The Great Oakdale Mystery

“Then what’s he doing, hiding here?” questioned Hubbard incredulously. “Mebbe you can explain that.”

“Yes, yes,” faltered Fred, “perhaps – I can.”

“Don’t try it,” implored the prisoner quickly. “It won’t do any good, Fred; they wouldn’t believe you. I should have gone away yesterday and saved you all this trouble.”

“It’s awful,” choked young Sage – “awful for you! Oh, what made you come here at all!”

“Simply because I was a fool and couldn’t keep away,” was the bitter answer.

“This ain’t no place to chin it over,” said the constable sharply. “It’s my business to lodge this here gent in the lockup, and I’m going to do so jest about as quick as I can.”

“Wait a minute,” pleaded Fred. “My mother doesn’t know. She’s in the house. Doubtless she’s in terror now because of all these armed men around the place. Wait two minutes, until I can go inside and prevent her from looking out of the window when you take Clar – this man away. Won’t you do that much, Mr. Hubbard?”

“I don’t see no reason why I shouldn’t. Go ahead, young feller, and soothe down your mammy. I’ll give ye jest two minutes, and then we’ll march this feller off to the caboose.”

Flinging a final resentful look at Piper, Fred hurried into the house. Sleuth, preening himself proudly, could not refrain from giving Hooker another jab.

“You did a good thing for yourself, Hook,” he sneered. “By going back on me, you cut yourself out of any share in the reward money. We’ve got the feller who calls himself James Wilson; there’s no doubt about that. Furthermore, you must have observed that Fred called him Clarence, which fully confirms my deduction that Clarence Sage is not dead, although an unknown man was buried under that name.”

“It looks as if you’re right, Pipe,” admitted Roy sadly; “but losing a share of the reward don’t hurt me half as much as knowing what this means to Fred and his folks.”

“Time’s up,” announced Constable Hubbard, snapping shut the case of his silver watch and dropping it into his pocket. “Come on, Mr. Crook; for’ard, march!”

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE TWO PRISONERS

As the key rattled in the lock of the heavily barred door the wounded prisoner looked up from the cot on which he was lying and saw the second captive marched into the room by Constable Hubbard.

“I guess,” said the constable, “I can chance it to take the irons off ye while you’re in here, for we’ve got the place guarded by men who would shoot ye quick as they’d spit if you ever did break out, which ain’t nohow prob’le.”

“Thank you,” said the man, as Hubbard removed the handcuffs. “I won’t try to break out, I promise you that.”

“And I’d be a fool if I took any stock in your promise,” said the fat officer, as he backed out of the room, closing and relocking the door.

With a grimace of pain, the wounded man lifted himself to a sitting posture on the cot. The eyes of the two prisoners met.

“So they nabbed you after all, Thirteen-thirteen,” said the first prisoner. “Tough luck, old pal. I told yer to lay low.”

The other man shrugged his shoulders. “I did,” he answered; “but they surrounded the place and had me pinched, so there was no use trying to make a run for it. If I’d tried that, the chances were a hundred to one that the damage to your wing wouldn’t have been a patch compared to what would have happened to me.”

“Tough luck,” repeated the other. “But they can’t do anything to yer for this job we made such a rotten mess of. I won’t forget how you tied up this shoulder of mine, nor how the kid did his best to give me a show to get away. I’ll swear you wasn’t mixed up in the job here.”

The younger man smiled wearily. “It’s not fear of their nailing this business onto me that gets me,” he said; “it’s the old case against me. I was supposed to be dead and buried, you know. Yes, it’s tough luck. I was born under an unlucky star on the thirteenth day of the month. In prison I was ‘Number 1313,’ and that was a double sign of bad luck.”

“You made a great break, you and your two pals. When they nabbed the other pair and couldn’t find you, it seemed that all the luck was yours. Course, arter I did my bit and was turned loose, I heard you had croaked. When I was sitting on that box just at day peep trying to stop the blood that was leaking out of me and you stepped out to give a hand at the job, you certain looked like a ghost. I couldn’t believe you was old Thirteen-thirteen till you owned up to it. Then the youngster come on us, and we had to – ”

“That’s the thing I regret most. Look here, Riley, you owe me something, don’t you?”

“Anything you say, old pal.”

“I bound up your wound the best way I could. My brother caught me at it. Then we had to bring him into the business, knowing that the searchers were likely to trace you to that place. If they did so, it was a sure thing that I’d be nabbed, which must lead to the public knowledge that Clarence Sage, escaped convict, had not been drowned in the Hudson. In hopes of avoiding this, my brother guided you into the woods and helped you as best as he could to get another start in your flight.”

“The kid done his part all right, pal.”

“Now I want you to do yours, Riley.”

“Spiel it off. Lay it out. Put me on. What am I to do?”

“Not one word about my brother and the part he played must escape your lips. He did it for me, not for you, but you owe him this much: you must protect him.”

“Bank on it, cull – bank on it. They’ll never jimmy a word of it outer me.”

“Thanks,” said Clarence Sage, taking the single chair which the lockup contained and seating himself near the cot. “That relieves my mind in a measure. Fred’s a fine boy, and it would be a shame to have suspicion fall on him. My misfortune has cast enough stigma on my unfortunate family.”

“Say, ’bo, there’s just one thing about you that I don’t like. You don’t have to put up this misfortune bluff to me. Course it’s always hard luck when we get laid by the heels on any little job, but seems to me you’re throwing it out that you was on the level.”

“I was,” asserted Clarence Sage grimly, almost fiercely. “I was arrested, tried and convicted for a crime I never committed. If this were not true, I wouldn’t think of saying so now. Somebody else looted the bank, and I believe I know the man. It was on his testimony principally that I was convicted. He saved himself, but the knowledge that he sent an innocent man to Sing Sing may possibly have caused him some uneasy and regretful moments.”

“Well,” said Riley slowly, as he narrowly eyed his fellow prisoner, “you spiels it like you was talking gospel. Mebbe it’s true.”

“It is true,” asserted Clarence Sage. “Think what it meant, Riley, not only to me, but to my people. I have the finest mother a boy ever had. The thought of her shame and suffering has been gall and wormwood to me.”

“My old mother,” said Riley, with a touch of sentiment, “was dead and buried before I was pinched the first time, thank Heaven!”

Sage bowed his head and spoke in a low tone, his gaze fixed upon the floor.

“It was to get another look at my mother’s face that I returned to Oakdale. I was here a week ago, and I went away without obtaining a glimpse of her. In all the years that I was supposed to be dead I have carried her image in my heart, and it was the knowledge of her faith in me – for she never believed me guilty – that kept me straight, I believe. I’ve knocked about in many places and associated with all sorts of men, some of them honest, but many more who were crooks. I’ve roughed it in Alaska, sailed before the mast, starved and nearly died from fever in the Philippines, tried my hand at coal mining in Australia; and through it all the knowledge of my mother’s faith has kept me straight, even though I’ve had many a chance to turn a good thing by crookedness. At last, believing there was little danger, I came back and hunted for my people. I found them here, and here I have likewise found my undoing.”

“Tough luck,” said Riley again. “They’ll send you back to the jug.”

“No doubt of it. I’ll have to serve out my term, with an additional period hitched on to it because of my break. There’s water in my veins, Riley; the dread of what I’m up against takes the heart out of me. Perhaps you don’t know what it is to be sent to prison with the knowledge that you’re innocent and serving time for the crime of another man.”

“It must be fierce,” said Riley sympathetically. “And you say he put it on you at the trial? Pal, if I was in your boots, he’d get hisn some day. When I’d done my turn and been discharged, I’d look the gent up and hand him something he’d remember – if he was in shape to remember anything.”

“That would be poor satisfaction to me. It wouldn’t clear my name of the crime. It might mean that I’d be sent up again for another, still greater, crime. The only thing in this wide world that can ever give me the least satisfaction is proof of my innocence. I’ve dreamed of it – dreamed of it a million times. I’ve dreamed of standing before the world free and exonerated. Of going to my old mother and feeling her arms about my neck and her tears upon my cheeks, and hearing her glad cry, ‘I knew it, my boy – I knew it!’ Nothing but that, Riley, can ever satisfy me, and if there’s any justice under Heaven it will come some day.”

“I hope so, pal – I hope so,” said Riley, with genuine sympathy. “I’m just a plain crook, and nothing else; but for an honest man to be marked as a crook by the bulls and people in general – why, that’s blazes, sure.”

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE SHREDS OF HOPE

During the time that Clarence Sage had been practically in hiding upon the premises of his parents his mother had been wholly unaware of his proximity. Resigned in her belief that her unfortunate son lay buried in another state, Mrs. Sage had bravely endeavored to make the best of the terrible affliction which had come upon her at a period of her life when all things had seemed the most promising of happiness and prosperity. Never for a moment, even after the jury had pronounced him guilty and he had been sentenced to prison, had Mrs. Sage entertained a doubt regarding the innocence of her older son. As far as possible the newspaper reports of the young man’s escape from prison were kept from her; but in time, when, many weeks later, Andrew Sage had viewed the body of a man recovered from the Hudson and pronounced it that of Clarence, it had been necessary to tell her the crushing and terrible truth.

For a time the poor woman was prostrated and under the constant care of a physician. During that period the body of the drowned man was buried and a tombstone bearing the name of Clarence Sage was placed over the grave.

With commendable knowledge of feminine nature, the physician, finally perceiving that drugs or medicines of any sort would never help Mrs. Sage, succeeded in rousing her by turning her mind from herself to her husband; by leading her gradually to believe that the shock of the tragedy had benumbed Andrew Sage and threatened to crush him entirely unless something could be done to encourage him to brace up; by convincing her that she alone could do this, and that it was her duty to make the effort.

The result was most surprising. The sick woman rose from her bed, and, seconded by the younger son, set about the task of cheering and encouraging the stricken father. She pleaded with him to turn his thoughts from their dead son and to remember that Heaven had graciously spared them another son, to whom they owed a duty which must not be forgotten. She forced herself to smile, and in time the sunshine of that smile, even though tempered a bit with the faintest cloud of sorrow, which promised never wholly to leave her, drove most of the black shadows of bitter resentment from the heart of old Andrew Sage. In time they came to talk the matter over calmly, and decided to leave their home in New York, where, were they to remain, they must be continually reminded of that which they wished to forget, and move to some obscure town in another state.

And so it happened that, after many years of hardships and wandering and constant yearning for the sight of his mother’s face, the young man who was supposed to be dead traced them to that little town. Through a window of the house he had tried to get a look at his mother, but had been sent scurrying away by Fred, who, discovering the prowler, came out and circled the buildings.

That very night Clarence tramped onward to another village, resolved to return no more to Oakdale. He had learned that his parents and his brother were comfortably settled there and apparently peaceful and happy, and he told himself that the knowledge was sufficient.

But he had not seen his mother’s face, and each hour and each day the yearning to do so grew stronger within him, until presently it made him falter, broke his resolution and caused him to turn back.

Fred, returning home from the disappointing duck hunt at Marsh Pond, was seen by Clarence, who suddenly decided to let his brother know that he still lived. The reader may imagine the state of mind into which this meeting between the brothers threw Fred Sage. It was this mental condition which caused his thoughts to wander in the football game that afternoon and made him responsible for much of the bad playing and many of the flukes which prevented the home team from piling up a bigger score in the earlier stages of the game, and thus encouraged the visitors to keep plugging with all the energy and aggressiveness they could work up, until eventually they swept Oakdale down in defeat.

For two nights Clarence Sage slept upon some blankets in the stable granary. After seeing and talking with Clarence several times, Fred decided that their father should be taken into the great secret – should be told that the boy he thought dead was still living.

“If I know father,” argued Fred, “and I think I do, it will do him a heap of good. On the other hand, I’m just as sure that it would be a big mistake to let mother know. She’d want you to stay near her, that she might be able to see you, and she would live in constant terror lest the truth become known and you were taken back to prison. She has struggled hard to forget you in a way, Clarence – that is, to put you out of her mind so that she might cease to brood over that dreadful thing.”

Clarence agreed with Fred, and thus it came about that on Sunday old Andrew Sage came to know the amazing truth that his unfortunate son still lived. While Fred entertained his mother in the house the bewildered father talked with Clarence in the stable.

At first old Andrew had thought that his wife must be told, but it was not difficult to convince him that this would be unwise. He spent as much time as possible talking with Clarence, who told him briefly the story of his experiences since escaping from prison, and together they laid plans for the future. Only once did Clarence declare to his father his innocence of the crime for which he had been convicted. Mr. Sage checked him promptly, stating positively that such a protestation was unnecessary, as he had never permitted himself for a single instant to entertain any doubts upon that point.

Clarence thought of going away Sunday night, but he had no money in his pocket, and, learning this, his father practically commanded him to wait until Monday, when he would draw from the bank and furnish the wanderer with funds, which might be taken as a loan and repaid when convenient. Thus it happened that Clarence lingered, finally to be captured as one of the bank robbers by Constable Hubbard.

As he had expected, when he hurried into the house to quiet her apprehensions, Fred found his mother much disturbed by the presence of the armed men whom she had seen through the windows.

“What does it mean, my boy?” she asked, her face quite pale. “Why are they here?”

“They’re hunting everywhere for the bank robbers, you know,” was the answer. “There’s no telling where the scoundrels may have taken refuge.”

“But not here – they can’t expect to find any of them here!”

“Perhaps they don’t really expect to find them, but they can’t afford to overlook the possibility. Why, what’s happened out here?” As he uttered this exclamation he hurried to a window at the back of the house and peered through it, pressing his face against the glass.

The little subterfuge was sufficient. His mother likewise hastened to the window and looked forth, questioning him agitatedly.

“Two of the men out there – I saw them running, I thought,” he answered. “They were running toward the corner. I didn’t know but they had seen something. Look, mother, at that big tree at the edge of the orchard. Father had to prop the limbs up when it was loaded with fruit. It must be pruned.” In this manner he kept her at the window until he was quite certain that the men with the prisoner had vanished down the road toward town.

Afterward he waited with no small impatience for the return of his father from the village. He did not contemplate for a moment leaving his mother alone. Ordinarily he might have done so, but, now that she knew of the attempted bank robbery and had seen the armed man-hunters, she was pitifully pale and almost bordering upon complete collapse. Fred knew that her mind had been led to thoughts of Clarence and what he must have suffered in prison and as a fugitive with the armed guards hunting him across the frozen bosom of the Hudson.

Fred’s own mind was in a scarcely less tumultuous and painful condition, but he tried his best to lead his mother’s thoughts into pleasanter channels. All the while, having placed himself where he could watch the road, he waited for the coming of his father.

In time Andrew Sage appeared, walking briskly, although his shoulders were a trifle stooped. At once Fred made an excuse and hurried to meet his father.

As the boy drew near, he became assured by the old man’s appearance that he did not know that Clarence had been taken.

“Father,” said Fred hurriedly, “I want a word with you before you go into the house. Something has happened.”

“What is it?” asked Andrew Sage, a sudden shadow of apprehension clouding his face. “Uncle Ed Tower just told me that another one of the robbers has been caught.”

“Father,” said Fred, standing with his back toward the house, “what I am going to tell you will be a shock, and it’s possible that mother is watching us from the window. You must not let her see that you’re affected.”

The man’s face grew suddenly ashen.

“Clarence?” he muttered hoarsely.

“Do brace up,” urged Fred. “They came here to search for one of the robbers. They had been told that he was hiding in our stable.”

“And they found Clarence?”

“Yes. He gave himself up when he realized that it was useless to try to hide.”

“But – but he had – nothing to do with the attempted robbery. They had no right to touch him for that. Didn’t he tell them?”

“What good would that have done, father? He was found concealed in our stable, and he’s a stranger in this town. You can see that no explanation he could possibly make would keep them from locking him up.”

“But they have no right to touch him!” cried Mr. Sage, with a sudden vehement gesture.

“Steady, father. Remember about mother. She does not know. I kept her diverted while they took him away. You must be strong. We must continue as long as possible to hide the truth from her.”

“But it will all come out now,” groaned the old man, his shoulders drooping more than ever. “It’s my fault – my fault! Why didn’t I let the boy go yesterday? I am to blame!”

“No one is to blame, father. It’s just fate. It had to come.”

“But – but if they find he’s not one of the robbers – if he can prove that he’s not,” said Andrew Sage eagerly, “perhaps they will let him go.”

“That’s my only hope, and it’s a slim one, father. We mustn’t base too much upon it.” Even as he said this, Fred realized how futile that hope was. For had not Sleuth Piper, by prying and spying, learned the truth, which would mean full exposure for Clarence? Still, it was not best to let Andrew Sage know at present how desperate the situation was.

“I’m going into town and see what can be done,” said Fred. “You’re completely upset, father, but still you must keep it from mother. If they capture the other robbers there may yet be a chance – a very small chance – for Clarence.”

“It’s fate,” mumbled Mr. Sage, repeating the words the boy had spoken a few moments before – “fate! It would have been better had he never come here; better had he left us in ignorance that he was alive.”

He swayed, and Fred clutched his arm, again entreating him to brace up.

“I’m tired, tired!” sighed old Andrew Sage, his face drawn and haggard. “I must rest.”

Alarmed, Fred said, “I’ll help you to the house.”

In a moment, however, Mr. Sage drew himself up and protested that he needed no assistance.

“Your mother, boy – your mother,” he murmured. “She will see and be frightened. I’m all right now; I’m strong. You see what more you can learn, and if it’s anything favorable let me know as soon as possible. Look! You can see that I’m all right now. Go!”

Bravely, sturdily he started onward toward the house, even turning to wave his hand and throw the boy a mock smile, which at that distance might deceive the eyes of the woman within the house.

After watching the old man for a few moments, Fred turned toward the village, breaking into a run ere he had passed beyond sight of his home.

CHAPTER XXIX.

A CONCESSION FROM SLEUTH

In a way, business in Oakdale was suspended, or, perhaps it should be said that it had not really begun for the day. On the street corners groups of men and boys discussed the recent exciting events and speculated over the probability of quick capture of the robber or robbers who still remained at large; for it was believed that at least three men had been concerned in the effort to plunder the bank. Somehow, it had leaked out that a part of the bank funds were missing, and of course this created an additional volume of gossip and speculation.

Fred, searching for Sleuth Piper, was hailed by various schoolboy friends, but, further than to make inquiries regarding Sleuth, he had no time for them. At last he found the boy he sought, who was on his way to the office of the village lawyers.

Sleuth turned and waited as Fred called his name and came hurrying up.

“I want to see you, Piper,” said Sage. “I want a little private talk with you.”

“I’m pretty busy,” returned Sleuth; “but I presume I can spare you a little of my valuable time. Of course I can imagine what you’re after, but I’m afraid it won’t be any use, old fellow. I’m sorry for you, but – ”

“Oh, yes, you are —not,” flung back Fred scornfully. “After what you’ve done – ”

“Now wait; stop right there,” interrupted Sleuth. “I’ve simply done my duty, although in your position you may not regard it as such. If my brother was a bank robber and an escaped convict, perhaps I’d feel hard toward anyone who tried to send him back to prison, but at the same time I’m sure my sense of justice – ”

“Bosh! That sort of tommyrot gives me a cramp. Besides, my brother is an innocent man.”

Sleuth lifted his eyebrows and shrugged incredulously.

“He’s innocent, I tell you!” panted Fred fiercely.

“It looks that way, don’t it!” said the young amateur detective, unable in spite of his professed sympathy for Sage, to repress a slight sneer.

“No, it doesn’t look that way,” admitted the other boy. “I own up that it must seem that he’s surely guilty. Here come some people, Piper. They’ll stand around and listen. We can’t talk here. Won’t you come with me some place where we’ll be by ourselves, with no rubbernecks around?”

Sleuth hesitated a moment. “I can see the lawyers later,” he muttered presently. “As long as it’s you, Fred, and you’re so badly broken up, I’ll do what you want, though again I must say I’m sure it’s useless.”

When Sile Crane and Chub Tuttle attempted to follow them as they turned down the street Fred whirled and almost snarled:

“What do you fellows want? Can’t you let us have a little private talk?”

“Lordy!” gasped Tuttle. “Don’t snap anybody’s head off. Haven’t you had breakfast? Here, take some peanuts.”

Disdaining this placating offer, Fred strode away at Sleuth’s side. Reaching the bridge, they paused.

“I hope you’re not going to appeal to me from the standpoint of friendship,” said Piper. “You must realize that it’s too late now, old man. Your brother is captured, and I can do nothing. I expect to receive the reward offered for his apprehension.”