fits as near as they ever do," said the city 
 officer. "We'll keep this fellow, anyway. And if he 
 is n't your man, then, take it from me, your man 
 isn't in Reading. Now let's all quit for to-night. 
 We've done enough." 
 
 "What is Frank Mitchell wanted for?" ventured 
 the white-faced prisoner whom the description too 
 nearly fitted. 
 
 "For larceny, murder, and rape," answered the 
 Lieutenant laconically, as he went out alone into the 
 night. 
 
 He had posted his recruits at certain points that 
 must be watched. Those recruits, every one of them, 
 must stick to their posts. That left him single-handed 
 to find the man whom he still unshakenly believed to 
 be in the city of Reading. But, even though single- 
 handed, find him he must and would. By what means 
 he did not yet know. Only the event was determined : 
 He was going to find that man before he slept. 
 
 It was half after three o'clock. Still a little while be- 
 fore the earliest risers would be stirring. This was his 
 
THE FARMERS' BATTLE 
 
 precious hour. He lingered a moment in the shadow 
 of the jail stoop, inwardly debating his next move. 
 It must be the best move, the most sagacious, a win- 
 ner. He had no time to make mistakes! Should it 
 be thus or thus? 
 
 And then something that for a long minute had 
 been softly speaking to his other mind, cried suddenly 
 aloud, "Listen to me!" 
 
 It was the sound of a sharp step, not like other 
 steps. It was approaching on the side street, and 
 there was that in its firm, crisp ring, through the si- 
 lence of the small hours, that bit like bright steel on 
 the city's soft background. 
 
 The Lieutenant's inner vision was already shout- 
 ing hurrah and swinging its hat. The Lieutenant's 
 sage mentality was laboriously waiting to know. The 
 Lieutenant's eyes were fixed on the street corner with 
 an eagerness that almost hurt. 
 
 The crisp tread reached the corner, turned in, 
 and Sergeant Edward Hallisey , late Thirteenth United 
 States Cavalry, tried old Trooper of the Force, stood 
 at salute beneath the jail lamp. 
 
 "How did this happen?" exclaimed the Lieuten- 
 ant, out of a glad heart. 
 
 "Sergeant McCall picked me up by telephone and 
 sent me in, sir." 
 
 "Well, now I know we'll get that man to-night!" 
 
 They held a brief council together. Hallisey was 
 an excellent detective, and the Lieutenant wanted 
 the benefit of his mind. So he gave him a resume of 
 all that had been done. 
 
 "There's one thing that hasn't been done we 
 
THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 have n't tried the hotels of the better grade. There 
 might be a chance there," he concluded. 
 
 "Well," said Hallisey, "on the surface, I'd say 
 no. But this fellow stole a fairish bit of money. He 
 feels flush. It's been one of his dreams, maybe, to 
 blow in cash in a real hotel. I 'd say it 's worth trying." 
 
 So the two started out to make the round of Read- 
 ing's resorts of the kind in question. The first place 
 visited proved a blank, in so far as the search could 
 be carried. The second gave the same result. It was 
 impossible, of course, to disturb the guests in their 
 rooms to force a general entry, at such an hour, 
 and upon such an occasion. But the night clerks 
 themselves, in each instance, were positive that no 
 one even remotely conforming to Frank Mitchell's 
 description had registered in their books. 
 
 At the third stop, the City Hotel, the proprietor 
 himself was on duty. Like the others, he also de- 
 clared that no one resembling Mitchell had come to 
 his house. But Lieutenant Mair was dissatisfied. 
 
 "This is far too good a place for a laborer to think 
 of," said he to Hallisey, "but, as you said, that might 
 be exactly the reason for his coming here. And hotel 
 men are not all close observers. Maybe this one, for 
 instance, could n't accurately describe a single guest 
 now in the house." 
 
 He stood looking at the proprietor with knitted 
 brows. 
 
 "Let me see your register," he evolved. 
 
 The other whirled the book around. 
 
 "George Devons, Alexander O'Neill, Mrs. John 
 Martin and daughter, Follmer, Fogarty, Flanahan, 
 
THE FARMERS' BATTLE 213 
 
 Stillwell, Baker, Tice, Snell, McCune" the Lieu- 
 tenant ran down the names aloud. "That's all that 
 have come in this evening?" 
 
 "And nobody at all like the man you describe, 
 either," added the hotel-keeper decidedly. 
 
 But the Lieutenant was back again staring at the 
 page. 
 
 "Fogarty," murmured he "Fogarty where 
 does that name come in?' 
 
 Then it came back to him in the voice of First 
 Sergeant McCall "When Mitchell did his time in 
 the Penitentiary he had for a cell-mate a man named 
 Fogarty." . 
 
 Something in the Lieutenant's mind suddenly 
 snapped shut. He turned to his Sergeant with an air 
 of unaccountable finality. 
 
 "Hallisey," said he, "we've got him." 
 
 And then, to the proprietor, "When did Fogarty 
 arrive?" 
 
 "A little after nine o'clock, and registered, and had 
 supper, and went out. Then he came in at about 
 eleven and went to bed. By the way, he left word to 
 be called at four-thirty." 
 
 "I would like to go up and take a look at him." 
 
 "Why, sure. Go ahead. Third floor, room 301." 
 
 The Lieutenant knocked at the door. Not a sound 
 within. Again a knock, this time followed by a creak 
 of the bed and a scuffling. Waiting for nothing more, 
 the two officers put their shoulders to the door 
 burst it open. Their man stood before them. 
 
 He was snatching his overcoat down from its hook, 
 with one hand fumbling for the pocket. Hallisey's 
 
214 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 grip closed over his wrist just as he seized the object 
 of his search his revolver. 
 
 Three hours later, in the jail, Mitchell had made 
 his full confession, which he signed before a city 
 alderman and seven witnesses. In it he related at 
 length his deeds of the afternoon before. Wrth the 
 greatest coolness he described how, sitting in the 
 pleasant kitchen near the kindly farmer's wife, he 
 had suddenly sprung up, thrown over her head the 
 long leather reins that he was mending and bound her 
 arms tight to her body; how then, because she strug- 
 gled, he had struck her on the forehead with his 
 heavy harness punch till she lost consciousness; how 
 he had lifted the senseless woman in his arms, and was 
 starting up the stairs with her, when her old white- 
 haired mother came tottering at him with the carv- 
 ing-knife in her hand; how he had dropped his burden 
 long enough to seize the shotgun that always stood 
 on the stairs, and to kill the mother with a charge 
 through her heart; how he had then gone on upstairs, 
 thrown the woman hastily on her own bed, descended 
 again to lock the house, and so, at his leisure, had 
 ransacked it for money and valuables; how he had 
 then returned to the south chamber, covering his 
 victim with the feather-bed from her mother's room, 
 lest she regain her senses and scream, and had made 
 his exit in the manner known; how in Reading, after 
 a good supper at the hotel, he had spent an agreeable 
 evening at the movies, and had then gone quietly 
 back to bed and that sound sleep from which the 
 Troopers aroused him. He had intended rising before 
 
THE FARMERS' BATTLE 215 
 
 dawn, hiring a motor with some of his loot, and get- 
 ting away tracklessly in the dark, before search should 
 begin for him. 
 
 As Lieutenant Mair was walking down the jail cor- 
 ridor after having seen Mitchell safely behind bolt 
 and bar, a timid voice called from one of the deten- 
 tion cells. 
 
 "Captain! Please, did you get Frank Mitchell?" 
 
 It was the suspect found asleep in the "empty" 
 the night before. 
 
 "Yes," answered the Lieutenant kindly. "We've 
 got him. I knew you were n't Mitchell, did n't I?" 
 
 "Oh, praise be to God," cried the prisoner. "I 
 never was as wicked as that!" 
 
 Then, snatching at the Lieutenant's sleeve, he be- 
 gan pouring out the confession of all the shortcomings 
 of his life. His name was Edward Hare. He had been 
 something of a thief, both of money and of goods. 
 He had robbed his employer. He had committed a 
 burglary for whose author the State Police had been 
 searching for the last two years. But he had spent 
 those two years in Nova Scotia, and was on his way 
 home only last night. He had thought himself safe 
 in returning after so long an eclipse, and had ex- 
 pected to escape the penalty of his wrong-doings. 
 But now the black shadow of Mitchell's sins, touch- 
 ing him so ominously, so close, had changed his whole 
 thought. His only desire was to tell all that he knew 
 to rejoice that he had escaped that awful pit 
 to wipe his slate clean and gladly to take the 
 lesser punishment that he had earned. 
 
 So Edward Hare went to the Reformatory. 
 
216 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 On November 25th, nine days from the day of his 
 crimes, Frank Mitchell, found guilty of larceny, rape, 
 and murder hi the first degree, was sentenced to be 
 hanged. His sentence was duly and promptly exe- 
 cuted according to the law. The whole thing was 
 done and away so quickly that even the newspapers 
 had scarcely time to debate it. Neither room nor oc- 
 casion was left for the rehearsal of miserable details 
 nor for protracted argument of the case. The public 
 mind was spared that poisoning. The public treasury 
 was saved from cost. The criminal class received a 
 lesson of the type that strikes deepest to its core. 
 And the farmer folk of Schuylkill County once more 
 with gratitude and thanksgiving acknowledged their 
 debt to their best friends. 
 
 Once more the State Police, faithfully working 
 while others slept, had fought and won the farmers' 
 battle. 
 
IX 
 
 CHERRY VALLEY 
 
 was early in the Force's history so early 
 that as yet no sub-station of State Police had ever 
 been planted in Washington County. 
 
 Captain Pitcher, commanding "A" Troop, was 
 now about to place one there, and, in reviewing the 
 territory, had selected Burgettstown as the location 
 for the new outpost. Burgettstown, close to the Ohio 
 line, lies some sixty miles from the Troop's home 
 barracks. 
 
 Sergeant Charles Jacobs, late Third United States 
 Cavalry, Private Gjertsen, late Corporal of United 
 States Marine, and two other Troopers, composed 
 the new detail. On sending the men off the Captain 
 made them a farewell speech. That speech, for him, 
 was a long one, yet every word of it carved its indeli- 
 ble mark; just as Captain Pitcher himself, through 
 twelve long years of splendid service, has carved 
 his indelible mark upon the gratitude of the State of 
 Pennsylvania. 
 
 "You men have to make good in that country," 
 he said. "You are going to establish a name for the 
 Force. Do your full duty. Get what you go for. 
 Keep every act above criticism. And never 'start any- 
 thing' first " 
 
 Burgettstown is a typical farming community 
 quiet, orderly, prosperous, and as vulnerable as an 
 oyster without its shell. The Constable of Burgetts- 
 
218 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 town was seventy years old, and, although far from 
 well-preserved, his quavering strength would yet 
 have sufficed for all the home-bred needs of the baili- 
 wick. But, as it happened, the real needs of Burgetts- 
 town were not home-bred at all. 
 
 There was Cherry Valley, for example, only four 
 short miles away. 
 
 Cherry Valley was the central point in a circle of 
 mining plants. It possessed their one and only store 
 a Company Store; it had some places of dubious 
 amusement. It had also a large and bad negro ele- 
 ment, mingled with that sort of white stock that will 
 so mix. 
 
 Cherry Valley, by its own proud word, was a 
 "tough proposition," and from its toughness ema- 
 nated a considerable part of Burgettstown's woes. 
 They ranged from chicken-stealing and drunken 
 Sunday sprees to the firing of haystacks and barns, 
 thefts of crops, and attacks upon women in lonely 
 places. And no local means of protection of which 
 Burgettstown was endowed operated against them in 
 the slightest degree. 
 
 Yet these things had become so much a part of 
 Burgettstown's daily life as to be accepted more or 
 less like the weather that Providence is pleased to 
 send, on a par with the discipline of a world of trav- 
 ail and sojourning, to be borne with resignation and 
 to be taken as they came. 
 
 Burgettstown, as yet, had no personal knowledge 
 of the power and purpose of a State Police, and in so 
 far as it substituted surmise for experience, its sur- 
 mise ran that the Force must be simply a new-fangled 
 
YOU MEN HAVE TO MAKE GOOD IN THAT COUNTRY" 
 
CHERRY VALLEY 219 
 
 avenue of graft, a creation of costly, arrogant use- 
 lessness. The farmers, therefore, in their farmers' 
 scepticism as to all new things, held aloof and looked 
 askance. 
 
 So it happened that the first applicant for help to 
 approach the sub-station door was a very humble 
 one, indeed. It was a poor, harmless old negro, who, 
 by some mischance, had incurred the wrath of one 
 of the black bullies of the Cherry Valley gang. The 
 bully had promised to kill this white-polled ancient 
 on sight, and, as he habitually "toted a gun," he was 
 likely to carry out his threat at their first meeting. 
 
 "Certainly ain't gwine to be no meetin', if I sees 
 him first," the old man declared with conviction, 
 "but I cyan't have eyes all round my head at once, 
 an' I cyan't rest nights tryin' to keep 'em so. If you 
 could help me, Boss, I certainly would be thankful. 
 Nobody else won't, not in dis world ! I 'se begged 'em 
 all." 
 
 He had sworn out a warrant for the apprehension 
 of his persecutor, and had taken the warrant to the 
 Constable, in due and proper course. But the Con- 
 stable, honest gray-beard that he was, feigned no abil- 
 ity to serve that writ. He knew that the burly black 
 rascal would at best snatch it out of his hand and tear 
 it up before his face, and that he would be lucky to 
 escape merely with ridicule and without bodily in- 
 jury. So the Constable had flatly refused the at- 
 tempt. The patient old negro had then plodded back 
 to the Squire. 
 
 "Dis here writ please, sah, Constable say he 
 won't serve it. What I gwine do next?" 
 
220 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "Don't know. Guess there ain't anything to do 
 next," opined the Squire. 
 
 "But, Squire, I'se too afraid! Dat man gwine kill 
 me, sure!" 
 
 "Well, then, I guess you'd better move away from 
 here. Go some place where he won't find you. That 
 would be my idea." 
 
 The suppliant stood for a moment silent, with 
 hanging head. Then, with a sigh, he started down the 
 path from the Squire's door. Perhaps something in 
 the humble dejection of the figure touched the Justice 
 slightly. Perhaps he suddenly remembered that this 
 man could wield a whitewash brush a little bit better 
 than any one else in the Borough, and that in haying- 
 time he came in handily. 
 
 "Look here, you!" he shouted down the path. 
 "There's those State Police just come to town. I 
 don't reckon they'll do anything for you, but it 
 could n't hurt to walk over and ask 'em before you 
 pack up. Your time ain't worth much, anyhow." 
 
 "Certainly we will serve this warrant," said Ser- 
 geant Jacobs, having read the writ. "Why not?" 
 
 The old negro could scarcely credit his ears. "But 
 but Cherry Valley's an awful wicked place, an* 
 Cherry Valley fights by de bunch. Razors an' 
 knives an' every kind of gun." 
 
 "Now, uncle, don't you fret. Go along home and 
 eat your dinner in peace. We'll take care of you. 
 Leave Cherry Valley to us." 
 
 The old man stared, while his lips moved. He 
 seemed to be repeating the words to himself, savoring 
 them one by one. Slowly his heart shone through his 
 
CHERRY VALLEY 
 
 wrinkled mask, translated. Fifty years had rolled 
 away. Once more he stood in a world that he knew 
 among "real white folks" at home. He clasped his 
 knotted hands while the tears rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 "Oh, Master! Master, dear!" he sobbed and 
 laughed together, falling unconsciously upon the 
 long-hushed name. "D-don't let them hurt you over 
 there. Don't let 'em harm one HT hair of yo' precious 
 haid! Dis ole nigger ain't wuth it!" 
 
 "May de Lord forgive me!" he said again, as he 
 watched the Sergeant and Private Gjertsen ride out 
 of sight, down the Cherry Valley road. "May de 
 Lord have mercy on my sinful soul! I certainly did 
 think He done called all His old-time peoples home!" 
 
 It was a Saturday afternoon the afternoon of 
 pay-day. The gangs had gathered in Cherry Valley, 
 and the weekly trouble was already afoot. Men and 
 women had been drinking heavily. Quarrels were pro- 
 gressing, ugly combinations had formed. As the two 
 Troopers rode down the street, a cloud of hostile 
 questions surrounded them. Who were they? Why 
 had they come? 
 
 Their uniform was unknown here, their name and 
 purpose were almost as strange. But they looked like 
 men claiming authority, and Cherry Valley in theory 
 denied authority utterly. In the concrete it had never 
 seen it knew it not at all. 
 
 Sergeant Jacobs glanced in at the windows of the 
 Company Store, as they passed. The windows were 
 filled with lowering faces, among them some that were 
 American, and of the better sort. 
 
THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Said the Sergeant to Trooper Gjertsen: 
 
 "I'll wager we have n't a friend in the whole vil- 
 lage Americans, foreigners, negroes, every one of 
 them is ready to fight/' 
 
 They rode on a few yards farther, coming to a 
 house on whose porch a stalwart negro lounged. 
 
 "As we're strangers everywhere, we may as well 
 begin here," remarked the Sergeant, dismounting. 
 
 They tied their horses and entered. 
 
 Within the thick squalor of the place some fifteen 
 or twenty negroes were playing poker and drinking. 
 To the query of the Sergeant they answered, with 
 surly scowls, that the man he sought was not in that 
 house. 
 
 Satisfying themselves that this was probably true, 
 the Troopers proceeded to another and yet other 
 negro abodes, still with a like result. Everywhere the 
 same surly quasi-insolence, the same hostile with- 
 holding of all information, suggestions, or help. 
 
 Finally they approached a house at whose front 
 door a slatternly white woman sat, while a little 
 mulatto girl stood on the back porch. In some vague 
 way the two suggested a guard. 
 
 "We'll try this place," said Sergeant Jacobs. "I'll 
 take the front door, Gjertsen. You go to the rear." 
 
 Both officers asked the seeming sentries whether 
 the negro named in the warrant was within the house. 
 Both received a defiant "No!" Then they entered, 
 from their respective sides, and together made a 
 thorough search of the ground floor. The search 
 proved barren. The Troopers mounted to the second 
 and only remaining floor. Here also their hunt re- 
 
CHERRY VALLEY 223 
 
 vealed nothing. Disappointed, they descended the 
 stairs, and were about leaving the house, when an 
 indefinable shade on the face of the white woman 
 made them pause. 
 
 "Are you quite sure that this man is not in the 
 house? " 
 
 "Sure? Of course I'm sure!" the woman snapped 
 back. 
 
 The Sergeant looked her square in the eye, long and 
 steadily. "I'll just go up and have another glance " 
 he began. 
 
 " Can't you take a lady's word, then, you coward, 
 you " and she babbled off, like a hot geyser, into a 
 torrent of mud. 
 
 " and I'll bring him down with me in a mo- 
 ment," finished the Sergeant, imperturbably, his foot 
 on the stair. 
 
 "There's just this one place left, and he must be 
 in it," Sergeant Jacobs was saying, a moment later. 
 
 He stood before the chimney breast in the rear 
 chamber, gazing at the chimney-hole. In point of 
 size that hole might conceivably have admitted the 
 body of a man. But it was stuffed tight with old 
 blankets and gunny-sacks, to keep the wind away, 
 and the blankets and gunny-sacks were gray with a 
 season's dust. 
 
 "If he's in there, they've done it well!" exclaimed 
 Gjertsen. 
 
 They had, indeed, done it with talent. Fine white 
 coal-ash, scattered over the hastily arranged cloths 
 and then fanned off to avoid unnatural surplus, sug- 
 gested an inference that might easily deceive. But 
 
224 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 when the two officers had jerked the last obstructing 
 gunny-sack out of that chimney-hole the view that 
 rewarded them comprised one large splay-foot. 
 
 They got him down, sooty and perspiring, and 
 very wroth. They searched him for arms and found 
 that he had turned his gun and razor over to the 
 woman before making his ascent. At first he was 
 confused, but as he breathed less creosote he grew 
 more threatening and bold. 
 
 "We'll handcuff this man," said the Sergeant. 
 
 As the irons clicked fast the woman burst out again 
 into railings. "Tin soldiers!" she screamed, and 
 launched into her malodorous vocabulary. 
 
 Meantime a mob of no mean dimensions had as- 
 sembled around the house. It numbered several hun- 
 dred persons, chiefly negroes and foreign miners, with 
 the negroes everywhere well to the fore. Sergeant 
 Jacobs, with a practised glance, estimated its temper 
 and its probable trend of thought. Much, as he well 
 knew, depended on the justice of that quick estimate. 
 His object was, first, to get his prisoner out of Cherry 
 Valley and over to the Burgettstown Jail without 
 harm to the man; and, second, but not less, to avoid 
 any outbreak and consequent birth of ill-feeling, on 
 the part of the crowd itself. 
 
 "Got to make good in that country," Captain 
 Pitcher had said. " You are going to establish a name 
 for the Force." 
 
 And back in the first days, when all the Force were 
 recruits together, had not the Major himself im- 
 pressed upon his Troopers, one and all, 
 
CHERRY VALLEY 225 
 
 "In making an arrest you may use no force beyond 
 the minimum necessary." 
 
 That crowd, then, must not be allowed to conceive 
 ideas that would necessitate strong measures. 
 
 "They will centre at first on the horses," the Ser- 
 geant theorized to himself. "I'll amuse them with 
 the horses while Gjertsen gets ahead with the man." 
 
 "Gjertsen," he said, "remain dismounted and 
 start away with the prisoner. I'll follow you." 
 
 Sergeant Jacobs killed as much time as he could in 
 untying the two mounts. The crowd looked on in- 
 tent, sullen, and muttering. At last one in the front 
 rank shouted: 
 
 "What are you taking this man away for?" 
 
 "Why do you ask?" responded the officer. 
 
 "I got a right to know. He lives here. I demand to 
 know." 
 
 The speaker was a blue-black giant with a mouth 
 like a collapsible megaphone. His manner was trucu- 
 lent. 
 
 "If you want to find out," coolly replied the Ser- 
 geant, "come down to the Squire's office by and by. 
 Then you can hear all about it/' 
 
 The murmurs of the negroes swelled, bordered on 
 abuse. The Sergeant faced around. 
 
 "I am an officer of the State Police," said he, very 
 sharply and distinctly. "Remember that you are 
 permitted to show no disrespect and to use no bad 
 language concerning the uniform of the State of 
 Pennsylvania, which I wear." 
 
 As yet they guessed but dimly of what he spoke. 
 The meaning had still to be proved to them. But 
 
THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 something in his bearing gave them pause, never- 
 theless. 
 
 With all their lawless ill-will, with all their old im- 
 punity, with all their swarming numbers, they hesi- 
 tated and held back in the presence of this one 
 stranger. In the crowd there were a hundred young 
 men of far more than the Sergeant's weight, men of 
 ox-like strength, bred to blood and violence. A sher- 
 iff's posse, however well armed, would have been their 
 half -holiday joy. But this solitary figure now con- 
 fronting them diffused some unknown influence 
 was as strange as if it had descended from Mars. 
 The uniform, color of a thundercloud, severe as if 
 cast in steel, suggesting a Power somewhere unseen; 
 the body that moulded the uniform, lithe, clean- 
 muscled, hard, suggesting an iron discipline that itself 
 is power; the face, clear-cut, lean, quick, with dark, 
 live eyes, faithfully promising surprise to whoever 
 should go too far all these contributed then* parts. 
 The crowd held back. 
 
 Meantime Sergeant Jacobs, watching the progress 
 of his comrade, saw him safely turn the corner of the 
 street. In a moment more he would be passing the 
 Coal Company's Store. "There," thought the Ser- 
 geant, "we shall certainly get backing. The Superin- 
 tendent will come out with his men." 
 
 Leading the horses, and at a deliberate pace, not 
 to excite the mob, he moved on to rejoin Gjertsen. 
 
 They passed the Company Store. It was crowded 
 with the very people on whom officers of the State 
 should have been able to count for stanch support. 
 But not a man of them came forth. Instead, they 
 
CHERRY VALLEY 227 
 
 hung in the windows and doors, with jeers on their 
 faces, voicing grotesque solicitude as to the fate of 
 "tin soldiers" in Cherry Valley betting on the 
 number of pieces into which they would be dissected 
 before the hour was done. 
 
 The two officers paid no heed kept straight on 
 their homeward course. The manacled negro walked 
 before them. The crowd, bunched dark and swollen 
 like swarming bees, hung buzzing where the Sergeant 
 had left it. 
 
 "I guess we're all right now," said Gjertsen. 
 I "We'll mount in a moment," the Sergeant agreed. 
 
 But at this the prisoner, who had so far submitted, 
 sullenly dumb, aroused himself to dispute his fate. 
 
 "I ain't goin' to walk to Burgettstown," he an- 
 nounced. "If you want me to go to Burgettstown, 
 you got to take me in a rig." 
 
 "Keep right along going. We can't get any con- 
 veyance here. A four-mile walk won't hurt anybody," 
 answered the Sergeant good-naturedly. 
 
 The fellow slouched on for a few yards, obedient, 
 though glowering. But he had caught his cue. His 
 aim now was to communicate it to his timorous 
 friends behind. 
 
 "By Moses, I ain't goin' on!" he bellowed, 
 and stopped short in his tracks. 
 
 " Go on," said the Sergeant. 
 
 The prisoner obeyed once more. But he had gained 
 time, and time was all that was needed for his policy 
 to take effect. This also the Troopers appreciated. 
 
 Another rod or two, and then the black played his 
 trump card. He flung himself flat on the ground. "I 
 
228 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 won't walk no fo' miles for nobody !" he howled. "I 
 won't walk no fo' miles for nobody on earth! Yah! 
 Yah! Yah!" 
 
 Trooper Gjertsen jerked him upright. It was not 
 too easily done, for the fellow made himself a dead, 
 disjointed, flaccid mass. Yet done it was, and quickly, 
 for such a job. Meantime Sergeant Jacobs held the 
 horses, and kept a corner of his eyes on the crowd. 
 
 The crowd was moving at last. The big, blue- 
 black spokesman, leading it, was coming on at a dead 
 run. By the posture of his hand, the Sergeant thought 
 that he was holding concealed a revolver. Therefore, 
 interposing himself between Private Gjertsen with his 
 captive and the oncoming giant, and holding the 
 horses with his left arm as a man holds a shield, he 
 awaited the moment. It came. He saw that the ne- 
 gro's hands were empty and that he was making 
 for the prisoner first. 
 
 "Here," shouted the new arrival, at the top of his 
 bull-like lungs, "you don't have to go with these men! 
 They don't have no authority here! They can't take 
 you, I say!" 
 
 From the rapidly nearing crowd rose an inarticulate 
 howl of applause. 
 
 Sergeant Jacobs, enveloped in calm, proceeded like 
 a methodical nurse with an infant lunatic. Without 
 difficulty or seeming exertion, he encircled the big 
 negro with his grip, pinning the two flapping arms 
 tight to the body. 
 
 He had dropped the horses. Apache, he knew, 
 would stand alone, like the friend and the brother 
 that he is, in the hour of need. 
 
CHERRY VALLEY 229 
 
 "Take the cuff off that other fellow's right hand, 
 Gjertsen. Snap it on this one's left. So! There's a 
 pair of love-birds for you! Now, you two, you are not 
 going to start a riot. March!" 
 
 The thing was done so quickly, so unexpectedly, 
 that it had the effect of a stroke of fate. The big, bold 
 leader, the dare-devil spokesman, had been plucked 
 like a wayside weed. In an instant it was over. 
 Shame sat upon him. His place of glory could know 
 him no more. 
 
 Where the leader had fallen so desperately, would 
 the crew rush in and dare? It parleyed. It hesitated. 
 
 But the two burly blacks were not yet subdued. 
 "We'll have our rights!" bellowed the giant, a sea- 
 lawyer ashore. "You're obliged to give us transpor- 
 tation!" 
 
 "Transpo'tation! Transpo'tation!" howled the 
 other. "We want transpo'tation ! " 
 
 " You can't compel us to walk ! It 's against the law ! '' 
 
 Said Sergeant Jacobs,." You'll walk or be dragged." 
 
 Then each Trooper pulled his hitching-strap from 
 his saddle, each fastened a strap to a negro's unman- 
 acled wrist, and mounted. 
 
 "Start up!" ordered the Sergeant. 
 
 The blacks came to their feet with sprawling haste. 
 Handcuffed together like Siamese twins and with their 
 free hands lariated by a taut line, they had no choice. 
 
 "Well, I guess we'll walk," growled one. 
 
 "Until you're done guessing and are quite sure of 
 it, you'll walk as you are," the Sergeant replied. 
 
 They plunged on for a few yards, between the two 
 horses. 
 
230 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "Please, sir, won't you kindly allow us to walk in 
 front of the horses in the natural way, if you please, 
 sir!" It was the big spokesman, this time, his inso- 
 lence suddenly gone. 
 
 As Gjertsen unfastened the straps, the Sergeant 
 looked back. The crowd, so shortly before on the 
 ragged verge of an outbreak that would have put 
 enmity between the people and the Force in that 
 Valley for years to come, that crowd of hostile hun- 
 dreds was melting away. No more fight was left in it. 
 It was thinking. It was going home. It was almost 
 won to a laugh. 
 
 "I believe the Major would like that," Sergeant 
 Jacobs murmured, his eyes on the peaceful perspec- 
 tive. 
 
 "I think the Captain would say it's a right start," 
 Gjertsen elaborated. "But there were moments " 
 
 "There were," the Sergeant concurred. 
 
 The march ended at the Squire's office door. 
 
 "Now, what about the other man?" asked the 
 Justice, having disposed of the subject of the first 
 arrest. 
 
 "In his case," responded the Sergeant, "we ask for 
 a considerable penalty. These are our first arrests in 
 Washington County, and we intend to be fair, square, 
 and not too severe. But this man tried his best to 
 cause a riot in resistance to the execution of the Law. 
 We do not intend to encourage such enterprise." 
 
 "I'll give him four months," said the Squire. 
 
 Later, the prisoner begged that he might speak to 
 Sergeant Jacobs alone. 
 
CHERRY VALLEY 231 
 
 "Cap'n," said he, "Squire's given me four months. 
 But before I go away, I want to explain to you that I 
 did n't know you was a State Police officer. Did n't 
 know what a State Police officer is. I came up from 
 Virginny, I did. I thought you was just like all the 
 militia down there just tin soldiers that nobody 
 don't mind. An', Cap'n, I want to ask your pardon 
 before I go away, because, when I get out, Cherry 
 Valley ain't no place for me unless you know 1 9 m your 
 man." 
 
 "Marse Sergeant Jacobs' man, indeed!" snorted 
 old Uncle White- Wool when he heard the tale. He 
 had already attached himself, body, soul, and lonely 
 heart, to his new hero, and had endowed him with all 
 the attributes of long ago. "Marse Sergeant Jacobs 
 don't have no use fo' dot common new trash! I'se de 
 onlies' nigger he tolerate 'bout his pusson. My name 
 is Jacobs, sah, if you please. I'se changed it to suit 
 de occasion." 
 
 Such was the introduction of the State Police to 
 Washington County; and the sub-station details, one 
 after another over a long period, followed a good 
 start. But at last came a day when the "economy" 
 of the State Legislature so operated that Burgetts- 
 town sub-station must be withdrawn for lack of funds 
 to sustain its Spartan cost; and then was afforded a 
 gauge of the real feeling of the farmers toward the 
 Force. That thinly populated region sent in a peti- 
 tion signed by nearly four thousand persons, urgently 
 protesting against the withdrawal of the devoted 
 friends and protectors, without whose presence they 
 scarcely now knew how to live. 
 
X 
 
 THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP "A 
 
 A 
 
 r|\fcLb; Burgess leaned on his office table, chin in 
 A palm, scowling. With his free fingers he beat a 
 devil's tattoo on the hard wood over which his waist- 
 coat buttons should have presided. But the Burgess 
 wore no waistcoat. His costume, in fact, was in the 
 extreme sketchy, and his hair suggested the thought 
 that the pillow, rather than the brush, had been its 
 latest companion. The Burgess radiated an atmos- 
 phere of doubt, wrath, and extreme anxiety. It was 
 five minutes to four o'clock in the morning. 
 
 By the table stood the Borough Chief of Police, 
 large, serious, with an air of weight and importance. 
 At his side waited one of his officers, a small man in 
 the uniform of the Borough service. Over in a corner, 
 among the shadows, sat one seemingly on the eve of 
 old age, with a face like the face of an ancient hound 
 long of line, drooping, full of a sort of hopeless 
 yearning and of habitual sadness. He sat on the edge 
 of his chair. His hands, between his knees, worked 
 nervously at the brim of his hat, and his eyes never 
 left the Burgess. His dress, neat and clean, had once 
 been good; now it would soon be shabby. He was 
 obviously under stress of strong excitement. 
 
 On the table lay four objects: A much crumpled 
 newspaper; an electric flash-lamp; a red bandanna 
 handkerchief; and a bomb, lying within a piece of 
 common manila wrapping-paper. 
 
 The Burgess, the Chief, and the Constable stared 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 233 
 
 at the four objects. The man in the corner stared at 
 the Burgess. No one spoke. No one had spoken for 
 some moments past. Nothing broke the silence but 
 the steady beat of the devil's tattoo. 
 
 "Damn it all!" the Burgess broke out at last. 
 
 The Chief's eyebrows flickered up for the fraction 
 of an instant, as instantly to resume their natural 
 level. The Chief was a discreet man and one who 
 could make allowances. 
 
 "You say," the Burgess spoke again, "that 
 nothing in this stuff here gives any clue." He jerked 
 his chin toward the objects on the table. 
 
 "Why, no, not quite that," the Chief rejoined. 
 "I said that bomb, that flash-light, and that ban- 
 danna have nothing individual about them. But the 
 newspaper is a little different. It's in Greek. Only, 
 there are hundreds of Greeks around here hundreds 
 and hundreds of them. So I don't see how even the 
 paper gives us much of a start." 
 
 The Burgess rubbed an impatient hand through his 
 already rampant forelock. "We can't fall down on 
 this. It's too serious. It would reflect the worst way 
 on our administration. Of course you hunted every- 
 where you could think of ? " 
 
 "We made a complete search," the Chief stated for 
 the fourth time within the hour, yet still with un- 
 ruffled patience, "a complete and thorough search 
 of the entire neighborhood, before reporting to you, 
 sir. And it gave no result whatever except what you 
 see before you." 
 
 "Damn it all!" the Burgess once more permitted 
 himself. 
 
234 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Again silence settled on the room silence so deep 
 as to make audible a clicking sound when the man in 
 the shadowy corners parted his lips to moisten them. 
 
 It was the little Constable who spoke next. 
 
 "I suppose you gentlemen know," he ventured 
 deprecatingly, "that Captain Adams is over in the 
 city. Came up yesterday, on special duty." 
 
 "What!" his two superiors jerked out together. 
 
 "You don't mean Adams of the State Police? " the 
 Burgess ejaculated, hope and the fear of hope too 
 sanguine mingling in his voice. 
 
 "Not Lynn G., Captain of 'A' Troop?" the Chief 
 was exclaiming in the same breath. 
 
 "Yes, sir - Yes, I do Yes, it is That's the 
 man," the Constable did his best to answer. 
 
 "Burgess," said the Chief of Police impressively, 
 "people that ought to know call Lynn Adams the best 
 detective in the State. And if you ask him, and if he 
 possibly can do it, he'll help us out." 
 
 "//I'll ask him!" the Burgess scoffed. "The only 
 question is, Can he spare us the time for it? He's not 
 in the city for nothing he 's got work on hand. Here 
 where can I call him?" 
 
 The Burgess was lunging after his desk telephone. 
 
 The little Constable named the place. "At least, I 
 think that's likeliest," he added, carefully. "You 
 know they do move pretty quick and unexpected 
 the State Police do and when their business is fin- 
 ished they're off somewhere else on the tick. That's 
 where he was, last evening." 
 
 But the Burgess was already talking over the 
 wire. "... Mighty glad you're in the neighborhood. 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 235 
 
 We're in trouble over here. Bomb affair. We can't 
 make head or tail of it. I surely would appreciate it 
 if you could spare time to come over and advise us. 
 I'll have a car at your door in ten minutes. . . . All 
 right. Good! Thank you, Captain !" 
 
 The Burgess, as he hung up the receiver, swung 
 around with almost a smile on his face. "Says he'll 
 come!" he reported. 
 
 "That's the talk!" the Chief rejoined. 
 
 Half an hour later the rush of an engine, the slam 
 of a car door, and a springy foot on the steps pro- 
 claimed an arrival. The Burgess, himself going out 
 to admit his visitor, in a moment returned escorting 
 him. 
 
 The newcomer was a man about thirty-five years 
 old, tall, soldierly in the true American type, and 
 with that about him, in face and bearing, that would 
 command men's attention anywhere. 
 
 "Have a seat, Captain," the Burgess was saying. 
 "Gosh! but I'm pleased to see you! We've been 
 worried to death, here, the Chief and I, and it 
 was like a godsend hearing you were in the vicinity. 
 Now, Chief, you start in and tell the Captain all you 
 know." 
 
 The Burgess flung himself back in his chair to listen 
 at ease. The anxious frown on his face had changed to 
 a look of keen and hopeful expectation. The little 
 Constable beamed mildly triumphant. The man in 
 the shadows rubbed his hands together with a dry 
 rasping. 
 
 "Well," the Chief began, "it was this way: A lit- 
 tle after midnight say quarter to twenty-five min- 
 
236 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 utes after this gentleman over yonder in the corner 
 
 Oh! Meet Mr. Hill, Captain Adams, I don't be- 
 lieve the Burgess introduced you. Well, this Mr. 
 Hill here, he came to my house and rang the door- 
 bell and asked to see me. I ran right down, of course, 
 and this is the report he gave: - 
 
 "He'd been kept at his store he deals in plumb- 
 ers' supplies, Mr. Hill does he'd been kept at his 
 store very late, figuring on accounts. And it was a 
 little before midnight that he started to walk home. 
 When he came to pass Mr. Burr's residence A. C. 
 Burr, you know, the big manufacturer he hap- 
 pened to notice somebody sneaking along through the 
 bushes inside Mr. Burr's fence. He thought that 
 did n't seem right, so he just slid quietly in through 
 the gate to have a look. And in a minute, there in 
 the shrubbery on the lawn, he came face to face with 
 a man. The man had a bundle in his hand. And 
 Mr. Hill thinks he was a Greek. 
 
 "What are you doing here?' says Mr. Hill. 
 
 "'None of your damn business,' says the man, and 
 he drops his parcel on the ground and he pulls out his 
 gun. 
 
 "But Mr. Hill, here, as the Greek threw up the 
 gun, jumped and grappled with him. The man fired, 
 and the bullet went straight through Mr. Hill's hat. 
 Then Mr. Hill grabbed the gun; only, in the tussle, 
 he missed the barrel and caught the muzzle itself fair 
 in the palm of his hand and the Greek fired again. 
 
 Mr. Hill showed me where the bullet went. Yes, 
 sir, it passed clean between the joints, drilling a hole 
 between the bones and the leaders. Very lucky you 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 237 
 
 were, too, Mr. Hill, to have done such a reckless thing 
 and to have got off so easy. Mighty plucky of you 
 and A. C. surely ought to appreciate it. But at 
 your age really! 
 
 "Well, so with that Mr. Hill falls down shock, 
 you know. But in a minute or two he recovered him- 
 self, and when he looked around, he saw the Greek 
 was gone away. Then, like a wise man, he comes as 
 fast as he can straight over to me, and wakes me up 
 and tells the story. 
 
 "So, of course, I hurried to A. C.'s at once, taking 
 the Constable, here, along with me. By that time, 
 very naturally, Mr. Hill was pretty well done up, so 
 I left him at Dr. Hill's, his cousin, next door to me, 
 to get his hand fixed and to rest. 
 
 "Constable and I hunted all over Mr. Burr's 
 premises and the entire surroundings. All we found is 
 what you see before you on the table. That bomb was 
 wrapped up in that newspaper. The other things were 
 lying around close to it. They were on Mr. Burr's 
 lawn, just near the house. No doubt at all, the Greek 
 meant to wreck the house, and would have succeeded 
 only for Mr. Hill's nick-of-time interference. Of 
 course, after he'd fired his gun twice, and made noise 
 enough to rouse the neighborhood, he did n't dare 
 stay to finish his work! 
 
 "Now, Mr. Hill that's straight, is n't it? Is n't 
 that your experience?" 
 
 "Perfectly correct, Chief," answered the man in 
 the corner. "Correct in every detail." 
 
 "Well, and then Constable and I went around to 
 Dr. Hill's office again, and got Mr. Hill and brought 
 
238 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 him here to the Burgess. And I call it a pretty tough 
 proposition, and a proposition without much handle 
 to it," the Chief added emphatically. 
 
 "Mr. Burr," he went on, "employs hundreds of 
 Greeks. And one is just as likely as another to have 
 this pretty idea to bomb the house. As to the gun, 
 they 've all got 'em brought 'em back when they 
 returned after the Greek war. So you could n't hope 
 to identify him by that. The flash-light and the ban- 
 danna are just like thousands of others and any 
 Greek might have that piece of newspaper. I confess 
 I don't see where to begin in the case. But A. C. and 
 the public ain't going to see our difficulty. They'll 
 be yelling for arrests." 
 
 During the Chief's recital the Captain had walked 
 over to the table, and, one by one, had examined the 
 exhibits in the close rays of the lamp. The bomb, for 
 a moment, seemed to interest him specially, as he 
 revolved it under the bright light; then the flash- 
 lamp and the newspaper. 
 
 At last he looked up with a smile. 
 
 "Do you think you can help us?" the Burgess 
 asked anxiously. "Witt you help us?" 
 
 "Perhaps I can. Anyway, I'll try," the Captain of 
 Troop "A" replied. 
 
 "Have you got the time for it, though?" 
 
 "Well, other work brought me to the city, but I 
 think I can make the time that this will require." 
 
 The Chief and the Burgess breathed sighs of re- 
 lief. The little Constable felt himself growing tall. 
 
 "But now," the Captain added, "suppose you let 
 me have these things for the time being. I'll take 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 239 
 
 them back to the city with me. And you all go get 
 a little sleep. I 'm sure Mr. Hill especially needs it. 
 He must be pretty well worn out after such a night." 
 
 The man in the corner looked up gratefully. 
 
 "I do feel a little tired, I'll admit," said he. 
 
 "Is that hat the one that you had on when you 
 went into Mr. Burr's garden? " 
 
 "The same one." 
 
 "May I see it?" 
 
 The man in the corner came forward to the table 
 and offered his hat, a soft felt. But the Captain made 
 no move to take it. 
 
 "Just hold it under the light," said he, "and show 
 us where the bullet struck." 
 
 Stooping under the lamp, his thin, carefully brushed 
 white hair shining above his tired old face, the hero 
 of the night's adventure pointed out the holes that 
 his would-be murderer's lead had drilled. Even the 
 powder-smudge showed within proving the close- 
 ness of the conflict. He seemed so frail a creature to 
 have thrown himself into a desperate battle, alone, in 
 the dark, and upon an occasion so easily avoided! 
 
 And yet there remained a look about him that ex- 
 plained it all a look of the eternal child-heart, full 
 of dreams and faiths and longings too slight of tissue 
 to endure the bitter light of noon full of generous 
 impulse, of unreasoning courage, of hope beyond all 
 mortal power to quench. This shabby, sad old man 
 would be capable of an act of risk and romance to the 
 very end of his days. Even now he was subtly suf- 
 fused with a sort of exaltation, born of his bold de- 
 fiance of facts, weakness, and death. 
 
240 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 An hour later, in his room in the city, the Captain 
 of "A" Troop, skilful-fingered, was dissecting the 
 bomb, while Sergeant Moore of his command watched 
 the work with quiet appreciation. 
 
 "Six sticks of dynamite a fuse a detonating 
 cap," the Captain enumerated, ranging the articles 
 on the desk before him,. "And a very amateur job 
 it is eh, Sergeant?" 
 
 Sergeant Moore gave his little trick cough. "Yes, 
 sir h'm-m most amateurish!" 
 
 "Look how this fuse is cut! That was done by a 
 person who never handled dynamite before. And 
 here again is n't it a wonder how these fellows over- 
 step themselves! here again is another clue. Look, 
 Moore! Not a trade-mark on one of these six sticks. 
 Now, you know that almost all of the dynamite 
 manufacturers put their brands on everything 
 the Duponts an ellipse, the Atlas Company an Atlas, 
 and so on. But this chap was careful to get the stuff 
 without a mark. And his very precaution simpli- 
 fies our job. There is relatively so little anonymous 
 dynamite. 
 
 "And, Moore, see this little stain on the shell of the 
 thing. What is it?" 
 
 "H'm-m! Blood, sir a drop of blood." 
 
 "Certainly. When I first saw it in the Burgess's 
 office it was even clearer. Now let 's have that bit of 
 brown paper. Look in the corner, Sergeant. What 
 do you see?" 
 
 "A little h'm-m problem in arithmetic, sir. 
 Set down neatly with a very fine pencil. Evidently 
 the deduction from some kind of change." 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 241 
 
 5 'Yes?" the Captain suggested. 
 
 "And the amount deducted would be about the 
 price to-day of six sticks of dynamite, and this fuse, 
 and" 
 
 "And a few extra detonating caps?" the Captain 
 offered. 
 
 "H'm-m! Quite so," agreed Sergeant Moore. 
 
 "So now, as soon as the shops open, we can hunt 
 for a place where they sell non-trade-marked dyna- 
 mite, and where some one has recently bought this 
 approximate amount of stuff, and paid cash for it. 
 My belief is that the clerk who sold the things and 
 who made this calculation in these smart little fig- 
 ures, here, will remember his customer pretty well. 
 
 "Moore," the Captain ran on, "it was a most prov- 
 idential thing that this Mr. Hill should have turned 
 up by the Burr garden at that time of night, was n't 
 it! From what I learned he was a long way off his 
 normal line of travel between his home and the place 
 where he spent his evening. It was providential, 
 was n't it?" 
 
 "Most assuredly." 
 
 "But, Moore, he did n't show judgment in going in, 
 himself, after the skulker in the bushes, did he? At 
 his age one would think that caution and common 
 sense, both, would have sent him after a policeman." 
 
 "H'm-m the blood-spot " 
 
 "Exactly," said the Captain. "Now we're just in 
 time to get a shave and breakfast before the shops 
 open their doors." 
 
 A little inquiry among the city's dealers revealed 
 the fact that the Atlas Company made a special type 
 
242 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 of dynamite a grade inferior to its standard on 
 which it did not set its trade-mark. Immediately the 
 Captain proceeded to the store of the Atlas agent. 
 
 "Do your people make a grade of dynamite on 
 which they put no brand?" he asked of the pro- 
 prietor, introducing himself officially. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Do you handle it here?" 
 
 "We do." 
 
 "Do you recognize these as an Atlas product?" 
 The Captain laid his six sticks on the dealer's desk. 
 
 "Certainly. That is our own make. And, more- 
 over, I am the only merchant in the city who deals 
 in it." 
 
 "I would like, then, to see all your salesmen of 
 that department." 
 
 "Which," said the dealer, "will not be difficult. 
 I have only two who handle dynamite." 
 
 He pressed the call-button on his desk. 
 
 "Send in Mr. Blake," he directed the boy who an- 
 swered the call. 
 
 In a moment the door of the private office again 
 opened and a young man stood on the threshold. 
 
 "Come in, Mr. Blake. Now, Captain, ask what- 
 ever you like and Mr. Blake will answer to the best 
 of his power." 
 
 "Thank you," said the Captain. "Mr. Blake, will 
 you look at the figures pencilled on this piece of paper 
 and tell me if you made them?" 
 
 The clerk, taking the crumpled sheet of brown 
 manila from the officer's hand, held it close to his 
 near-sighted eyes. 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 243 
 
 "Why, no. They ain't mine. But they are Bill's. 
 There 's Bill's mark." And he pointed to a tiny scratch 
 below the calculation. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Blake. I would like to see Bill." 
 
 Bill, a dry, methodical-looking youth with a bright 
 
 green necktie and ashen hair, came alacritously, 
 
 more than willing to take a taste of whatever news 
 
 was afoot. 
 
 "Sure, those are my figures," said he, "and there's 
 my mark. See? I put that on everything." 
 
 "Can you recall what transaction they represent?" 
 "Yes. I remember all about it. There was a man 
 come in yesterday afternoon and got six sticks of 
 dynamite he wanted the second grade and this 
 many caps, and this worth of fuse. And here" 
 as he talked Bill eagerly pointed with his well-sharp- 
 ened pencil "here is the denomination of the bill 
 he give me to pay for the lot. And here 's the addition, 
 the subtraction, and the change. See? And the man, 
 he took the stuff I wrapped it all up in this here 
 brown paper that I done the figuring on and he 
 went away." 
 
 "Did you know the man?" 
 "Never saw him before, Captain." 
 "Can you remember how he looked?" 
 "Just as well as if he stood here. I never forget 
 people's looks." 
 
 "Let's have his description, then." 
 
 Bill, nothing loath to prove his boast, launched into 
 
 a careful portrait of his customer. As he finished, the 
 
 Captain looked at his watch. He had just time to catch 
 
 the next train, picking up Sergeant Moore on his way. 
 
244 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 As the two men detrained at their destination the 
 clock in the tower of the Borough Hall struck eleven. 
 
 "I shan't need over five minutes with him, proba- 
 bly. Follow me slowly, Sergeant," the Captain said, 
 as he started away in his long stride. In another five 
 minutes he stood in the little office of a plumber's 
 supply shop, face to face with Mr. Hill. 
 
 "I've just dropped in for a moment," he was say- 
 ing, "knowing how much you would be interested in 
 the progress of the bomb case. I have a very hot clue, 
 very." 
 
 "Have you, indeed! I congratulate you. That is 
 quick work, sir." 
 
 The old man withdrew his thin, heavily veined 
 hand from the edge of his desk. It was trembling 
 noticeably. 
 
 " I knew you would be keen to hear, of course, 
 after your remarkable share in the affair. And by the 
 way, Mr. Hill," the Captain's manner was ab- 
 solutely simple and courteous, "may I ask you a 
 few minor questions? Did you ever handle dyna- 
 mite?" 
 
 "No. I have never used it at all." 
 
 "Do you know anything about dynamite?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "No. The reason I ask you is that I want to call 
 your attention to the fact that the detonator should 
 be set so here and not so." The Captain was 
 sketching rapid diagrams on the back of an envelope. 
 "Just take your lead-pencil, open the stick so run 
 it down so then close the dynamite around the 
 fuse and then it will be sure to go off. The other 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 245 
 
 way is quite uncertain. Well, I must be getting along. 
 This is a busy day. Good-morning, Mr. Hill." 
 
 The Captain, stepping out into the shop, closed the 
 office door behind him; then, in a moment, he opened 
 it again. The old man still stood as he had risen to 
 say good-bye. His face was ashen. 
 
 "Mr. Hill, I want to reassure you absolutely. I 
 am going to get the fellow that planted the bomb on 
 the lawn, just as certainly as you and I are standing 
 here. The evidence now in my possession will bring 
 him, as sure as you live. I don't care who did it, I 
 shall have him before ten o'clock to-night. Good- 
 bye again." 
 
 The next errand of the Captain of "A" Troop 
 took him to the office of Dr. Hill, where, in a friendly 
 talk, he learned the essential details of Mr. Hill's 
 history. Thence he proceeded to the Burgess. 
 
 "Burgess," said he to that astonished official, "I 
 now know who planted the bomb last night on Mr. 
 Burr's lawn. I want you to come down to Mr. Burr's 
 office just as soon as you and he can arrange a meet- 
 ing there. I will produce the man." 
 
 "Let me call A. C. I'll bet he won't delay the 
 game as far as he's concerned!" exclaimed the Bur- 
 gess, red with excitement. "By George, this sounds 
 good to me! ... Mr. Burr's office? Tell Mr. Burr 
 the Burgess wants to speak to him. ... Oh 
 Mr. Burr! We think we have the man. I want to 
 see you at your office as soon as possible. We'll pro- 
 duce him. When? One o'clock? All right, we'll be 
 there." 
 
 The Burgess swung away from the telephone, ela- 
 
246 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 tion in his face. "By George!" he exclaimed again. 
 "I would n't have believed such luck possible." 
 
 Then, as he finished the phrase, something about it 
 seemed to dissatisfy him. He took off his desk-glasses 
 to look the Captain the more clearly in the eyes. 
 
 "Maybe," he ventured, "there's no such thing as 
 luck. Don't know as I believe there is. Anyway, 
 we've just got time for a bite of lunch. Come along 
 with me." 
 
 "Thank you," said the Captain - "but first per- 
 haps you 'd better call up Dr. Hill. He must be pres- 
 ent at the conference." 
 
 "All right," agreed the Burgess, and proceeded to 
 insure the arrangement. 
 
 On their way out Captain Adams conveyed his 
 order to the Sergeant: "Bring your man to Mr. 
 Burr's office at quarter after one." 
 
 At one o'clock the great manufacturer whose home 
 had been so direfully menaced only thirteen hours 
 before, the Burgess, the doctor, and the Captain of 
 State Police, met in the private office of the first. It 
 was a luxurious office. Heavy rugs, leather lounging- 
 chairs, and a big mirror on the wall, flanked by heads 
 of game, gave it the air of a comfortable little room 
 in a club. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the Captain, as they all settled 
 down to the business that had brought them together, 
 "I have to tell you simply that the person who placed 
 the bomb on Mr. Burr's lawn is the man who first 
 reported its presence there Mr. Hill." 
 
 The doctor was out of his chair in a flash. "What? 
 Impossible! Outrageous! I won't listen to this!" 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 247 
 
 "Wait, doctor, wait!" the magnate suppressed his 
 guest. "The Captain must state his case." 
 
 The Captain rehearsed the original narrative re- 
 lated by Mr. Hill. "In this, gentlemen, I ask you to 
 observe," he went on, "first, that Mr. Hill, an elderly 
 man of regular habits, leaving his shop shortly before 
 midnight to return to his home, was taking a strangely 
 circuitous route when he went by way of Mr. Burr's 
 street. Second, his conduct in following a supposed 
 suspicious character into Mr. Burr's garden was as 
 unusual as unwise. Third, according to Mr. Hill's 
 statement, the first shot of his assailant, aimed at his 
 head, passed straight through his hat. Now, he ex- 
 hibited that hat to me at the Burgess's house this 
 morning. It is a soft, low hat. There are two bullet 
 holes through it. The powder-mark remains on the 
 inside. But Mr. Hill's hair and scalp were not in the 
 slightest degree scorched. Fourth, Mr. Hill's statement 
 leaves no room for him to have touched the bomb 
 after he was shot in the hand. But the bomb, when 
 I saw it in the Burgess's office, had a spot of fresh 
 blood upon it." 
 
 The Captain then narrated his gleanings as to the 
 purchases in the Atlas agency, concluding: 
 
 "I will now produce Mr. Hill. Doctor, of you I 
 must ask that you keep absolutely quiet. Mr. Hill, 
 I believe, will confess. Mr. Burr, Mr. Hill is now in 
 your outer office, in charge of one of my men. I will 
 have him brought in." 
 
 "Oh, I'll keep still," said the doctor, "but I tell 
 you my cousin no more did this thing than you did 
 it yourself. It's monstrous inconceivable!" 
 
248 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 The door opened. Sergeant Moore stood on the 
 threshold, followed by Hill. The Sergeant, in bring- 
 ing him hither, had represented himself merely as a 
 messenger, not as an officer of the State. The old man, 
 therefore, had no realization whatever of being under 
 constraint. His manner was one of suppressed excite- 
 ment, and a sort of child's expectancy lighted his 
 patient, melancholy face. His eyes rested eagerly on 
 Mr. Burr. The Captain spoke first. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Hill, I have the man." 
 
 "Have you?" he looked quickly around the room. 
 
 "I have him beyond escape. Do you know, that 
 rascal actually imagined I was going to go all over the 
 country looking for a Greek, because his bomb was 
 wrapped in a Greek newspaper. Fancy that!" 
 
 "I thought he was a Greek." 
 
 "He was not a Greek, he was not an Italian. 
 Would you like to see who he was?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Gently the Captain took him by the arm and led 
 him before the big mirror. "Do you recognize him?" 
 
 With a moaning cry the old man covered his face 
 with his hands. 
 
 "You put that dynamite on the lawn," the officer 
 pursued, in the same firm, even tone. 
 
 Hill steadied himself, leaning against a table, grop- 
 ing pitifully for strength to speak. 
 
 "I have been thinking," he stammered at last, 
 with quivering lips, "I have been thinking it over. 
 I want to tell you my trouble I I don't know 
 that I need annoy all these gentlemen here perhaps 
 I could talk to you alone, Captain?" 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 249 
 
 "I desire to hear this thing through," the magnate 
 interposed, and his voice was hard. 
 
 The old man shrank as though from a blow in the 
 face. 
 
 "Sit down, Mr. Hill," said the Captain of State 
 Police, and led him to a chair. 
 
 "Ten years ago," he began, in a husky voice, "I 
 was employed by a large ice company in a responsible 
 position. One day it happened that I walked into one 
 of our storage houses just in time to see the end of a 
 fight. Two Greek laborers had been bitterly quarrel- 
 ling. They had gone into that ice-house to fight it out 
 in secret. One stabbed the other, killing him. And, 
 just as the blow fell, I opened the door. There was no 
 one else there no other witness. When the murderer 
 saw me, he sprang for me and pulled me inside. 
 
 "'If you ever dare to tell, I will swear I saw you 
 kill him ! ' he said, and he shook his bloody knife. 
 
 " Now, it chanced by my great misfortune that I 
 had had a dispute with the man that lay dead. Every 
 one knew that. And I thought that if I were accused 
 of his murder, it would be believed against me. I was 
 afraid. So from that time I have been in the Greek's 
 power. He has made me do everything." 
 
 "What has he made you do?" Captain Adams 
 asked quietly. 
 
 "He has made me give him money. He has driven 
 me from one job to another. Finally, last night, he 
 came to me in my store and said I must go with him. 
 He led me to Mr. Burr's place, telling me nothing. 
 When we got there, he took me in, through the 
 shrubs, and gave me the bomb to place. 
 
250 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "I was forced to obey him. The Greek would have 
 killed me if I refused. I was afraid that even if I pro- 
 tested he would turn around and kill me right there. 
 But when we actually got to the point, I thought of 
 Mr. Burr and his house and his family, and I just 
 could not do it. 
 
 "We had a fight, right there on the lawn and 
 after he shot me he ran away. Then I ran to the 
 police, hoping they would catch him. But I did not 
 dare to tell about the Greek himself, because I knew 
 that if I told, and they did n't catch him, but only 
 raised a vain hue and cry, he would certainly know 
 and take his revenge on me." 
 
 The old man stopped, exhausted, his breath coming 
 heavily. He was clasping his hands so tight that the 
 knuckles shone yellow through the stretched skin. 
 
 "Mr. Hill," said the Captain gravely, "you missed 
 your calling. You should have written books. Now / 
 will tell you a story: 
 
 "Your business has not been going any too well of 
 late. You have not been making any too much 
 money. You have been worried. One day, as you 
 were passing Mr. Burr's residence, this came into 
 your mind: 
 
 "'If I could get a steady job, employed in Mr. 
 Burr's plant, I should be pretty well fixed for the rest 
 of my life.' 
 
 "You did n't know how to get the job, and your 
 imagination again said to you: 
 
 " 'Now, if I saw a man trying to blow up this house, 
 if I saw anybody doing that, I would just grap- 
 ple with him and stop him, and that would gain Mr. 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 251 
 
 Burr's gratitude. Then, if I asked for it, Mr. Burr 
 would probably give me a position, and I would be 
 out of fear of need forever after I would be safe/ 
 
 "Wishing that somebody, by happy chance, would 
 give you the opportunity, you walked on, slowly, past 
 the house. But nobody appeared. Nobody tried to 
 blow the place up. 
 
 "Next you thought: 'Why can't I stage something 
 like that?' 
 
 "The more you dwelt on the idea, the more feasible 
 it seemed. Finally, you actually went to the city, to 
 the Atlas Company's agency, and bought six sticks 
 of dynamite, three primers, three fuses. That was 
 yesterday. Then, last evening, you made up the 
 bomb. 
 
 "For the rest, you held your hat before you while 
 you fired a revolver shot through it. And next, you 
 carefully placed your revolver against the palm of 
 your hand where a shot would cripple you least, and 
 fired through the fleshy part. 
 
 "Then you told your story, hoping to get a job out 
 of it. Is n't that right?" 
 
 The old man's head was hanging on his breast. All 
 the life seemed gone out of his whole body. 
 
 "Yes," he murmured, "yes." 
 
 "Sergeant," said the Captain, "you will take Mr. 
 Hill back to the outer office." 
 
 Trembling like one sick of a palsy, the old man let 
 himself be led from the room. 
 
 As the door closed after him, the doctor broke 
 silence first. 
 
 "And he my cousin! I never would have believed 
 
252 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 it! But you" he was confronting the Captain now 
 "where did you get all that stuff? Not from me. 
 I only told you he had lost money and that his busi- 
 ness was poor and that he was weak about his 
 wife, that's all." 
 
 "And the rest," said the Captain, "is written in 
 his face." 
 
 The magnate sat speechless, while something about 
 him proclaimed that the conference was at an end. 
 
 "Wait a moment, Captain, can you?" He laid a 
 detaining hand on the soldier's arm as the others 
 took their leave. "I'd like another word with you 
 before you go." 
 
 As the door closed, he drew a chair close to his 
 own. 
 
 "Sit down again," said he. "Do you know, it 
 makes me fairly sick to think how nearly that old 
 villain's scheme succeeded. Just this very morning, 
 my wife and I were planning what we'd do for him. 
 And a good, easy, permanent job was part of it, if 
 you'll believe it. Ah-h!" And he gave a shiver of 
 disgust. 
 
 "But now, Captain, I want him to get the maxi- 
 mum punishment that the law provides. We'll make 
 an example of him if there's any common sense in the 
 Courts of Pennsylvania. This kind of thing can't be 
 handled with gloves, I tell you!" and he struck a 
 savage blow upon the desk at his side. "Now, then, 
 what's the law?" 
 
 "Mr. Burr," the Captain replied, "I don't in the 
 least wonder at your feeling as you do. But I will ask 
 your attention to certain aspects of the case. First, 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 253 
 
 very curiously, the worst that you can prosecute him 
 for is transporting dynamite on a railroad track. He 
 meant no crime. He never intended putting dyna- 
 mite in your house. No injury was ever meant to 
 you or yours. 
 
 "But aside from that I want to tell you a little 
 about the man more than it was necessary to make 
 him endure. He is at heart as innocent as a child. He 
 has a considerable degree of breeding and education, 
 and in his earlier years possessed ability and com- 
 fortable means. But he was always a dreamer. Little 
 by little his money filtered away. He never saw 
 things except in the clouds, floating to castles in 
 Spain. He could never compete with harder-headed 
 men. 
 
 "Now, all that he had is gone. His present business 
 is a mere shell. He has a wife the wife of his youth, 
 grown old, in frail health, not long to live. He is as 
 devoted to her as a lover, and has strained every 
 nerve to give her the little comforts that make her 
 life. He could never persuade himself to let her into 
 the open secret of his slow descent into poverty. He 
 thought it would break his heart to have her find it 
 out. 
 
 "But now came the time when the wolf was actu- 
 ally clawing at the door. He had tried every expedi- 
 ent, every resource, every avenue to paying work 
 within his ken. No use. Nobody with money to pay 
 for labor, even the simplest, wanted him. He was 
 too weak, too slow, too old. He had not the smallest 
 value anywhere not the smallest place. He could 
 not keep the truth from her much longer. Soon she 
 
254 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 must see that he could not even buy her shelter and 
 bread. 
 
 "So, being a dreamer, a man of eternal hopes 
 and faith, he dreamed once more, and with a brain 
 almost unhinged by sorrow. And you have already 
 heard the rest. 
 
 "No, Mr. Burr, you can prosecute if you like, and 
 punish him as far as the law will go. But I would 
 rather see you take another course." 
 
 "What do you want me to do?" growled the 
 magnate. 
 
 "Why, if I were you" the Captain smiled whim- 
 sically at the thought "if I were you it seems 
 to me that this is what I'd do: I would send that 
 heart-broken, nerve-shattered, harmless old man to 
 some good sanitarium until such time as he shall have 
 regained his normal balance for it is more than 
 tottering now. I'd be guided by conditions as they 
 should develop, in the next step regarding him. And, 
 meantime, I would set his mind completely at rest 
 as to his wife. 
 
 "And I'd never let a single soul know one word con- 
 cerning any of it." 
 
 The speaker stopped, watching the magnate with 
 sombre eyes. The magnate frowningly stared at his 
 finger-nails at the floor. At last he looked up. 
 
 "Confound it all, I suppose you're right," he 
 barked. "Might as well get some satisfaction out of 
 such an ungodly mess!" 
 
 As the Captain stepped into the street, the Burgess 
 joined him. 
 
 "Been hanging around like a dude at the stage- 
 
THE CAPTAIN OF TROOP A 255 
 
 door," he grinned shame-facedly. "What's going to 
 be done?" 
 
 "There'll be no prosecution nor any news." 
 "You don't mean it! Well, I am glad! Mighty de- 
 cent of A. C., I must say. And, great Heavens! 
 Think what it will mean to Dr. Hill and all the con- 
 nection! A family of that position!" 
 
 "'A family of that position,'" the Captain 
 of "A" Troop repeated slowly. "Well, I confess I'd 
 only been thinking of the poor old man." 
 
XI 
 
 ACCORDING TO CODE 
 
 THIRST SERGEANT STOUT, of "A" Troop, be- 
 comes his name like any hero of English ballad. 
 First Sergeant Stout is towering tall, and broad and 
 sinewy in proportion. There is not a meagre thing 
 about him, from his heart and his smile to the grip 
 of his hand, whether in strangle-hold or in greeting. 
 Just as he stands, he might have roamed the woods 
 with Robin Hood, or fought on the field of Crecy in 
 the morning of the world. 
 
 But First Sergeant Stout has one peculiarity that, 
 in the morning of the world, could never have marked 
 him. Sometimes, when he turns his head to right or to 
 left, his head sticks fast that way until he takes it 
 between his two hands and lifts it back again; and 
 the reason is that he carries a bullet close to his spinal 
 cord, lodged between the first and second vertebrae. 
 
 Once upon a time Sergeant Stout had charge of a 
 sub-station in the town of Unionville, County Fay- 
 ette. And among those days came a night when, at 
 exactly a quarter after ten o'clock, the sub-station 
 telephone rang determinedly. 
 
 Nothing of the novel distinguished the incident, 
 since that sub-station telephone was always deter- 
 minedly ringing, day and night, to the tune of 
 somebody's troubles. But this time the thing was 
 vicariously expressed; or, you might call it, feebly 
 conglomerate. 
 
ACCORDING TO CODE 257 
 
 The Constable of the village of Republic held 
 the wire. He complained that one Charles Erhart, 
 drunken and violent, had beaten his wife, had driven 
 her and their children out of doors, and was now en- 
 trenched in the house with the black flag flying. 
 
 "She's given me a warrant to arrest the man, but 
 I can't do it," moaned the Constable. "He'll shoot 
 me if I try. So I thought some of you fellers might 
 like to come over and tackle him." 
 
 The Sergeant looked at his watch. "The trolley 
 leaves in fifteen minutes," said he: "I'll be up on 
 that." 
 
 The trolley left Unionville at half after ten, reach- 
 ing Republic, the end of the line, just one hour later. 
 
 "Last run for the night," the motorman remarked 
 as they sighted the terminus. 
 
 "I know. And I've only about half an hour's busi- 
 ness to do here. Then I'd like to get back. Do you 
 think you could wait?" 
 
 "Sure," said motorman and conductor together. 
 "Glad to do it for you, Sergeant." 
 
 Hovering in the middle of the road, at the "'s- 
 far-'s-we-go" point, hung the Constable a little 
 man, nervous and deprecatory. Religious pedagogy 
 would have been more in his line than the enforce- 
 ment of law. Now he was depressed by a threatened 
 lumbago, and by the abnormal hours that his duty 
 was inflicting upon him. Also he was worried by the 
 present disturbance in his bailiwick, and therefore 
 sincerely relieved to see an officer of State Police. 
 
 "He's a bad one, that Charlie Erhart, at the best 
 of times. And when he 's drunk he 's awful. I could n't 
 
258 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 pretend to handle him it would n't be safe. Like's 
 not he'd hurt me. But you," as if struck by a new 
 thought the Constable suddenly stopped in his tracks 
 to turn and stare at the Sergeant, "Why, you 
 why, I thought you'd bring a squad!" 
 
 "To arrest one man?" the Sergeant inquired 
 gravely. "Well, you see we're rather busy just now, 
 so we have to spread ourselves out." 
 
 They were walking rapidly through the midnight 
 streets, turning corners, here and again, into darker 
 and narrower quarters. The ring of their steps stood 
 out upon the silence with a lone and chiselled clarity, 
 as though all the rest of the world had fled to the 
 moon. Yet, to the Constable's twittering mind, that 
 very silence teemed with a horrible imminence. The 
 blackness in each succeeding alley seemed coiled to 
 leap at him. He dared neither to face it nor to leave 
 it at his back. 
 
 His gait began to slacken, to falter. At last he 
 stopped. 
 
 "I guess I'll leave you here." He flung out the 
 words in a heap, as if to smother his scruples. "You 
 just go on down the street, then take the second turn 
 to the left, and the house is on the far side, third from 
 the corner. You can't miss it. And my lumbago's 
 coming on so fast I guess I '11 have to get home to bed. 
 Glad you came, anyway. Good-night to you." 
 
 "Wait a moment!" said the Sergeant. "If you are 
 not coming along, I want to see the woman before I 
 go farther." 
 
 The Constable indicated the tenement house in 
 which the fugitive family had taken refuge. Then, 
 
ACCORDING TO CODE 259 
 
 like a rabbit afraid of being caught by its long ears, 
 he whisked around and vanished into the dark. 
 
 Mrs. Erhart, nursing a swollen eye and a cut cheek, 
 clutching a wailing baby in her arms and with a clus- 
 ter of half-clad, half-starved, wholly frightened and 
 miserable children shivering around her, narrated her 
 tale without reserve. The single little lamp in the 
 room, by its wretched light, showed her battered face 
 in tragic planes. Her voice was hoarse, hard, monot- 
 onous. She had no more hopes, no more illusion, no 
 more shame. 
 
 "He has tried to kill us all me and the children 
 often. He does n't get helpless drunk. He gets mad 
 drunk. Some day he mil kill us, I guess. There's 
 naught to prevent him. Do I want him arrested? 
 Yes, sir, I do that! He's tried to take our lives this 
 very night. And he's keeping us out of all the home 
 we've got all the home we've got. 
 
 "But" and she looked up with a sudden strange 
 flicker of feeling akin to pride "I reckon he'll kill 
 you if you try to touch him, big as you are. He sure 
 will! Erhart 's a terror, he is! And to-day he's cut 
 loose for a fact." 
 
 Armed now with indisputable grounds for entering 
 the house, Sergeant Stout went ahead with his errand. 
 The place, when he found it, proved to have a nar- 
 row passageway running from the street to its back 
 door. Sergeant Stout, taking the passageway, walked 
 quietly around to the back door and knocked. 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 "State Police." 
 
 "You don't get in !" 
 
260 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 The voice was loose, flat, blaring a foolish, vio- 
 lent voice. 
 
 The Sergeant set his shoulder against the door. It 
 groaned, creaked, splintered, gave way, opening di- 
 rectly into the kitchen. Confusion filled the place. 
 Broken furniture, smashed dishes, messes of scat- 
 tered food, made in the smudgy lamp's dim light a 
 scene to be grasped at a glance. 
 
 But there was no time to look about. Directly at 
 hand, half-crouching, lurching sidewise for the spring 
 of attack, lowered a big, evil-visaged hulk of a man. 
 His eyes were red, inflamed with rage and drink, his 
 breath came in gusts, like the breath of an angry bull. 
 
 "You would, would you! You bloody Cos- 
 sack! I 9 II learn you to interfere with the rights of an 
 honest laboring man in his home!" 
 
 He held his right hand behind him as he spoke. 
 Now he jerked it forward, with its gun. 
 
 With a jump the Sergeant grabbed him, wrenched 
 the revolver out of his grip, and, though the other 
 struggled with all his brute strength, forced him 
 steadily down to the floor. Then, with practised 
 touch, he made search for further weapons, and was 
 already locking the handcuffs on the wrists of the 
 prostrate prisoner when a voice from beyond made 
 him raise his head. 
 
 Opposite the back entrance, on the other side of 
 the kitchen, an open doorway framed the blackness 
 of the front room. That doorway had been empty. 
 But now, around its casement, and to the left as the 
 Sergeant faced it, projected a long, dully gleaming 
 bar the barrel of a rifle, while behind, faint against 
 
ACCORDING TO CODE 261 
 
 the night within, showed the left hand and the left 
 eye of the gunman. 
 
 "You!" he had called, having already brought his 
 rifle to bear. 
 
 And the Sergeant, stooping above his fallen assail- 
 ant, had looked up in quick attention. 
 
 The gunman had wanted a better mark a full 
 front face to fire at. He had it now so he blazed 
 away. The bullet struck fair between the Trooper's 
 eyes, tearing through to the spine. 
 
 But because he had chanced to receive it in that 
 very position, stooping and looking up with his head 
 half-raised, the charge had spared the chamber of 
 the brain, passing along its lower wall. The shock, 
 nevertheless, was terrific. 
 
 Sergeant Stout, rightly named, never wavered. In- 
 stantaneously, in his first perception of the threat 
 beyond, he had drawn his service Colt. And even 
 as the other's bullet burst through his head he had 
 sprung erect and fired at the gleam of that one visible 
 eye beyond the door. Now, sliding over to the wall on 
 the right, and so gaining a farther view into the room, 
 he covered his adversary with his revolver. 
 
 The gunman was in the very motion of firing again 
 and the Trooper's Colt would have anticipated 
 the shot when suddenly the rifle barrel wavered 
 and dropped as its holder sank forward across the 
 threshold. 
 
 Still covering him, the Sergeant walked over and 
 looked at the man. He had fainted or was feigning 
 it. The Sergeant, kneeling beside him, saw that he 
 was bleeding from the head. That snap revolver shot 
 
262 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 had gone true, striking just above the eye and glanc- 
 ing around to the back of the skull. But the soldier's 
 trained touch told him that the wound was slight. 
 Even on the instant the fallen man opened his eyes 
 began to stir. In another minute he would be all 
 alive again. 
 
 The Sergeant stood up. In the cool, impersonal 
 way made second nature by the training of the Force, 
 he rapidly weighed the situation. Here was he, Ser- 
 geant Stout, of the Pennsylvania State Police, at mid- 
 night, alone, in the back room of an obscure dwelling 
 in a mean place. He had in his possession two pris- 
 oners one handcuffed and cowed, the other for the 
 moment safe by reason of a rapidly passing daze. 
 
 If this were all, the situation would be of an ex- 
 treme simplicity. His second prisoner revived, he 
 would march them both to the waiting trolley and 
 take them back to Union ville Jail. 
 
 But this was not quite all : He, Sergeant Stout, had 
 been shot through the head. His head seemed to be 
 growing bigger, bigger. Blood was pouring down his 
 throat in a steady stream. It would make him sick 
 if he stopped to think of it and his head was grow- 
 ing bigger curiously bigger. 
 
 Presumably, like other persons shot through the 
 head, he would presently die. If he died before he 
 handed these men over into safe-keeping, that would 
 be a pity, because they would get away. 
 
 Further, if he could not maintain sufficient grip on 
 himself to handle prisoner number two, prisoner num- 
 ber two, beyond any doubt, would shortly shoot 
 again. As long, however, as he did keep that grip 
 
ACCORDING TO CODE 263 
 
 on himself, just so long prisoner number two was a 
 "prisoner under control." 
 
 And prisoners under control, by the code of the 
 Force, must be protected by their captors. 
 
 Obviously, then, there was just one course for 
 Sergeant Stout to pursue: Since he must, beyond 
 question, complete these arrests, and since he must 
 not permit his second captive to make the move that 
 would justify disabling him, he must hang on to his 
 own life and wavering senses long enough to march 
 the two men to that trolley-car. 
 
 It had to be done though his head was growing 
 bigger bigger (surely it must be spreading the 
 skull apart!) and the thick, choking blood was pour- 
 ing down his throat. 
 
 He kicked the rifle away from the threshold, out of 
 the left-handed gunman's reach. The gunman was 
 moving now consciousness fully returned. The 
 Sergeant, motioning with the point of his Colt, 
 brought him up standing. Then, with another gesture 
 of his revolver too simple to be misunderstood, he in- 
 dicated to the two the door to the street. 
 
 It must have seemed to them like taking orders from 
 a spectre from one of those awful beings through 
 whose charmed substance bullets pass without effect. 
 
 They looked at him aslant, fearfully. This Presence 
 had been shot through its brain, there was the 
 mark, yet it gave no sign of human vulnerability. 
 It was not good not natural ! 
 
 For the last hour, they had been amusing them- 
 selves, this well-met pair, by firing at a mark on the 
 inner kitchen wall. Their bullets had been strik- 
 
264 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 ing through into the dwelling next door, arousing a 
 spicy echo of womens' screams. With relish they had 
 awaited some attempt at restraint. But they had 
 not expected just this! 
 
 Scarcely daring to meet each other's eyes, they 
 filed out of the door, into the yard, into the street. 
 But they did not guess how the Trooper's head was 
 sailing. 
 
 "I've got to make it!" said the Sergeant to him- 
 self, clenching his teeth. And he would not think how 
 many blocks it was to "'s-far-'s-we-go." 
 
 "One block at a time '11 do it," he told himself. 
 One block at a time, he was steering them rapidly 
 along when, upon his unsteady hearing broke the 
 sound of footsteps, approaching on the run. 
 
 "Another thug to their rescue, maybe!" thought 
 the Sergeant and the idea pulled him together 
 with a jerk. 
 
 As the footsteps rang close, he held himself braced 
 for an onset. They neared the corner ahead. His Colt 
 waited ready. But the flying figure, rounding under 
 the street-lamp, showed, blessed be Heaven! the uni- 
 form of the Pennsylvania State Police. 
 
 Trooper Lithgow, returning to the sub-station 
 from detached duty, and passing through the town 
 of Republic, had learned from the waiting trolley- 
 men of his Sergeant's presence, with some hint of the 
 errand that had brought him there. Thinking that 
 help might not be amiss, he had started out to join 
 his officer, and was hastening along the way when the 
 sound of the two shots, distinct on the midnight si- 
 lence, had turned his stride to a run. 
 
ACCORDING TO CODE 265 
 
 Together they walked to the trolley, herding the 
 prisoners before them. Together they rode to Union- 
 ville, with the prisoners between them. From time to 
 time the two trolley-men looked at Sergeant Stout, 
 with the bleeding hole between his eyes, then looked 
 at each other, and said nothing. 
 
 More rarely, Trooper Lithgow looked at Sergeant 
 Stout, then at the trolley-men, but said nothing. A 
 proud man he was that night. But he did not want 
 those trolley-men to know it. He wanted them to see 
 and to understand for all time that this thing was a 
 matter of course that you can't down an officer of 
 the Pennsylvania State Police on duty. 
 
 They got their two prisoners jailed. Then they 
 walked over to the hospital (the last lift of the way 
 up the hospital hill, Lithgow lent a steadying arm) 
 and there, in the doctor's presence, Sergeant Stout 
 gently collapsed. 
 
 "I'm glad you came, Lithgow. But you see I 
 could have fetched it!" he said, with the makings of a 
 grin, just before he went over. 
 
 There were four days when he might have died. 
 Then his own nature laid hold on him and lifted him 
 back again into the world of sunshine. 
 
 "It's one of those super-cures effected by pure 
 optimism. The man expected to get well," the sur- 
 geon said. 
 
 But they dared not cut for the bullet. It lay too 
 close to the spinal cord. And so First Sergeant Stout, 
 when his head gets stuck fast, has yet to take it in his 
 two hands and shift it free again. Still, with a head 
 as steady as that, what does it matter? 
 
xn 
 
 JOHNG. 
 
 IT was nine o'clock of a wild night in December. 
 For forty-eight hours it had been raining, raining, 
 raining, after a heavy fall of snow. Still the torrents 
 descended, lashed by a screaming wind, and the song 
 of rushing water mingled with the cry of the gale. 
 Each steep street of the hill-town of Greensburg lay 
 inches deep under a tearing flood. The cold was as 
 great as cold may be while rain is falling. A night to 
 give thanks for shelter overhead, and to hug the 
 hearth with gratitude. 
 
 First Sergeant Price, at his desk in the Barracks 
 office, was honorably grinding law. Most honorably, 
 because, when he had gone to take the book from its 
 shelf in the day-room, "Barrack-Room Ballads" had 
 smiled down upon him with a heart-aching echo of 
 the soft, familiar East; so that of a sudden he had 
 fairly smelt the sweet, strange, heathen smell of the 
 temples in Tien Tsin had seen the flash of a par- 
 rot's wing in the bolo-toothed Philippine jungle. And 
 the sight and the smell, on a night like this, were 
 enough to make any man lonely. 
 
 Therefore it was with honor indeed that, instead of 
 dreaming off into the radiant past through the well- 
 thumbed book of magic, he was digging between dull 
 sheepskin covers after the key to the bar of the State, 
 on which his will was fixed. 
 
 Now, a man who, being a member of the Pennsyl- 
 
JOHN G. 267 
 
 vania State Police, aspires to qualify for admission to 
 the bar, has his work cut out for him. The calls of 
 his regular duty, endless in number and kind, leave 
 him no certain leisure, and few and broken are the 
 hours that he gets for books. 
 
 "Confound the Latin!" grumbled the Sergeant, 
 grabbing his head in his two hands. "Well any- 
 way, here's my night for it. Even the crooks will lie 
 snug in weather like this." And he took a fresh hold 
 on the poser. 
 
 Suddenly "buzz" went the bell beside him. Before 
 its voice ceased he stood at salute in the door of the 
 Captain's office. 
 
 "Sergeant," said Captain Adams, with a half-turn 
 of his desk-chair, "how soon can you take the field?" 
 
 "Five minutes, sir." 
 
 "There's trouble over in the foundry town. The 
 local authorities have jailed some I.W.W. plotters. 
 They state that a jail delivery is threatened, that the 
 Sheriff can't control it, and that they believe the mob 
 will run amuck generally and shoot up the town. Take 
 a few men; go over and attend to it." 
 
 "Very well, sir." 
 
 In the time that goes to saddling a horse, the detail 
 rode into the storm, First Sergeant Price, on John 
 G., leading. 
 
 John G. had belonged to the Force exactly as long 
 as had the First Sergeant himself, which was from the 
 dawn of the Force's existence. And John G. is a gen- 
 tleman and a soldier, every inch of him. Horse-show 
 judges have affixed their seal to the self-evident fact 
 by the sign of the blue ribbon, but the best proof lies 
 
268 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 in the personal knowledge of "A" Troop, soundly 
 built on twelve years' brotherhood. John G., on that 
 diluvian night, was twenty-two years old, and still 
 every whit as clean-limbed, alert, and plucky as his 
 salad days had seen him. 
 
 Men and horses dived into the gale as swimmers 
 dive into a breaker. It beat their eyes shut, with 
 wind and driven water, and, as they slid down 
 the harp-pitched city streets, the flood banked up 
 against each planted hoof till it split in folds above 
 the fetlock. 
 
 Down in the country beyond, mud, slush, and water 
 clogged with chunks of frost-stricken clay made 
 worse and still worse going. And so they pushed on 
 through blackest turmoil toward the river road that 
 should be their highway to Logan's Ferry. 
 
 They reached that road at last, only to find it as 
 lost as Atlantis, under twenty feet of water! The Alle- 
 gheny had overflowed her banks, and now there re- 
 mained no way across, short of following the stream 
 up to Pittsburgh and so around, a detour of many 
 miles, long and evil. 
 
 "And that," said First Sergeant Price, "means get- 
 ting to the party about four hours late. Baby-talk and 
 nonsense! By that time they might have burned the 
 place and killed all the people in it. Let's see, now: 
 there 's a railroad bridge close along here, somewhere." 
 
 They scouted till they found the bridge. But be- 
 hold, its floor was of cross-ties only of sleepers to 
 carry the rails, laid with wide breaks between, gap- 
 ing down into deep, dark space whose bed was the 
 roaring river. 
 
JOHN G. 269 
 
 "Nevertheless," said First Sergeant Price, whose 
 spirits ever soar at the foolish onslaughts of trouble 
 "nevertheless, we're not going to ride twenty miles 
 farther for nothing. There's a railroad yard on the 
 other side. This bridge, here, runs straight into it. 
 You two men go over, get a couple of good planks, 
 and find out when the next train is due." 
 
 The two Troopers whom the Sergeant indicated 
 gave their horses to a comrade and started away 
 across the trestle. 
 
 For a moment those who stayed behind could dis- 
 tinguish the rays of their pocket flash-lights as they 
 picked out their slimy foothold. Then the whirling 
 night engulfed them, lights and all. 
 
 The Sergeant led the remainder of the detail down 
 into the lee of an abutment, to avoid the full drive of 
 the storm. Awhile they stood waiting, huddled to- 
 gether. But the wait was not for long. Presently, 
 like a code signal spelled out on the black overhead, 
 came a series of steadily lengthening flashes the 
 pocket-light glancing between the sleepers, as the 
 returning messengers drew near. 
 
 Scrambling up to rail level, the Sergeant saw with 
 content that his emissaries bore on their shoulders 
 between them two new pine "two-by-twelves." 
 
 "No train's due till five o'clock in the morning," 
 reported the first across. 
 
 "Good! Now lay the planks. In the middle of the 
 track. End to end. So." 
 
 The Sergeant, dismounting, stood at John G.'s 
 wise old head, stroking his muzzle, whispering into 
 his ear. 
 
270 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "Come along, John, it's all right, old man!" he 
 finished with a final caress. 
 
 Then he led John G. to the first plank. 
 
 "One of you men walk on each side of him. Now, 
 John!" 
 
 Delicately, nervously, John G. set his feet, step by 
 step, till he had reached the centre of the second 
 plank. 
 
 Then the Sergeant talked to him quietly again, 
 while two Troopers picked up the board just quitted 
 to lay it in advance. 
 
 And so, length by length, they made the passage, 
 the horse moving with extremest caution, shivering 
 with full appreciation of the unaccustomed danger, 
 yet steadied by his master's presence and by the 
 friend on either hand. 
 
 As they moved, the gale wreaked all its fury on 
 them. It was growing colder now, and the rain, 
 changed to sleet, stung their skins with its tiny, 
 sharp-driven blades. The skeleton bridge held them 
 high suspended in the very heart of the storm. Once 
 and again a sudden more violent gust bid fair to 
 sweep them off their feet. Yet, slowly progressing, 
 they made their port unharmed. 
 
 Then came the next horse's turn. More than a 
 single mount they dared not lead over at once, lest the 
 contagious fears of one, reacting on another, produce 
 panic. The horse that should rear or shy, on that 
 wide-meshed footing, would be fairly sure to break 
 a leg, at best. So, one by one, they followed over, 
 each reaching the farther side before his successor 
 began the transit. 
 
JOHN G. 271 
 
 And so, at last, all stood on the opposite bank, 
 ready to follow John G. once more, as he led the way 
 to duty. 
 
 "Come along, John, old man. You know how 
 you'd hate to find a lot of dead women and babies 
 because we got there too late to save them! Make 
 a pace, Johnny boy!" 
 
 The First Sergeant was talking gently, leaning over 
 his pommel. But John G. was listening more from 
 politeness than because he needed a lift. His stride 
 was as steady as a clock. 
 
 It was three hours after midnight on that bitter 
 black morning as they entered the streets of the 
 town. And the streets were as quiet, as peaceful, as 
 empty of men, as the heart of the high woods! 
 
 "Where's their mob?" growled the Sergeant. 
 
 "Guess its mother's put it to sleep," a cold, wet 
 Trooper growled back. 
 
 "Well, we thought there was going to be trouble," 
 protested the local power, roused from his feather- 
 bed. "It really did look like serious trouble, I assure 
 you. And we could not have handled serious trouble 
 with the means at our command. Moreover, there 
 may easily be something yet. So, gentlemen, I am 
 greatly relieved you have come. I can sleep in peace 
 now that you are here. Good-night! Good-night ! " 
 
 All through the remaining hours of darkness the 
 detail patrolled the town. All through the lean, pale 
 hours of dawn it carefully watched its wakening, 
 guarded each danger-point. But never a sign of dis- 
 turbance did the passing time bring forth. 
 
 At last, with the coming of the business day, the 
 
272 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Sergeant sought out the principal men of the place, 
 and from them ascertained the truth. 
 
 Threats of a jail delivery there had been, and a 
 noisy parade as well, but nothing had occurred or 
 promised beyond the power of an active local officer 
 to handle. Such was the statement of one and all. 
 
 "I'll just make sure," said the Sergeant to himself. 
 
 Till two o'clock in the afternoon the detail con- 
 tinued its patrols. The town and its outskirts re- 
 mained of an exemplary peace. At two o'clock the 
 Sergeant reported by telephone to his Captain: 
 
 "Place perfectly quiet, sir. Nothing seems to have 
 happened beyond the usual demonstration of a sym- 
 pathizing crowd over an arrest. Unless something 
 more breaks, the Sheriff should be entirely capable 
 of handling the situation." 
 
 "Then report back to Barracks at once," said the 
 voice of the Captain of "A" Troop. "There's real 
 work waiting here." 
 
 The First Sergeant, hanging up the receiver, went 
 out and gathered his men. 
 
 Still the storm was raging. Icy snow, blinding 
 sheets of sharp-fanged smother, rode on the racing 
 wind. Worse overhead, worse underfoot, would be 
 hard to meet in years of winters. 
 
 But once again men and horses, without an interval 
 of rest, struck into the open country. Once again on 
 the skeleton bridge they made the precarious crossing. 
 And so, at a quarter to nine o'clock at night, the 
 detail topped Greensburg's last ice-coated hill and 
 entered the yard of its high-perched Barracks. 
 
 As the First Sergeant slung the saddle off John 
 
JOHN G. 273 
 
 G.'s smoking back, Corporal Richardson, farrier of 
 the Troop, appeared before him wearing a mien of 
 solemn and grieved displeasure. 
 
 "It's all very well," said he, "all very well, no 
 doubt. But eighty-six miles in twenty-four hours, in 
 weather like this, is a good deal for any horse. And 
 John G. is twenty-two years old, as perhaps you may 
 remember. I've brought the medicine." 
 
 Three solid hours from that very moment the two 
 men worked over John G., and when, at twelve 
 o'clock, they put him up for the night, not a wet hair 
 was left on him. As they washed and rubbed and 
 bandaged, they talked together, mingling the Ser- 
 geant's trenchantly humorous common sense with the 
 Corporal's mellow philosophy. But mostly it was the 
 Corporal that spoke, for twenty-four hours is a fair 
 working day for a Sergeant as well as for a Troop 
 horse. 
 
 "I believe in my soul," said the Sergeant, "that if 
 a man rode into this stable with his two arms shot off 
 at the shoulder, you'd make him groom his horse 
 with his teeth and his toes for a couple of hours before 
 you'd let him hunt a doctor." 
 
 "Well," rejoined Corporal Richardson, in his soft 
 Southern tongue, "and what if I did? Even if that 
 man died of it he'd thank me heartily afterward. 
 You know, when you and I and the rest of the world, 
 each in our turn, come to Heaven's gate, there'll 
 be St. Peter before it, with the keys safe in his pocket. 
 And over the shining wall behind from the inside, 
 mind you will be poking a great lot of heads 
 innocent heads with innocent eyes heads of horses 
 
274 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 and of all the other animals that on this earth are the 
 friends of man, put at his mercy and helpless. 
 
 "And it's clear to me over, John! so, boy! 
 that before St. Peter unlocks the gate for a single one 
 of us, he'll turn around to that long row of heads, 
 and he'll say: 
 
 "'Blessed animals in the fields of Paradise, is this 
 a man that should enter in?' 
 
 "And if the animals they that were placed in 
 his hands on earth to prove the heart that was in 
 him if the immortal animals have aught to say 
 against that man never will the good Saint let him 
 in, with his dirty, mean stain upon him. Never. 
 You'U see, Sergeant, when your time comes. Witt 
 you give those tendons another ten minutes ?" 
 
 Next morning John G. walked out of his stall as 
 fresh and as fit as if he had come from pasture. And 
 to this very day, in the stable of "A" Troop, John G., 
 handsome, happy, and able, does his friends honor. 
 
XIII 
 
 HOT WEATHER 
 
 happened in Pittsburgh in mid-July. For 
 days and nights the heat had been merciless. It 
 had beaten through the roofs and walls and pave- 
 ments, until roofs and walls and pavements gasped 
 it seven-fold back. It lay and weltered in streets and 
 alleys, a thick and sticky pestilence. The two great 
 rivers, sweating beneath it, clogged the air with 
 steam. No escape anywhere. 
 
 The people's first resistance had worn away. Weak 
 ones were falling, each into his own pit the weakest 
 first. 
 
 Mary Kaufman's time came early. Mary Kauf- 
 man had not much chance. Physically she was a chip 
 a rag. Her weight was under a hundred pounds, 
 and the little length she had was her only dimension. 
 She was under-nourished, anaemic, feebly hysterical. 
 Her inheritance, if she had thought of such things, 
 might have scared her. Her personal history was dull. 
 She was married, and her married life, poor but not 
 poverty-stricken, had been troubled. She had one 
 child, a seven-year-old boy and she sometimes 
 wished the boy was dead. The boy himself was a 
 bright little creature, loving and gentle and happy- 
 hearted, but his spirit did not penetrate the fretful 
 mind of his mother who saw in him only a burden to 
 carry in a tiresome world. 
 
276 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Under the great, relentless heat day after day 
 of it, night after night Mary Kaufman began to 
 brood, with a vague resentment of the whole scheme 
 of life. Then came a morning when she arose from her 
 comfortless, tousled bed into the grip of an idea. 
 
 Under its spell she dressed herself and the boy, and, 
 without stopping for any pretence of food, hurried 
 out into the street and away to the railroad station. 
 There she bought tickets to Kittanning, distant some 
 sixty miles. 
 
 Halfway to Kittanning, at a station called Butler 
 Junction, just as the train had finished its stop and 
 was about pulling out, Mary Kaufman suddenly 
 sprang to her feet, and, dragging the boy after her, 
 hurried out of the car the rattle-trap day-coach 
 gritty with cinders, pasted with soot, reeking with 
 heat and with sickening smells of bananas and coal- 
 gas and humanity. 
 
 She hurried out of the car, dragging the child after 
 her. And just as the couplings gave their first jerk a 
 brakeman saw the two jump off, on the wrong side 
 of the track. 
 
 He called his conductor. Hanging from the plat- 
 form the better to watch her, the two men saw her 
 climb down toward the river-bank, then, as though 
 she had changed her mind, veer back and start out 
 along the bridge. 
 
 "I don't like that," said the brakeman, as a curve 
 shut off the sight. 
 
 "No more do I," agreed the conductor. "What's 
 worse, I thought she was queer when I took her 
 ticket and why, yes, by George! That ticket 
 
HOT WEATHER 277 
 
 was for Kittanning. She should n't have got off here 
 at all!" 
 
 "It's my belief," the brakeman observed, "that 
 the woman is crazy, and that she means to drown 
 the boy. She's just looking for the likeliest place to 
 push him off. That's what she's up to, mark my 
 words." 
 
 " With her with a ticket to Kittanning, and getting 
 into some mess on the way there '11 likely be a claim 
 against the Company " The conductor's fears 
 increased. 
 
 They stopped the train at the first tower-station 
 and sent in a warning to Freeport, the seat of the 
 nearest local police. 
 
 Meantime Mary Kaufman, pursued by her idea, 
 but as yet confused and vacillating, drifted back 
 across the bridge. Its sheer height and the stabbing 
 glint of the flood beneath, as it glittered under the 
 terrible sun, in some way failed to command her. 
 She must seek her thought in another form. Wander- 
 ing still, she strayed through the little river settle- 
 ment called Garber's Ferry, and so out and beyond, 
 until her eyes fell upon a pleasant old white-columned 
 farmhouse, standing back among its green lawns, 
 under the shade of ample trees comfortable, pros- 
 perous, cool. 
 
 At this sight, so novel to her fevered eyes, the poor 
 little city-grown straw whirled into a new eddy. She 
 would take the house, so cool and quiet, so white and 
 calm behind the big pillars, beneath the green shade. 
 She would take it, and then, having killed the boy, 
 she had nothing against the boy, but still she must 
 
278 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 kill him, she must kill him, she would live in it 
 free as air, all by herself. 
 
 Mary Kaufman stood hi the doorway, gazing into 
 the eyes of the mistress of the house. It was haying 
 season. Not a man was on the place. 
 
 "I have come to live here," said Mary Kaufman. 
 
 "But I don't know who you are ! " gasped the other. 
 
 "No," said Mary, "but I have come here to live. 
 Not with this child. I shall not keep him. I shall live 
 here alone. Go away at once." 
 
 "But," cried the mistress, "this is my house!" 
 
 "If you don't go away this minute now" 
 Mary was talking calmly enough, but the pupils of 
 her eyes were very broad and there was warning in 
 her face "if you don't run, quick, I shall have to 
 kill you." 
 
 The terrified woman waited for no proof. She ran, 
 as fast as the heat and the fright and her unaccus- 
 tomed frame would let her, and she carried the news 
 to the railroad station at Garber's Ferry, her nearest 
 refuge. 
 
 In the interval Mary Kaufman was looking over 
 her new home. Pleased with all that she saw, she 
 stopped to examine furniture, ornaments, curtains, 
 carpets, even the racks of hunting guns, property of 
 two sportsman members of the family, that hung in 
 the hall. Mary had scarcely even seen a gun before 
 had almost certainly never held one in her hand. 
 It amused her to pretend to aim them and to play 
 with the locks; and she looked, too, with vague in- 
 terest at several revolvers and at the boxes of cart- 
 ridges conveniently at hand. She was thus wholly 
 
HOT WEATHER 279 
 
 absorbed, when the boy began to whimper at her 
 knees. 
 
 "Mamma, I'm so hungry!" wailed the poor little 
 chap. 
 
 It was already noon and neither of the pair had 
 broken fast that day. 
 
 Mary stared at the child strangely. "Well, I may 
 as well feed you," she concluded. "There's sure to 
 be plenty in the house." 
 
 So she laid down the rifle she was fondling and 
 moved off toward the kitchen, the famished child 
 trotting behind her, revivified by hope. 
 
 There was, indeed, food enough in the house 
 ample food for many mouths, some of it ready pre- 
 pared. Mary stood looking at rows of good things 
 bread, cake, pies, cold meat, and at bins and crocks 
 and jars and bags of stores, while the boy gazed too, 
 with wonder and delight. And while she so stood, 
 motionless, a new impression seized her with a rush. 
 
 "Some one is coming to take this house away from 
 me. I can't stop to feed you now I can't stop for 
 anything. And I'll have to leave you alive a little 
 longer. Come! Come!" 
 
 Snatching the child by the shoulder she pushed and 
 dragged him out of the room, up the stairs, and flung 
 him, weakly wailing, into a corner of the upper hall. 
 
 "Stay quiet! There's a good boy! Don't move! 
 Don't make a sound!" she whispered vehemently. 
 "I'll get you some pie soon. And then I'll kill you. 
 But not now not just yet. You must wait. First 
 I must lock all the doors. I must get the guns all 
 the guns, every one." 
 
280 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Hurrying away down the stairs, she labored back, 
 breathless, as fast as her feet would carry her, two 
 heavy rifles in her arms. She bore them into a front 
 chamber and flung them on the bed. Again and again 
 she made the trip, precipitate, as though she knew she 
 had not a moment to lose, until every weapon and all 
 the ammunition had been transferred to her chosen 
 spot. Together they made a small arsenal, for, as it 
 chanced, the men of this household loved firearms, each 
 rivalling the other in the completeness of his stock. 
 
 "Now," said Mary, "let them come!" 
 
 She stationed herself at a front window, like a 
 minute-man on guard. Scarcely had she done so 
 when the Freeport police, four strong, bore down on 
 the house. They were mopping their brows and 
 panting; they were more than a little irritated at the 
 trifling nature of the pretext that brought them so far 
 afield under conditions so extreme. 
 
 "Wait here in the road," said the Chief. "I'll go 
 and bring her out. No need of everybody going in. 
 It might excite her." He started up the walk. 
 
 "Who are you?" It was a sharp, thin, woman's 
 voice, calling from an upper window. 
 
 "Freeport police." 
 
 "Well, you ain't wanted here. Go right back to 
 Freeport." 
 
 "No, no!" cried the Chief, as if remonstrating with 
 a child. "You can't talk like that to a policeman, 
 you know. I 'm here to get you. You must come right 
 along, now, with me." 
 
 Again he started up the walk, but stopped short 
 as a bullet sang over his head. 
 
HOT WEATHER 281 
 
 "For God's sake, look out!" cried the voices be- 
 hind him, and in the same instant he caught sight of 
 a small, white face, in the upper window, peering 
 down at him along the barrel of a rifle, from whose 
 muzzle rose a coil of smoke. Wise man that he was, 
 he turned and ran for cover like a deer. When he 
 peered out again not one of his confreres remained in 
 sight. 
 
 "S'st!" came presently, from behind a tree. 
 
 "S'st!" "S'st!" echoed other shelters. 
 
 "Let's hike back and get word to the Burgess," 
 whispered the tree. "This looks serious. We don't 
 want to do anything rash." 
 
 So they stole away. 
 
 Meantime the country-side was gathering. The 
 railroad police appeared; neighboring farmers; vil- 
 lage folk. The midday sun blazed high, and they 
 sought out spots of shaded concealment whence to 
 spy upon the infested house, wherein to plot. Now 
 and again some bolder spirit ventured a sortie, in- 
 stantly to draw a shot. The aim was erratic, 
 uncalculable, and none the pleasanter for that. 
 There was no safety zone. 
 
 "There's those girls camping over yonder on the 
 Carnegie Institute Tech grounds! They're easy 
 within range of that big rifle! " exclaimed a voice from 
 an unseen source. 
 
 "Yes, and there's a hundred of 'em if there's one. 
 Just as like as not to stop a bullet, any of 'em. They 
 probably think all this racket's just skylarkin'. They 
 won't be watchin' out." 
 
 "Somebody ought to go tell 'em." 
 
282 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Crack I Crack I A small green branch with a splint- 
 ered stem sailed down among the speakers. 
 
 A pause. Then a dubious voice: "We-el, I don't 
 know how you feel but 7 ain't so crazy about 
 movin' out from behind this here rock just at 
 present. I reckon them girls '11 come in out of the 
 rain take care of themselves don't you?" 
 
 "Yes, yes!" hastily agreed the others. "Course 
 they will." And made speed to quit the topic. 
 
 Crack I Crack I Crack I from the house. 
 
 The Freeport police, returning, had essayed an- 
 other attack under cover of a ruse carefully planned, 
 only to be driven to their heels. The sole result of 
 their venture had been to endanger not only their own 
 lives, but those of anybody and everybody within 
 range of the windows. 
 
 "Almost seems like they'd have to shoot her," 
 ventured some one. 
 
 "Kind of horrible to shoot a woman!" 
 
 "Sure but we can't get her out this way, that's 
 certain. And there's no telling what awful thing she 
 may not do, going on as she is." 
 
 "There's plenty of food in that house, and am- 
 munition enough for an army." 
 
 "But she's got to sleep sometime." 
 
 "Yes, but they do say crazy people have double 
 strength. And what mischief won't she pull off be- 
 fore she sleeps! Burning that good old house down 
 '11 be the least of it." 
 
 "Oh, say, look there! Who are them fellers comin* 
 up the road?" 
 
 Two figures clad in steel-gray uniform had just 
 
HOT WEATHER 283 
 
 jumped out of a car a little below the house and were 
 now approaching rapidly. Something about them, 
 even at this first glance, conveyed the certainty that 
 with their advent the whole situation had instantly 
 changed that nothing that had gone before 
 counted that business would now begin. The 
 swing of their clean-muscled bodies sent a message 
 ahead. The stride and snap of their close-putteed 
 legs wrote "Finis" to nonsense and mess. 
 
 "State Troopers, by Gad! That's the talk! Now 
 we'll see something!" 
 
 "What makes them chaps look so so kinder 
 powerful like?" queried one puzzled voice from be- 
 hind a stump. 
 
 "They do that, don't they!" assented another. 
 
 "Dummed if I don't think it might be the collars." 
 
 "Collars, nothing! It 5 s fact!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I know. But look here: Do you reckon 
 you could stand such a collar, stiffened right up 
 around your throat, with hooks and metal and all, 
 such weather as this? And yet you never saw one o* 
 them State men any other way, day nor night, not 
 if 't was hot as Tophet. You could n't hire 'em. 
 Looks like they had n't no human weaknesses." 
 
 "I've got a cousin on probation with the Force, 
 now," a fourth man put in. "He said that collar 
 stood for the difference between him and a slouch. 
 Slouch meant me. I tried to lick him for it. But 
 he'd had two months' training already. Took me a 
 week to get over it." The voice laughed ruefully, 
 yet with pride of superiority. No one else in the 
 Borough owned such a cousin to be licked by. 
 
284 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "Come along, boys, anyway. Let's work down to 
 meet 'em and see what they're goin' to do." 
 
 The voice of the Burgess of Freeport, appealing 
 for help in the emergency reported by his police, had 
 reached "D" Troop's telephone desk, twenty-four 
 miles away, at twenty minutes after two o'clock. 
 "D" Troop Barracks is two miles from the Butler 
 railway station. A train for Freeport left Butler at 
 twenty-five minutes after two. 
 
 Sergeant Charles T. Smith and Private Hess caught 
 the two-twenty-five. And if the Troop car touched 
 but seldom and lightly on the highroad intervening, 
 no one and nothing was the worse for its flight. 
 
 Now on the ground they stood for a moment ap- 
 praising the situation. 
 
 "Before we begin," it was the Sergeant who 
 spoke, splendid specimen of a fine old Regular Army 
 type, steady, solid, and cool, "I want every civil- 
 ian out of here! It's a wonder some one has n't been 
 killed already. Clear out, please! you railroad po- 
 lice and all way out of harm's way. I don't want 
 one of you to get hurt." 
 
 Every one obeyed alacritously, with the exception 
 of one man Doane, of the Freeport police. 
 
 "I'd like to stop and see what you're going to do," 
 said Doane. 
 
 "All right, then, but keep covered," cautioned the 
 Sergeant. 
 
 "But can't I do anything to help?" 
 
 "Well," the Sergeant reflected, "maybe when 
 we get inside you might call to her and get her at- 
 tention at the window. Use judgment." 
 
HOT WEATHER 285 
 
 Meantime, as if herself absorbed in wonder at the 
 new move, Mary Kaufman had ceased firing. 
 
 "Hess, you slide around to the back door, while I 
 tackle the front," said the Sergeant, and started 
 straight up the path to the house. 
 
 Doane, looking on, felt his heart stop beating. 
 With every step he expected to see a rose of flame at 
 the window, and the springy figure stagger and fall. 
 But the Sergeant reached the door in safety. The 
 window remained blank. 
 
 "She has given it up, thank goodness!" thought 
 Doane. 
 
 Then he saw that the front door must be locked. 
 The Sergeant was setting his shoulder against it. It 
 gave, burst in. And in that same instant a shot rang 
 out in the interior of the house. The report merged 
 and echoed on in a curious metallic tz'zing ! 
 
 By some strange freak of her disordered senses, 
 Mary had become aware of Trooper Hess's silent and 
 invisible approach. Obsessed by the new conscious- 
 ness, she had ignored the movement at the front of 
 the house, and, while reloading her guns, had con- 
 centrated her watch in the other direction. Hovering 
 at the head of the stairs, she had awaited her mo- 
 ment, her eyes on the door at the back of the hall 
 below. This, also, she had locked and barred. She 
 saw the handle turn. Then, in a second more, she 
 saw the whole fabric begin to give, to yield. With a 
 final crack the door swung in. Mary fired. The range 
 was so short she could hardly miss yet miss she 
 did, and the bullet, striking the bell of the telephone, 
 added its jarring scream to the crash of the gun. 
 
286 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Both officers were now making for the stairs. 
 Mary, flying before them back into her bedroom ar- 
 senal, slammed and locked the door. 
 
 The two men, with a glance at each other, stood 
 aside, to right and to left, against the wall. 
 
 Crash! came a bullet, tearing through the panel. 
 
 "Six-shooter, that one!" said Hess. 
 
 The Sergeant nodded. 
 
 Crash I Again the panel splintered. 
 
 "Let her empty it." 
 
 Crash! Crash! 
 
 Crash I With the fifth report the wood flew again. 
 
 "On the next I go in. You wait, Hess," the Ser- 
 geant commanded. 
 
 Crash I the lead struck through. 
 
 With a mighty shove the Sergeant drove in. Mary 
 stood by the far window, her revolver raised as if to 
 fire. As the Sergeant jumped for her, she pulled the 
 trigger and a bullet grazed his cheek! 
 
 He seized her in his arms, his grip closing over her 
 revolver hand. She struggled, vainly, to turn the 
 point upon him, and again her weapon flashed. 
 
 Doane, down below, had bettered the Sergeant's 
 instruction by twice firing his own revolver close 
 under the window, instead of attempting to divert 
 Mary's attention by speech. The officers had counted 
 these two reports, in reckoning with the six chambers 
 of Mary's weapon. 
 
 But Sergeant Smith now held the frail Fury safe in 
 his arms, while the revolver, gently twisted out of her 
 clutch, lay harmless and empty on the floor where he 
 had tossed it. 
 
HOT WEATHER 287 
 
 "Hess," he said, "you take her now, while I go 
 hunt for the boy." 
 
 "I'm awfully afraid she's killed him!" 
 
 "My notion, too. I pretty near hate to look!" 
 
 As the Sergeant left the room, Mary seemed to 
 relax all over, as though her fighting spirit was fled. 
 Private Hess lightened his hold, to give her greater 
 comfort. In an instant, with the quickness of an eel, 
 she had writhed out of his hands and darted across 
 the room. With a lightning movement she turned 
 and faced him, another loaded revolver in her hand. 
 But this time the soldier was her master in dexterity. 
 He disarmed her with careful ease. 
 
 Meantime Sergeant Smith was searching the house 
 for the boy. Up and down, in closets and cupboards 
 and boxes, everywhere he sought him, and sought in 
 vain. 
 
 "Wonder if he managed to slip away before she 
 locked the doors before the siege began," he was 
 saying to himself, as he mounted the attic stairs. 
 
 In the attic was a bedchamber. Its bed was cov- 
 ered with a large counterpane, broad enough to 
 sweep the floor at the sides. Sergeant Smith, standing 
 in the doorway, glanced once around the bare little 
 place. Then, his eyes on the bed, he stopped short 
 and listened, while he held his breath. Another mo- 
 
 ent and he was on his hands and knees, lifting the 
 edge of the counterpane to look beneath. 
 
 Come along out, now, son," he was saying, very 
 quietly, "it's all right." 
 
 A pause. Silence. No movement. Then a shuffle 
 and squirming. A pair of copper-toed shoes appeared, 
 
288 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 much-scuffed and rusty, two coarse-stockinged legs, 
 a patched and diminutive trousers' seat, a middy 
 blouse, a tow-head buried in a pair of arms. No 
 movement more. The head did not turn or lift. The 
 locked arms were fixed and rigid a last defense. 
 The whole body was stiff. 
 
 "Get up," said the Sergeant, very low. 
 
 With a gasp the boy obeyed, springing back as he 
 did so, as if to avoid he knew not what. 
 
 It was a good little face, intelligent, sweet, but 
 deathly white and ghastly with exhaustion and mor- 
 tal fear. The gaze was wide and staring, the blue lips 
 stretched back over the teeth. 
 
 Sergeant Smith said nothing at all, still kneeling 
 motionless, holding the boy with his steady, kindly 
 eyes. It was as though the eyes were suns, melting 
 their way where no words could reach, into the un- 
 derstanding heart. The child's whole life came into 
 his own wide eyes and peered out, tensely questioning 
 there. Then, with a little quivering wail, he tottered 
 forward and flung his arms tight around the Ser- 
 geant's neck, burying his face against that stiff high 
 collar that does not betoken a slouch. 
 
 "I did n't know it was you! Oh, I did n't know it 
 was you! " he cried, and broke into long, dry sobs. 
 
 The Sergeant picked him up in his arms, by and 
 by, and carried him downstairs. As Mary Kaufman 
 saw them so, a flicker of light broke through her 
 darkness. "Now may God have mercy on my soul!" 
 said she. 
 
THE SERGEANT PICKED HIM UP IN HIS ARMS AND CARRIED 
 HIM DOWNSTAIRS 
 
XIV 
 
 GET YOUR MAN 
 
 " When once you start after a man, you must get him." 
 
 JOHN C. GHOOME, 
 Superintendent Pennsylvania State Police. 
 
 IT began toward the end of January, when the snow 
 lay deep on the hillsides, and when, as the smut- 
 faced miners came out of the shafts at night, bitter 
 winds caught and belabored them, wearily flounder- 
 ing along their homeward way. Winter, up there in 
 Western Pennsylvania, strikes hard, and it is all a 
 man can do to earn his daily bread and take his 
 meagre comfort of it. He needs no extra burden. 
 Life itself weighs heavily enough. 
 
 But bad hearts ignore chivalry. Out of some cave 
 of slime had crept men mean enough to rob the poor. 
 For four weeks running, on pay-day night, unidenti- 
 fied scoundrels had waylaid the workmen on the 
 lonely roads, and at the point of knife or gun had 
 taken their envelopes from them. Or, missing their 
 prey in the open, they had entered and rifled the bare 
 little homes. Sometimes, even, they had boldly done 
 their work in the very streets of the villages, snatch- 
 ing the whole fruits of the week's hard toil and de- 
 parting before their paralyzed victim could recover 
 wits to resist. 
 
 United Mine Workers men and laborers in the zinc 
 and chemical plants were the principal sufferers. For 
 
290 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 a while they bore it sheep-fashion, in the thought that 
 the curse would pass. But when, week after week, 
 their all was taken from them, it became clear that 
 the thing had settled to a steady gait; then they re- 
 volted, demanded protection under the law, called 
 for help help from the State Police. 
 
 The Captain of "A" Troop received their com- 
 plaint and acted according to the way of the Force. 
 Determining at once the practical centre of trouble, he 
 fixed a sub-station there. The little town of Langeloth 
 was the point that he chose. To that town he sent 
 three men, Corporal Mauk, with Privates Nicholson 
 and McCormick, under orders to catch the robbers 
 and, while they were at it, to clean up the place. 
 
 The three officers settled themselves in their new 
 quarters very much as a bird lights on a new branch. 
 Then they jumped into their job. 
 
 Entirely aside from the robberies, they found, the 
 place would take quite a bit of cleaning-up. It was 
 interesting to see how many citizens, whether of the 
 villages or of the open country roundabout, brought 
 to their door tales of wrong and pleas for redress, 
 knowing that succor lay now within reach. This one 
 complained of a purveyor of cocaine, this other of a 
 disorderly house, a third reported a butcher who sold 
 to the people diseased beef. And so on, with pleas 
 and responses, until Saturday came, pay-day, -*- 
 bringing with it its special occasion. 
 
 Now, what the three Troopers did in Langeloth on 
 that particular Saturday, the 26th of February, mat- 
 tered a good deal to the people of Langeloth, but 
 matters to this story not at all. 
 
GET YOUR MAN 291 
 
 This story begins with the evening of February 
 27th, Sunday, when the news came screaming over 
 the sub-station wire that Mary O'Hagan, a Lange- 
 loth miner's wife, had been brutally assaulted and 
 afterwards beaten by a man unknown; and that she 
 now lay in her own home near death. 
 
 Corporal Mauk and his two comrades were sitting 
 at supper when the telephone rang. McCormick 
 jumped up to answer, taking the message in the 
 steady, methodical way that the Force employs. But 
 as he returned to report to his Corporal, his eyes 
 gleamed with a cold fire. 
 
 Without a word Mauk and Nicholson sprang up 
 leaving the half -finished meal. Snatching their caps 
 all three men tramped out of the room. Five min- 
 utes later the drum of their horses' feet had died on 
 the outer dark. 
 
 They might have waited to finish their meat? But 
 they wait for nothing, these lads of the "Black Hus- 
 sars." And besides, the one crime in all the catalogues 
 of crimes that stands out sharpest for their deadly 
 enmity is the crime against women, fouler, as they 
 hold, even than murder itself. 
 
 The moon was mounting a sparkling sky. The 
 snow sang under flying hoofs. The keen, dry cold 
 made almost a perfume in the air. 
 
 "She mustn't die before we get there, boys," 
 exclaimed Mauk. 
 
 As his words smoked a cloud behind his head, the 
 three lifted their hardy little range horses into greater 
 speed. 
 
 Into the open country they rode, over routes where 
 
292 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 few had passed before them since the last deep fall of 
 snow, and so into the street of a tiny "mine-patch" 
 settlement, and to O'Hagan's door. 
 
 It was a ramshackle door, in a ramshackle "Com- 
 pany house," down at heel, out at elbow, dirty-faced 
 and unashamed after a long succession of tenants who 
 cared for none of these things. But Mary O'Hagan, 
 decent woman that she was, had kept her place clean 
 within, and the room into which the three Troopers 
 stepped was as tidy as one pair of hard-working hands 
 could make it. 
 
 That room was full, now full of keening women, 
 crouching with their aprons flung over their heads; of 
 men, silent, stiff -mouthed, stormy-faced; of fright- 
 ened children, staring from their mothers' knees. 
 
 "Where's O'Hagan?" asked Corporal Mauk, as he 
 crossed the threshold. 
 
 It was a gray-haired Scottish foreman who an- 
 swered. 
 
 "O'Hagan's ben th' hoose wi' his wife," said he. 
 "Hurry doon, mon. He's wearied waitin' on ye." 
 
 Mauk strode across and knocked at the inner door. 
 It opened quickly and closed after him. Twenty 
 minutes passed before he emerged. Then, with a nod 
 of farewell, he would have left the house. 
 
 But women caught at his blouse-skirt, men laid 
 hand on his arm. Doctor and soldier in one they 
 knew all State Troopers to be. They must hear the 
 word. 
 
 "Will Mary die?" cried a girl. 
 
 The Corporal looked at her strangely. "Maybe it 
 would be better so," said he. 
 
GET YOUR MAN 293 
 
 From the women a long, low wail went up. From 
 the men a sort of shapeless curse. 
 
 "Do yez know who done ut? Can yez get 'um?" a 
 burly Celt rapped out. 
 
 "That's my job," the Trooper replied; and with 
 the ring of his speech every man in the room was his 
 brother. 
 
 Once outside and alone with his comrades, the Cor- 
 poral repeated the description that he had been able 
 to draw from Mary O'Hagan's tormented mind. 
 
 "It should be fairly easy," was Nicholson's com- 
 ment. 
 
 "Thank God, it's no easier!" Mauk rejoined; "or 
 O'Hagan would be a murderer before this night is 
 done." 
 
 No need to tell in detail how they sifted their mat- 
 ter down, or how within two hours they had learned 
 to a practical certainty that one Adolph Ofenloch, an 
 Austrian miner, was the man they sought. The thing 
 is a method a science. They are doing it all the 
 time. You can pick your man out of a community as 
 a conjurer picks a card from the pack once you 
 know how. 
 
 Ofenloch lived in a miner's boarding-house in a set- 
 tlement some few miles beyond. Thither the Troop- 
 ers betook themselves straight. 
 
 "Ofenloch ain't in yet," said the sleepy landlord, 
 standing in his doorway, candle in hand. 
 
 "But I'll just have a look, all the same," said 
 Mauk. 
 
 "Sure!" the other assented, leading the way. 
 
 Search revealed that the man had told the truth. 
 
294 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Ofenloch was not in that house. But it revealed an- 
 other point of more cheering character: Ofenloch's 
 trunk was in the house and in that trunk the sum of 
 three hundred dollars in United States currency. 
 
 "He's hiding out now," remarked the Corporal. 
 "And he'll try to make his get-away. But he'll 
 never leave without his roll. He'll be here after it 
 later in the night." 
 
 So the three settled down in the boarding-house 
 kitchen to wait. 
 
 The place was wretched enough. A faint feather of 
 steam, rising from the spout of a rusty iron kettle on 
 the dilapidated stove, made its single livelier note. 
 Otherwise the battered table with its dirty cloth, the 
 crippled chairs, the few ruinous dishes that shared the 
 shelf with the sharp-voiced clock, the foul floor, the 
 scrawled and grimy walls, and two glaring, naked 
 chromos in fly-specked frames, composed its graceless 
 whole. A soot-smudged reflector lamp, its wry wick 
 feebly smoking, revealed the scene, but, as the visitors 
 at once made certain, the window curtains, wrecks 
 though they were, effectively shut it away from the 
 outer world. 
 
 Silently the three men watched, while their host 
 slept, his head on the table buried in his arms. Now 
 and again came a shuffle on the step. Each Trooper, 
 at the sound, would spring to the sharp edge of readi- 
 ness. Then the door would open while some drunken 
 miner stumbled in, half blindly seeking his accus- 
 tomed bed. 
 
 Most of them were submerged too far to notice the 
 presence of strangers in the room. Some floundered 
 
GET YOUR MAN 295 
 
 upstairs to their mattresses. The rest, unequal to the 
 effort, dropped where they stood, succumbed to the 
 heat of the room, and slept. Little by little the air 
 choked with thick, sickening odors, and strange, un- 
 human noise. 
 
 It was the ancient, accustomed finale of the thing 
 that begins on "good old Saturday night." In its 
 midst the three clean-cut young soldiers stood out 
 like three bright steel lances against a heap of mud. 
 
 Mauk, almost six feet tall, heavily built and fine- 
 looking, had been a school-teacher in earlier days, 
 after the famous old Lincolnian plan by which a man 
 delves in the lumber camps or on the farm between 
 school sessions, and sits up half the night to read law 
 and the classics the whole year through. Now the 
 Force had contributed soldierly discipline to the mak- 
 ing of an all-round man. Nicholson and McCormick 
 were sturdy variants of the type. And there they sat, 
 watching and waiting, while the clock on the shelf 
 ticked into the smallest hour. 
 
 Now and again some sleeper, waking and dimly 
 troubled by the presence of guests so strange, would 
 pull himself up and stumble toward the door. 
 
 "Better go to sleep again," Mauk would advise, 
 laying a friendly hand on his shoulder. "None of us 
 are quitting here just yet." 
 
 And so the half-stupefied man, soothed out of his 
 hazy notion, would once more subside. Outward- 
 bound news was contraband that night. 
 
 The sharp-voiced clock marked a quarter after 
 one. 
 
 "He'll be along soon," muttered McCormick. 
 
296 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Click click click click, snapped the clock, 
 click click 
 
 On the cold snow outside a step came creaking 
 a heavy step, but swift and steady, unlike all those 
 others, vague and shambling, that had neared the 
 door before. 
 
 The three exchanged glances. Their bodies bent 
 forward as their feet slid back. 
 
 A sharp knock. 
 
 Automatically the boarding-house keeper shifted 
 his head within the pillow of his arms. His face was 
 creased deep with the pattern of his jersey. His eyes 
 remained tight shut. "Come in," he called in a sleep- 
 drowned voice. 
 
 The door opened. On the threshold stood a man 
 not Ofenloch, not the worse-than-murderer, but a big 
 negro, swinging a most portentous gun. 
 
 "Hands up, everybody !" he shouted. 
 
 In the first instant, light-dazzled, the newcomer 
 had seen only the sleepers grovelling on the floor. 
 
 But as all three Troopers jumped to grapple with 
 him, Nicholson first, he looked up, with an oath, 
 fired point-blank, and sprang backward into the 
 dark. 
 
 Two paces distant, and the aim at the heart! Poor 
 Nicholson sank down without even a groan. 
 
 The Corporal, behind, scarcely glanced at him. 
 
 "Mack, you stay back here and get the man!" he 
 called to McCormick, as he leaped over the body and 
 out through the door. 
 
 But the Corporal's eyes needed also their second of 
 time to adjust themselves. Passing so suddenly from 
 
GET YOUR MAN 297 
 
 lamp-light into darkness, he tripped on some miser- 
 able thing in the ash-pile by the steps, stumbled and 
 fell. As he fell, and rolled, his holster ripped away 
 from his belt, the revolver dropped out, and, in the 
 moment of fumbling that followed, he could not lay 
 hand on the weapon among the deep mass of rubbish 
 into which it had plunged. 
 
 Meantime he heard the beat of the negro's steps 
 flying far and farther into the night. 
 
 "Better get the darky than the gun!" argued 
 Mauk, and forthwith suited his action to the thought. 
 
 The negro, a limber six-footer, was running for his 
 life. And he had a long start. But the Trooper, as it 
 happened, was running for something just a little 
 dearer than life for the honor of the Force. And 
 he gained on that darky. 
 
 The negro struck a clean, straight-away course, 
 over the moon-flooded plain. Perforce he must trust 
 to speed, for nowhere did any cover offer. 
 
 On they raced, the two of them. And though he 
 took no precious time to look behind, the fugitive 
 knew that his pursuer was gaining. 
 
 Suddenly he wheeled. 
 
 "Surrender!" called Mauk Mauk with empty 
 hands to the blood-stained criminal aiming a gun. 
 
 "No!" shouted the black man. "I've killed one 
 State Trooper to-night. I'll never be taken alive. 
 You go next!" and he fired. 
 
 Mauk dropped to the ground as the trigger fell. 
 The bullet sang over his head. Once more the negro 
 was running. 
 
 "He'll have loaded every chamber before he 
 
298 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 knocked at the door," thought Mauk. "Four shots 
 left." 
 
 And the race began again. 
 
 Steadily, steadily, the Trooper crept up, with each 
 jump nearing a little. But the big black, though he 
 could not keep his lead, was good for yet much dis- 
 tance. Nearer, yet a trifle nearer, the voice of the 
 singing snow rose on his ear. 
 
 A second time he swung round, threw his gun down 
 at aim, and fired, his stoutish figure outlined clearly 
 by the moon and the luminous snow. A second time, 
 helped by the brilliant light, Mauk seized the nick 
 of the instant to drop, eluding death. 
 
 "Three left," the Trooper counted and sped again 
 after his speeding quarry. 
 
 But now, with the distance between them ever les- 
 sening, came sooner the moment when the quarry 
 dared risk no more. He fired from a range of fifteen 
 paces. But the Corporal, Heaven favoring, dodged 
 and escaped as before. 
 
 "Two," reckoned Mauk, scarcely losing his stride's 
 length. 
 
 Up to this point their course had lain straight out- 
 ward from its starting-place. Now, however, across 
 the otherwise featureless field, showed a long, low 
 inequality, the shape of a fence, weed-draped and 
 clogged with snow. And the line of that fence, run- 
 ning at right angles with the course, formed the sec- 
 ond side of a triangle. 
 
 "He'll take to that for cover," muttered the Cor- 
 poral. With the notion he somehow let out another 
 link, speeding up. "If only I can get my two hands 
 
GET YOUR MAN 299 
 
 on him," he thought, "never mind that I have no 
 gun!" 
 
 Close to the fence the black man turned again. 
 Mauk, now so near that the powder splashed his 
 cheek, jerked aside, avoiding the bullet. In a flash 
 the fugitive cleared the rail. But the Trooper, leap- 
 ing after, and almost at grips, by evil fortune caught 
 his foot in a sprawling tangle of snow-hidden barbed 
 wire. He fell heavily. 
 
 After the manner of barbed wire everywhere, the 
 tangle spread itself out, wreathed itself, crawled like 
 a live thing clutching and holding with its myriad 
 impish claws, while the victim struggled in the midst 
 of it. When at last he broke free, the negro had al- 
 ready established an ominous lead. 
 
 "Which we'll cut again," thought Mauk, and 
 chased after. 
 
 Meantime, back at the boarding-house, Private 
 McCormick, no small honor to discipline, sat alert 
 and alone among the prostrate and snoring crew. 
 How little, how very little, he wanted to sit there 
 Heaven knew. But orders are orders. And, moreover, 
 he, too, had to get his man. Afterwards he thought 
 that his ears grew mobile in those long minutes of 
 reaching and stretching after distant sounds. 
 
 And where was poor Nicholson's body? 
 
 Six feet is short range for a gunman to miss in. 
 Perhaps, in the instant of firing, the hand of the negro 
 wavered under his sudden recognition of the uniform 
 of the State. Aimed at the heart, his bullet flew high, 
 striking the left collar-bone, shattering it to bits. 
 
300 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 The impact had felled Nicholson like a log crum- 
 pled him up on the floor. But before the shrewish 
 clock on the shelf had snapped many seconds away 
 he was up and on his feet again, plunging through 
 the door. 
 
 For a bit McCormick's yearning ears had detected 
 the sound of his footsteps. Then utter stillness suc- 
 ceeded, punctured at intervals by shots. 
 
 "One," McCormick counted. "Two. Three. 
 Four." 
 
 "Single shots," he pondered. "Now, what's the 
 meaning of that? " 
 
 Nicholson, following the two dark figures so far 
 ahead, counted the shots also. Meantime his running 
 was a miracle. Some way that bitter pain in his 
 shoulder seemed only to act as a spur. The jar of 
 each step wrenched like red-hot pincers and yet, 
 in spite of it, the lad was running his very best. 
 
 When the negro, firing his fourth shot, vaulted the 
 fence, Nicholson was already near enough to see the 
 manoeuvre. And so, because he understood it, he 
 instantly changed his course, darting away on the 
 hypothenuse of the triangle, to head off his man. 
 
 Calculating speed and space as he flew, he knew 
 that he should make the finish in time. Already he 
 was halfway across. He fixed his eye on the fugitive, 
 now visible for the upper third of his body beyond 
 the fence. And, so gazing and so running, he failed 
 completely to see a ditch directly in his path. 
 
 That ditch was eight feet deep and twelve feet 
 wide. It was faced with soft white snow. And yet, as 
 Nicholson smashed to the bottom, it could not have 
 
GET YOUR MAN 301 
 
 hurt him worse had it been a pit of jagged stones. 
 The splintered and sharp edges of his broken shoulder 
 ground together under the impact of his whole weight. 
 For a second his eyes saw purple and black in spots. 
 A wave of ghastly sickness swept through him. Then 
 he was up and climbing, out and away again, his left 
 arm swinging oddly as he ran. 
 
 But the interruption had cost too much. Clearly, 
 he could no longer hope to head off the man. 
 
 Mauk, tearing down the trail from above, perceived 
 him now the unmistakable Trooper figure silhou- 
 etted against the white. And Mauk's breast, at the 
 sight, even at that tense and preoccupied moment, 
 filled quick with the fires of unspeakable wrath. 
 
 In Nicholson's head, however, one single idea was 
 burning. "I must get that man! I must get that 
 man. If I don't, I '11 run till Easter. I '11 never go back 
 to the Troop." 
 
 There was only one way to get him now. Through 
 the heart. To wing him would be to lose the trick. 
 
 But Nicholson, you see, as member of the Force's 
 revolver team, was one of the four best recorded mil- 
 itary revolver shots in the world. He waited till the 
 moment of greatest possible proximity had come. 
 Then, forty yards from the fugitive, he raised his 
 Colt's and fired a single shot. 
 
 The negro flung up his arms and plunged out of 
 sight. 
 
 A moment later, as Nicholson reached the spot, 
 Mauk was already stooping over the body. 
 
 "Dead," Mauk growled. "Clean shot, I must 
 say. Through the heart." 
 
302 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Then he rose to his feet, straightening up stiffly, 
 and turned on his comrade a face of withering scorn. 
 
 "McCormick," he began, "you quitter! You 
 rookie! If any one had told me this morning that you 
 would disobey orders I what? Good Lord! 
 Nick, man, is this your ghost? " 
 
 Later that night Private McCormick, still alone, but 
 grimly contented, conveyed the worse-than-murderer, 
 Ofenloch, through very dangerous waters safe to jail. 
 
 In the black of the morning, Dr. McKee, of Bur- 
 gettstown, extracted a 44-40 flat-nosed Winchester 
 bullet from among the debris that had been Private 
 Nicholson's left collar-bone. 
 
 Later still, at the Coroner's inquest, the identity 
 of the dead negro was clearly established; he was 
 Charles Smith, of Braddock, Pennsylvania, profes- 
 sional bad man and pay-envelope robber. 
 
 " T was all he did for a livin', just skinnin' us poor 
 devils," as one grim-faced miner averred. 
 
 And the tone that rang through his speech found 
 open expression in street and slope and shaft-bucket 
 where men slapped each other's shoulders, rejoicing, 
 over deliverance from a curse. 
 
 But the Coroner's jury, in the matter of the ver- 
 dict, took the bit in its teeth. 
 
 "Suicide. We find that Charles Smith met death 
 by suicide," that jury continued to insist. 
 
 "But Private Nicholson shot him shot him 
 through the heart ! " protested Mauk. "Verdict must 
 be rendered according to the evidence." 
 
 "Of course, of course. That's just what it is 
 
GET YOUR MAN 303 
 
 just what we 're sayin', ain't it? The deceased at- 
 tacked a Pennsylvania State Policeman with a gun. 
 Any man that attacks a Pennsylvania State Policeman 
 with a gun commits suicide," insisted the jury in all 
 painstaking seriousness. 
 
 Then the Corporal had to argue, to reason, to ex- 
 pound; for he wanted the formal verdict that would 
 clear his comrade. At last the thing came straight. 
 
 "Charles Smith," declared the jury, "while in the 
 commission of a felony, met his death at the hands of 
 a member of the State Police. And the said member 
 of the State Police is hereby exonerated from all 
 blame." 
 
XV 
 
 NO STORY AT ALL 
 
 THE Lieutenant stood out on the Barracks steps, 
 in the shining dew of the morning. A sunrise 
 grin illumined his face, and his heels eased rhyth- 
 mically up from the plane as though his toes had 
 springs in them. Cold water and soap and a fund- 
 amental grooming gleamed from every inch of his 
 body. 
 
 "Did you sleep well?" I asked, by way of being 
 preposterous. 
 
 "Sleep!" scoffed he; "why, sleep's for breakfast!" 
 
 " ' Sleep for your breakfast, 
 Walk for your dinner, 
 And you 're a very poor soldier 
 If you can't go to bed supperless.' 
 
 That's what my old grandmother used to tell me 
 sister and daughter and mother of soldiers, and a 
 sensible woman, anyway. Look here! See our moon- 
 flowers." 
 
 Out in the front of the Barracks, in the midst of the 
 grass-plot, blooms a bed of roses. But the turf around 
 the bed had suddenly developed a crop related to 
 roses in no sense at all. 
 
 There was an ancient tin pail. There was a rickety 
 old fishing-basket. There was a small, sharp-pronged 
 iron trident with a long handle made of fresh-cut 
 
NO STORY AT ALL 305 
 
 hickory sapling still wearing its bark. And, finally, 
 there was a brand-new and wholly anonymous fyke. 
 
 In the battered tin pail gasped a dark and slippery 
 mass of suckers and catfish, disturbed occasionally by 
 spasmodic motion. In the old basket lay other suck- 
 ers, that would never move again. In the clear water 
 of the concrete horse-trough, near by, other catfish, 
 rescued in extremis by some sympathetic Trooper, 
 raced hither and yon with fully restored energy. And 
 then, the fyke. 
 
 A fyke is a thing invented when the god of the 
 fishes was sleeping. Its mouth is broad and deep and 
 deadly. Its body is a hopeless abyss. At intervals 
 the body is distended by slender hoops, each with a 
 deadly mouth of its own. And when its tail is weighted 
 fast upstream and its rapacious jaws yawn at its full 
 length below, few are the fish that pass it safely by; 
 nor does any that enters, small or great, return. 
 
 A fish's inferno at all seasons, there are times and 
 places when and where the Law of the State also 
 holds the fyke abhorrent. Section 4 of the Act of 
 May 1, 1909, P. L. 353, reads in part: 
 
 It shall be unlawful to use fyke nets . . . from the first 
 day of June to the thirtieth day of June inclusive . . . nor 
 shall such nets be used in any streams inhabited by trout, 
 at any time of the year. . . . Provided further, that each 
 fyke net . . . must have fastened thereon a metallic tag 
 bearing the name and residence of the owner thereof. Any 
 person violating any of the provisions in this section, shall, 
 on conviction ... be subject to a penalty of twenty dol- 
 lars, together with the forfeiture of all boats, nets, and 
 other appliances used, to the Department of Fisheries. 
 
306 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 With another look at the collection on the grass, 
 "Come inside," I begged, "and tell me the story." 
 
 "Oh, but it's no story at all," protested the Lieu- 
 tenant. "We heard they were there, and we went 
 and got 'em just an everyday occurrence." 
 
 Just an everyday occurrence, in the manner of the 
 Force, with nothing extraordinary about it and 
 that is exactly why it is told here, as seen, or gathered 
 from those concerned. 
 
 Up in the hills east of Pittsburgh lies a certain big, 
 well-watered forest tract, at present operated only 
 for ice production. The owners have built large 
 storage houses, they have dammed their generous 
 creek to get broad water surface, and they cut each 
 year great quantities of clear, thick ice, netting a 
 substantial profit. 
 
 This stream of theirs is called Dove Run. Dove 
 Run City, consisting of a general store with a dozen 
 houses more or less under its wing, lies all of five miles 
 away from the ice-houses, and is the nearest point of 
 human habitation. So, as the ice dealers, what with 
 their dams, then* storehouses, and then- hoisting ma- 
 chinery, not to mention their great timber area, have 
 a considerable property to protect, and no neigh- 
 bors to help them at it, they keep in their employ 
 a private watchman. 
 
 The watchman, a good, decent old man, lives alone 
 in the heart of the tract entrusted to his care; and he 
 spends twelve hours of each day, winter and summer, 
 contentedly pottering about the place. 
 
 He is a good woodsman, knowing every tree, rock, 
 
NO STORY AT ALL 307 
 
 and runlet in all his domain. He would do his duty 
 always, to the extent of reason. But you could not 
 in reason expect him to make much of a fight against 
 ugly marauders, should such appear, nor could you 
 expect him to risk incurring the active ill-will of any 
 one prone to revenge. His home is too solitary and 
 exposed, and, above all, he has only private authority 
 behind him. 
 
 This watchman, then, had long been a witness to 
 fish-poaching, practised in spite of him. Gangs from 
 a distance would swoop down on his dams out of 
 season, fish their fill, using illegal devices, and be off 
 and away long before he could send word out of the 
 woods concerning them. Incidentally, whenever, in 
 the course of his daily rounds, he came upon these un- 
 trammelled sons of Belial, they would offer enthu- 
 siastically to throw him either into his dam or into 
 their own camp-fire, with the single alternative that 
 he mind his own business. All this irritated the old 
 man more than a little, but in point of fact he was 
 helpless, until the night before the dewy morning 
 that begins this story that is no story at all. 
 
 It was an hour after Taps. The Barracks reserves 
 were sound asleep asleep as fire-engine horses are, 
 with then- wits on tiptoe behind their eyelids and 
 then* shoulders one jump from the collar. The or- 
 derly at the telephone sat with the "Digest of Crimi- 
 nal Law and Procedure" between his elbows, grinding 
 page 26. It is your best chance at hard nuts, when 
 the crowd has gone to the Field of Dreams and the 
 troubled world outside lies at its maximum of peace. 
 
 " 'From some lawful act done in an unlawful 
 
308 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 manner,'" muttered the orderly; "'from some law- 
 ful act done '" and then Z-zing went the tele- 
 phone at his side. 
 
 "State Police," his clear voice answered before the 
 bell ceased echoing. 
 
 Mr. Hopper Joe Hopper, storekeeper of Dove 
 Run City introduced himself on the wire. 
 
 "Old Mr. Allardyce," said he, mumbling hurriedly, 
 like a man afraid of being overheard "old Mr. Al- 
 lardyce, watchman on the Dove Run tract, has just 
 sent out word that a gang of poachers is operating 
 on his dams" and sharp upon that terse statement 
 came the click of the receiver returned to its hook. 
 
 Dove Run City, be it known, was anxious enough 
 on its own account to see the poaching traffic stopped. 
 The local and visiting poachers are amateur ruffians 
 of some standing, drink heavily on then- trips, and 
 leave forest fires, robbed farms, and frightened women 
 marking then: trail in whatever direction. But Dove 
 Run City, too, was desperately afraid of acquiring 
 the ill-will of such gentry. Their casual depreda- 
 tions were heavy enough, without drawing down their 
 deliberate wrath upon the weak and isolated little 
 community. Better speak low and fast, then, with an 
 eye over either shoulder, or else bear in silence and 
 inform not at all. 
 
 "I'll take this job myself," said the Lieutenant, 
 springing out of bed. And as he jumped downstairs, 
 buckling on his holster belt, he named the Trooper 
 to accompany him named also a four-months Re- 
 cruit who should profit by a mild taste of experience 
 under his officer's eye. 
 
NO STORY AT ALL 309 
 
 It is a goodish trip from Barracks out to that 
 forest tract, and time counted. So they took the 
 Troop car, covering the road to Dove Run City at 
 a speed that the hour allowed. But the "General 
 Store" was sound asleep, and Joe Hopper's wife, peer- 
 ing from an upper window in her nightcap, had no 
 views to offer concerning Joe's whereabouts. Joe was 
 "away" quite as the Lieutenant expected. Joe 
 had done his part, and had no idea whatever of let- 
 ting himself in for identification with a subject so 
 delicate. 
 
 So the Lieutenant drove on, climbing the worn 
 wood-roads through the tall timber, till at last the 
 headlights picked out old Allardyce's cabin, snuggled 
 like a big fungus beneath a wall of rock. 
 
 It was half an hour after midnight by now, and 
 Allardyce had turned in. But, whether he had fore- 
 seen the moment, or whether by usual habit, he 
 needed only to put on his shoes, coat, and hat, to be 
 fully dressed. However, the prospect ahead so ex- 
 cited him that all his energies fled to his tongue. Sit- 
 ting on the edge of the bed in the midst of a turbulent 
 ocean of patchwork quilt, one shoe on and the other 
 dangling in his hand, he had to rehearse over and 
 over again the story of the day. Each time that he 
 came to his own personal clash with the invaders he 
 grew more truculent. 
 
 "... An' they standin' there, the big, ugly loafers, 
 up to their belts in water, layin' their traps right 
 under my eyes! I says to 'em, I says: 
 
 "Git out o' here. Don't you know you're law- 
 breakers and thieves?' 
 
310 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "They says, 'Git out yerself, old feller, and git 
 out quick, or we'll drown ye!' 
 
 "I says, 'That's what you've been threatenin', 
 you and the likes of you, any time these three years. 
 Now I give ye fair warnin',' I says, 'I'm done with 
 ye. I'll have no more nonsense from ye. No, sir! 
 B'gosh!' says I, 'if ye ever darst to come here again 
 I'll jest slough ye!' 
 
 "So then I went off and left 'em. I wouldn't 
 demean myself with argyin' with such no further. 
 And after nightfall a chance come to get word in to 
 the settlement " 
 
 "Let him put that other shoe on, for Heaven's 
 sake, or we won't get away till daylight," whispered 
 the Lieutenant to the Trooper sitting by the bunk. 
 
 The Trooper went outside and counted stars. 
 
 They bounced along the wood-roads a mile or so 
 farther, and then, under the old man's guidance, cut 
 in on foot. He displayed a rabbit's knowledge of the 
 place minute and accurate. Finally, between half- 
 past two and three o'clock, at some distance ahead, 
 through the underbrush, appeared the dull light of a 
 low fire. 
 
 "That fire," said Allardyce, trembling with excite- 
 ment, "is on the far side of yonder road, on the top 
 of the bank and back a little. Opposite to it, on the 
 side of the road, is an ice-house. Below, to the left, is 
 Hemlock Run, where trout is plenty. That 's the place 
 where they've got their fyke net the villains! But 
 I'll fix 'em this time, so I will!" and he shook his 
 fist ferociously. 
 
 The detail moved quietly up to the ice-house, a 
 
NO STORY AT ALL 311 
 
 big, dim hulk in the darkness. Against the wall away 
 from the road leaned a ladder, reaching to the roof- 
 tree. The Lieutenant climbed the ladder, hoping 
 from that height to get a glimpse of those around the 
 fire. But naught could be seen. The interlacing 
 underbrush confused the view, and no one was stir- 
 ring. To advance on the place, crackling twigs, would 
 merely serve to warn the quarry, who would fade 
 away into leafy nothingness in the twinkling of an 
 eye. So the only course was to sit tight, awaiting de- 
 velopments with the dawn. 
 
 At last pale patches began to show between the 
 hemlock-tops overhead. Birds stirred, with broken 
 twitterings. And then of a sudden the fire shot up 
 into a blaze, where some one had kicked it and thrown 
 on a log. 
 
 "They're going to make a cup of coffee, then draw 
 their nets and get away before daylight," whispered 
 the Lieutenant, from the depths of experience. 
 
 He gathered his forces, made a forward movement, 
 hid again in the underbrush, and waited. 
 
 In a very few moments, talking together as men do 
 who still have sleep in their throats, three figures, 
 heels first, came lumbering down the slope from the 
 camp-fire. Two of them crashed on along the bank 
 toward the point where Allardyce had said their net 
 was set. The third moved up toward the ambush. 
 
 The Lieutenant waited until the pair, wading into 
 the stream, were actually lifting the fyke. Then : 
 
 "Go arrest them," said he to the Trooper, indicat- 
 ing that the Recruit should follow. 
 
 As the two officers quietly left cover, the third 
 
312 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 and nearest poacher caught sight of them. Horror- 
 stricken, yet thinking himself unseen, he turned to 
 warn his mates. Not daring to lift his voice, he stood 
 like a disordered semaphore, wildly waving his arms 
 and pointing. Too late. His mates saw him well 
 enough, but they saw the Troopers also. The sight 
 seemed to paralyze both their brains and the legs 
 under them. Net in hand, they stood transfixed. 
 
 Then the Lieutenant stepped into the open, mov- 
 ing toward the signaller, who now first became aware 
 of his presence. Big, powerful hulk that he was, the 
 fellow stood lowering, obviously weighing resistance 
 or attack, as he balanced his fish-spear ominously. 
 
 At that instant, in the brush just behind him, ap- 
 peared a strange vision appeared the detached 
 head of Allardyce, supported by its long gray whiskers 
 even as the heads of the cherubim are supported by 
 their several wings Allardyce, who, lost to sight for 
 a moment, had been prospecting on his own account 
 and who now fancied himself the only discoverer of 
 the poachers' awakening. 
 
 "S'st! S'st! They're comin'I They're comin'!" 
 His whisper rose like the whisper of steam from a 
 locomotive, as, craning his neck over the sheep- 
 laurel thicket, he beckoned the Lieutenant violently. 
 
 Just as the words left his lips, he perceived the 
 broad back of the poacher, not ten feet in front of 
 him. His jaw dropped. His face bleached green in 
 the dim dawn of the woods. Then the brush closed 
 softly, softly over him, and before the enemy could 
 fairly turn and locate the sound he had made, he was 
 as invisible as a tree-toad and as harmless. 
 
NO STORY AT ALL 313 
 
 Said the Lieutenant, walking quietly toward the 
 angry giant: "State Police Officer. I arrest you." 
 To which, after the briefest attempt to return his 
 captor's gaze, the delinquent meekly submitted. 
 
 "Now we will walk over and look at your outfit," 
 remarked Lieutenant Price affably. 
 
 Around the camp-fire lay a lot of fish, some speared, 
 some netted; the ordinary camp supplies, two cases 
 of beer, a more than liberal allowance of* whiskey, 
 and, end to the blaze, a pile of blankets of unusual 
 size. 
 
 Struck by the shape of the pile, the Lieutenant 
 gingerly plucked one corner from the far end of the 
 heap, lifted it a trifle and looked inside on the face 
 of a sleeper. Automatically his hand dropped. But 
 the outline of that face He lifted the corner again, 
 for another brief survey of the nose and eyebrow. 
 
 "Who is that fellow?" he inquired of his prisoner. 
 
 "That fellow," growled the giant, "is my wife." 
 
 Very quietly, very gently, the Lieutenant retreated, 
 propelling his man back down the bank, and handing 
 him over to the detail for safe-keeping. Then he set 
 out on a side-trip of mercy, to make sure that Al- 
 lardyce had effected his escape and was safely out of 
 sight. 
 
 Returning, satisfied, his eye encountered a new 
 figure. High on the stream-bank, solitary, stood 
 a young Napoleon gazing upon Waterloo. Arms 
 folded, tight-breeched legs wide apart, hat over eyes, 
 chin on breast, attention fixed in gloomy abstraction, 
 he stood like an image of bronze. But his very soli- 
 tude screamed for interruption and his contours could 
 
314 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 not be questioned. The Lieutenant, shying, swung a 
 wide detour, to join the detail at the camp-fire. 
 
 "How did you come into these woods?" he de- 
 manded of the prisoners. 
 
 "By automobile." 
 
 "Is the car coming after you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Six o'clock this morning." 
 
 "Very well. We will take you three prisoners, the 
 fish you have caught, and your fyke and fishing-traps 
 in our car. Your own conveyance can take out your 
 proper belongings later on. Now pick up the stuff. 
 We'll be going." 
 
 The two of the fyke-net hastened by obedience to 
 acquire such merit as they might, and, laden with 
 the proof of their sin, started ahead on the outward 
 trail, closely guarded by the Trooper and his eager 
 understudy. 
 
 The Lieutenant remained a moment behind. The 
 camp-fire must be quenched to the last spark; he 
 intended his captive to perform that operation. Sul- 
 lenly kicking it apart, the giant stamped it over with 
 his great water-boots. Then, some points of red still 
 gleaming, he snatched two bottles of beer from the 
 case on the ground, knocked their heads off, nipped 
 one neck between each thumb and forefinger, and, 
 legs astride, stood with his chin to the sky, draining 
 the first while he emptied the second at full arm's 
 length upon the sizzling embers. The last spark dead, 
 "March!" ordered the Lieutenant, and started his 
 man in the wake of the vanguard. 
 
NO STORY AT ALL 315 
 
 Then from the steep a hollow shriek, sobs, broken 
 cries, loud weeping; Napoleon had found his voice, 
 and it was no frail organ. 
 
 "She's scared!" grumbled the giant, with scant 
 evidence of sympathy. "Doesn't like being left 
 alone." 
 
 Said the Lieutenant: "Go over and tell her to be 
 patient, to wait here quietly and take care of the 
 stuff, till your car comes in for her." 
 
 Which being accomplished and the wails hushed, 
 the rear division fell in, and had soon covered the dis- 
 tance to the waiting Troop motor. 
 
 Then the Lieutenant took thought once again of 
 poor old Allardyce, left all alone in those big, dark 
 woods without a neighbor, with nothing but private 
 authority to stiffen him poor old Allardyce, of a 
 certainty shaking in his shoes at this very moment. 
 What if some suspicion did lurk in these rascals' minds 
 that to him they owed their undoing? Then, indeed, 
 were his fears well-founded. Something must be done 
 to square him. For a moment the young officer con- 
 sidered. Then he called to the man at the wheel : 
 
 "Run down to that watchman's shanty, where we 
 stopped coming in." 
 
 Every aperture was tight shut in the cabin under 
 the rock; effect of a householder dead to the world, 
 rounding out a ten hours' slumber. 
 
 "Pound on that door. Wake him up!" roared the 
 Lieutenant. "I don't leave these woods till I've 
 shown light to that citizen." 
 
 In a moment, propelled by the hand of the Re- 
 cruit, out came the old man, wavering pitifully. The 
 
316 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 Recruit's gaze was very wide as he towered erect as 
 a white-wood behind his convoy. But his ruddy 
 young face was admirably stony. 
 
 "Good! You're the man I found here last night," 
 the Lieutenant bit out in tones of stinging wrath. 
 "Now, listen and understand. The next time a State 
 Police officer asks information of you, take care you tell 
 him the truth and the whole truth, tell it quick, and be 
 civil about it. This is your warning!" 
 
 As the speaker finished, his off eyelid closed lightly. 
 
 The old man proved no laggard in the uptake. 
 "Yes, sir," he mumbled, sliding rapidly into a sulky 
 slouch. 
 
 And all the way out of the woods the Recruit 
 wrestled in his own mind with a foolish illusion that 
 he had seen the shadow of a quiver in the nigh eye of 
 old Allardyce. 
 
 "So we got home about an hour ago, put our guests 
 in our safe-deposit box, dumped the exhibits under 
 the roses, got a bath and a shave and breakfast 
 and now you have the story from A to Z inclusive." ; 
 
 "What's the next move with the people in the 
 safe-deposit? " 
 
 "J. P." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Now. Want to come along?" 
 
 The Justice of the Peace holds his court in a little 
 one-story pagoda, lately the shop of the village cob- 
 bler. Perhaps the cobbler has died, or inherited 
 means, or gone to Pittsburgh to make munitions. 
 Anyway, his counter is bare, and his shelves, once 
 
NO STORY AT ALL 317 
 
 dedicated to shiny-toed shoes, blacking, and laces, 
 now display nothing more than a few odd volumes of 
 old law reports, sustained considerably off the per- 
 pendicular by a chunky "Compendium of Human 
 Knowledge" and by a "Digest of the Laws of Penn- 
 sylvania." 
 
 The only furnishings in the room are the Justice's 
 desk, four wooden chairs, a rocker, and a dim-chim- 
 neyed kerosene bracket-lamp. An old sleigh-bell, 
 suspended over the door on a swan's-neck of rusty 
 tin, gives a feeble clink as the door opens, thereby 
 flying in the face of the legend printed with many 
 flourishes on a bit of green paper stuck to the opposite 
 wall. 
 
 "Keep Your Tongue Still," says the legend. 
 
 The Justice, sitting at his desk, gravely returns 
 the salute of the entering officers of the State Police. 
 There are four of them now the Lieutenant, the 
 Trooper, the Recruit, and the First Sergeant of the 
 Troop, who will conduct the prosecution. The Justice 
 is rather a ponderous man, perhaps sixty-five years 
 old, with a kindly, painstaking face and a big, honest 
 nose bestridden by a pair of steel-bowed spectacles. 
 His right sleeve hangs empty, pinned to his shoulder. 
 
 The prisoners are now seated before him. The 
 first two are middle-aged men; the third, the giant, is 
 in his late twenties. One has the face of a drunkard, 
 one is twin to an ox, and the last, more clearly cut, 
 is in a primitive way handsome. Yesterday's beard 
 bristles on their chins, and their thick, curly locks 
 are tousled. Each man of them must weigh two hun- 
 dred pounds, variously distributed; and in their stiff, 
 
318 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 yellow canvas hunting-suits and their big water-boots, 
 they look colossi hulking, shambling colossi, every 
 one of them. Eyes on the floor, elbows on knees, they 
 sprawl in their chairs, glumly contemplating the bat- 
 tered tin pail planted in their midst. 
 
 That pail is full of expiring fish, calling with their 
 last gasps for vengeance! 
 
 Attracted by the glimpse afforded through the 
 uncurtained windows, a passing citizen stops, stares, 
 and then abandons his errand for the entertainment 
 of the moment. He pushes open the door, nods to the 
 Justice and to the State Police officers, and silently 
 vaults to a seat on the counter, where he settles him- 
 self to observe, swinging his legs comfortably. 
 
 Next the village clergyman and his theologue son, 
 on their way to the post-office, are caught by the 
 scene and enter. The divine bows first to the Justice. 
 Then he goes over and claps the Lieutenant on the 
 shoulder, as he grasps his hand. 
 
 "Always at the good work, I see," he whispers, 
 and ranges himself beside the officer. 
 
 But the theologue, with a cheerful anticipatory 
 grin, joins the leg-swinger on the counter. They say 
 the lad already preaches good sermons and that he 
 likes to draw his sub-texts from points nearer home 
 than Palestine. 
 
 A small boy slips in; a farmer, glancing down from 
 the box of his Conestoga as he drives by, reins up, 
 hitches his team to the maple tree at the door, and 
 joins the assembly. Two interested citizens follow 
 him and the room is full. Dead silence reigns, persist- 
 ent, extraordinary. Is it the four stern young figures, 
 
NO STORY AT ALL 319 
 
 grave of face, perfect of bearing, faultless of dress, 
 wearing the sombre uniform of the State, who by 
 their mere presence impose it? 
 
 The trial opens. The First Sergeant, quiet, erect, 
 soldierly, and utterly competent, stands at the Jus- 
 tice's side. Thomas Stone, Henry Landulik, and Wil- 
 liam Haddon are duly charged with "Using Unlaw- 
 ful Devices in a Trout Stream." "Guilty," pleads 
 Stone, of the drink-sodden countenance. "Guilty," 
 pleads Landulik, twin to the ox. 
 
 "Not guilty," growls Haddon the giant. 
 
 The Lieutenant does n't even look bored. The 
 First Sergeant calls him to testify. He tells his tale 
 very briefly and with exceeding clarity both of state- 
 ment and of diction. But the good old Justice, plod- 
 ding after him with laborious pen, loses the thread 
 after the first two phrases. Therefore, the officer, with 
 respectful courtesy, goes back to the beginning and 
 repeats his statement, four or five words at a time, 
 pausing at each interval for the gray head bending 
 over the stiff fingers to nod release. The story, as 
 completed, presents all the facts essential to convic- 
 tion, and presents them in the most terse and consecu- 
 tive shape. 
 
 "Do you wish to ask me any questions?" the Lieu- 
 tenant inquires of Haddon. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 Then the First Sergeant calls the Trooper, who, 
 duly sworn, testifies as ably as did his officer, while 
 the Justice, prompted from point to point by the 
 quiet suggestions of the First Sergeant in his capacity 
 of Prosecutor for the State, asks questions whose 
 
320 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 answers again underscore the vital, incriminating 
 facts. This complaint will never fail in a court of rec- 
 ord on certiorari. 
 
 Then comes the turn of the fledgling Recruit. 
 Rigid, and blushing furiously under his superior's 
 eyes, the lad yet shows how well he is learning his 
 lessons. He tells his story like the clear thinker he is 
 bound to make of himself, without one extra or re- 
 considered word, and he answers all questions as 
 straight and clear as a bell answers its clapper. 
 
 The Lieutenant cannot repress a movement of 
 pride. "What do you think of my little Recruit? " he 
 whispers . ' * Promising ? ' ' 
 
 But now Haddon is being sworn and takes the 
 oath and fulfils the succeeding formalities with a cor- 
 rect anticipation of requirements that tells its own 
 story. Never, he testifies, notwithstanding never 
 before has he been under arrest in all his blameless 
 existence. He went out with these his friends for a 
 little lawful fishing. He fished with his hands and with 
 a pole. He never saw or heard of a fyke. And when 
 the fish stopped biting, he laid himself down by the 
 fire and slept soundly till morning. At dawn he arose, 
 went down to the stream and examined his poles; and 
 was quietly returning to camp again, when, behold! 
 the State Police jumped out from nowhere, with- 
 out shadow of provocation, and inexplicably arrested 
 him. 
 
 Then came the turn of the Prosecuting Officer. 
 Without any raising of the voice, without any extra 
 emphasis or apparent pressure, the First Sergeant's 
 whole being flamed subtly trenchant, poised to win. 
 
NO STORY AT ALL 321 
 
 His questions, quiet and seemingly simple, drove 
 sharp, direct, incisive, obviously aimed straight at 
 some clearly sighted goal. His material feet assuredly 
 remained on the same spot by the Justice's side, yet 
 you could have sworn that with each close-clipped 
 phrase, there were not a dozen words in the longest 
 of them, he crowded the prisoner one pace farther 
 toward the wall. Then came three bullet-like de- 
 mands, three answering statements well foreseen 
 and bang/ fell the trap caught beyond struggle in 
 a hopelessly incriminating lie. 
 
 The Justice raises his eyes to the officer with the un- 
 questioning confidence of a child. His spectacles slip 
 down on his nose while, without a word, the First 
 Sergeant turns to the shelf, takes down the law book, 
 and lays it, open, before the magistrate, with his 
 finger on paragraph and line. 
 
 "In regard to Stone and Landulik," says he, "I 
 would ask, they having pleaded guilty, that you im- 
 pose a fine of twenty dollars upon each of them, for 
 one violation of the law. In regard to Mr. Haddon, 
 there are three counts the using of an illegal device 
 in a trout stream, the operating of a net without a 
 metallic tag attached, and the using of a spear out of 
 season in a trout stream. I ask twenty dollars on each 
 charge, or a sixty-dollar fine." 
 
 The Squire turned to the prisoners, addressing 
 them. 
 
 "Mr. Haddon," said he, "you are found guilty by 
 the evidence given against you on three charges, and 
 fined twenty dollars on each. If you are not prepared 
 to pay the fine and costs, then you are committed to 
 
322 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 the jail of this County, one day for each dollar, or 
 sixty days in jail. Stone and Landulik are fined 
 twenty dollars and costs each, or twenty days in 
 jail." 
 
 The First Sergeant, the while, had been observing 
 the giant with a critical eye. Now he asked him a 
 question aside, then addressed himself once more to 
 the Justice. 
 
 "Mr. Haddon wishes to reopen the case and to be 
 allowed to change his plea from 'Not guilty' to 
 'Guilty.' If you allow his request, I would ask that 
 he pay the same fine as that laid upon the other two 
 prisoners." 
 
 "On your plea of 'Guilty,' Mr. Haddon, I fine 
 you twenty dollars," the Squire responds, without 
 hesitation. 
 
 "Now," says the First Sergeant, dropping his State 
 Prosecutor's manner, "what do you men choose, jail 
 or pay?" 
 
 The three look dolefully at their boots, speechless. 
 At last Stone sighs out "I ain't got no twenty 
 dollars. Guess I hafter take jail." 
 
 "S'pose so" "Same here," groan the others. 
 
 A pause. Not one sign of sympathy on the part of 
 the powers of the law. 
 
 "Well, Stone," observes the Lieutenant dryly, "if 
 you and Landulik have both invested all your money 
 in cash registers and corner property, I think the 
 least that Haddon can do is to save you from jail. 
 He keeps the saloon!" 
 
 At which destructive home truth the masks of all 
 three break down. They grin sheepishly. 
 
NO STORY AT ALL 323 
 
 "Can I go home and get the cash for us?" asks 
 Haddon. 
 
 As the canvas-clad trio, now entirely restored to 
 good-humor, lumbered off down the road under the 
 shepherding care of the Trooper, I turned to the 
 Lieutenant with a question or two. 
 
 "Why did you threaten to come down so hard on 
 the giant?" 
 
 "Because he lied and tried to escape us; to show 
 him that we were perfectly willing and ready to take 
 our case to court if he desired it; to show that we will 
 fight if they drive us to it; to remind them that we 
 present no charge that we cannot sustain." 
 
 "Why were you so easy with them all in the end?" 
 
 " Because these three, as it happens, are not really 
 bad men, and the penalty we asked was severe enough 
 for them." 
 
 "Why did you keep the woman entirely out of the 
 matter? Was n't she equally guilty with the rest? 
 And you never even spoke of her!" 
 
 The Lieutenant's face took on a look of patient 
 martyrdom. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " I '11 answer that, too. It's like this : 
 We figure that you should spare the women wher- 
 ever it's possible. And that you can use sense. One 
 in a family is enough to strike. You need n't rub it 
 
 in." 
 
 Later, down at Barracks, he took from his desk 
 a sheaf of manuscript, the first examination papers 
 of the newest probation men. The Lieutenant had 
 framed the questions himself, to test the calibre of 
 his lads. 
 
324 THE STANDARD-BEARERS 
 
 "Look here," he said, singling out a sheet. "Per- 
 haps this will help." 
 
 Under the typewritten question, "What are the 
 first essentials required of an officer of the Pennsyl- 
 vania State Police Force?" stood the following words, 
 in the loose, boyish script of the fledgling Recruit: 
 "To know the law exactly. To do your whole duty 
 and do it quick. To be gentle and courteous always. 
 And never take any one's bluff." 
 
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