The Haunted House

Days passed without word or sign from the missing girl. The marshal haunted the post-office and the railroad station, hoping with all his poor old heart that word would come from her; but the letter was not there, nor was there a telegram at the station when he strolled over to that place. The county officials at Boggs City came down and began a cursory investigation, but Anderson's emphatic though doleful opinions set them quite straight, and they gave up the quest. There was nothing to do but to sit back and wait.

In those three days Anderson Crow turned greyer and older, although he maintained a splendid show of resignation. He had made a perfunctory offer of reward for Rosalie, dead or alive, but he knew all the time that it would be fruitless. Mark Riley, the bill-poster, stuck up the glaring reward notices as far away as the telegraph poles in Clay County. The world was given to understand that $1000 reward would be paid for Rosalie's return or for information leading to the apprehension and capture of her abductors.

There was one very mysterious point in connection with the affair—something so strange that it bordered on the supernatural. No human being in Bramble County except the two boys had seen the double-seated sleigh. It had disappeared as if swallowed by the earth itself.

"Well, it don't do any good to cry over spilt milk," said Anderson bravely. "She's gone, an' I only hope she ain't bein' mistreated. I don't see why they should harm her. She's never done nobody a wrong. Like as not she's been taken to a comfortable place in New York, an' we'll hear from her as soon as she recovers from the shock. There ain't no use huntin' fer her, I know, but I jest can't help nosin' around a little. Mebby I can git some track of her. I'd give all I got in this world to know that she's safe an' sound, no matter if I never see her ag'in."

The hungry look in his eyes deepened, and no one bandied jests with him as was the custom in days gone by.

There were not many tramps practising in that section of the State. Anderson Crow proudly announced that they gave Tinkletown a wide berth because of his prowess; but the vagabond gentry took an entirely different view of the question. They did not infest the upper part of the State for the simple but eloquent reason that it meant starvation to them. The farmers compelled the weary wayfarer to work all day like a borrowed horse for a single meal at the "second table." There was no such thing as a "hand-out," as it is known in the tramp's vocabulary. It is not extraordinary, therefore, that tramps found the community so unattractive that they cheerfully walked miles to avoid it. A peculiarly well-informed vagrant once characterised the up-state farmer as being so "close that he never shaved because it was a waste of hair."

It is hardly necessary to state, in view of the attitude of both farmer and tramp, that the misguided vagrant who wandered that way was the object of distinct, if not distinguished, curiosity. In the country roads he was stared at with a malevolence that chilled his appetite, no matter how long he had been cultivating it on barren soil. In the streets of Tinkletown, and even at the county seat, he was an object of such amazing concern that he slunk away in pure distress. It was indeed an unsophisticated tramp who thought to thrive in Bramble County even for a day and a night. In front of the general store and post-office at Tinkletown there was a sign-post, on which Anderson Crow had painted these words:

"No tramps or Live Stock Allowed on these Streets.
By order of
A. CROW, Marshal."

The live stock disregarded the command, but the tramp took warning. On rare occasions he may have gone through some of the houses in Tinkletown, but if he went through the streets no one was the wiser. Anderson Crow solemnly but studiously headed him off in the outskirts, and he took another direction. Twice in his career he drove out tramps who had burglarised the houses of prominent citizens in broad daylight, but what did it matter so long as the "hoboes" were kept from desecrating the main street of the town? Mr. Crow's official star, together with his badge from the New York detective agency, his Sons of the Revolution pin, and his G.A.R. insignia, made him a person to be feared. If the weather became too hot for coat and vest the proud dignitary fastened the badges to his suspenders, and their presence glorified the otherwise humble "galluses."

On the fourth day after the abduction Marshal Crow was suddenly aroused from his lethargy by the news that the peace and security of the neighbourhood was being imposed upon.

"The dickens you say!" he observed, abandoning the perpetual grip upon his straggling chin whiskers.

"Yes, sir," responded the excited small boy, who, with two companions, had run himself quite out of breath all over town before he found the officer at Harkin's blacksmith shop.

"Well, dang 'em!" said Mr. Crow impressively.

"We was skatin' in the marsh when we heerd 'em plain as day," said the other boy. "You bet I'm nuvver goin' nigh that house ag'in."

"Sho! Bud, they ain't no sech thing as ghosts," said Mr. Crow; "it's tramps."

"You know that house is ha'nted," protested Bud. "Wasn't ole Mrs. Rank slew there by her son-in-law? Wasn't she chopped to pieces and buried there right in her own cellar?"

"Thunderation, boy, that was thirty year ago!"

"Well, nobody's lived in the ha'nted house sence then, has they? Didn't Jim Smith try to sleep there oncet on a bet, an' didn't he hear sech awful noises 'at he liked to went crazy?" insisted Bud.

Wicker Bonner, Harvard

"Hello, up there!" was what the deep, masculine voice shouted from the river. Anderson Crow was the first to distinguish the form of the speaker, and he was not long in deciding that it was far from ghost-like. With a word of command he brought his disorganised forces out of chaos and huddled them together as if to resist attack.

"What's the matter with you?" he demanded, addressing his men in a loud tone. "Don't get rattled!"

"Are you speaking to me?" called the fresh voice from below.

"Who are you?" demanded Mr. Crow in return.

"Nobody in particular. What's going on up there? What's the fuss?"

"Come up an' find out." Then Mr. Crow, observing that the man below was preparing to comply, turned and addressed his squad in low, earnest tones. "This feller will bear watchin'. He's mixed up in this thing somehow. Else why is he wanderin' around here close to the house? I'll question him."

"By gosh, he ain't no ghost!" murmured Ed Higgins, eyeing the newcomer as he crawled up the bank. "Say, did y' see me a minute ago? If you fellers had come on, I was goin' right up to search that house from top to bottom. Was you all askeered to come?"

"Aw, you!" said Anderson Crow in deep scorn.

The next instant a stalwart young fellow stood before the marshal, who was eyeing him keenly, even imperiously. The newcomer's good-looking, strong-featured face was lighted up by a smile of surpassing friendliness.

"It's lonesome as thunder down here, isn't it? Glad to see you, gentlemen. What's up—a bicycle race?"

"No, sir; we got a little business up here, that's all," responded Anderson Crow diplomatically. "What air you doin' here?"

"Skating. My name is Wicker Bonner, and I'm visiting my uncle, Congressman Bonner, across the river. You know him, I dare say. I've been hanging around here for a week's hunting, and haven't had an ounce of luck in all that time. It's rotten! Aha, I see that you are an officer, sir—a detective, too. By George, can it be possible that you are searching for some one? If you are, let me in on it. I'm dying for excitement."

The young man's face was eager and his voice rang true. Besides, he was a tall, athletic chap, with brawny arms and a broad back. Altogether, he would make a splendid recruit, thought Anderson Crow. He was dressed in rough corduroy knickerbockers, the thick coat buttoned up close to his muffled neck. A woollen cap came down over his ears and a pair of skates dangled from his arm.

"Yes, sir; I'm a detective, and we are up here doin' a little investigatin'. You are from Chicago, I see."

"What makes you think so?"

"Can't fool me. I c'n always tell. You said, 'I've bean hangin',' instead of 'I've ben hangin'.' See? They say bean in Chicago. Ha! ha! You didn't think I could deduce that, did you?"

"I'll confess that I didn't," said Mr. Bonner with a dry smile. "I'm from Boston, however."

"Sure," interposed Isaac Porter; "that's where the beans come from, Anderson."

"Well, that's neither here nor there," said Mr. Crow, hastily changing the subject. "We're wastin' time."

"Stayin' here, you mean?" asked Ed Higgins, quite ready to start. Involuntarily the eyes of the posse turned toward the house among the willows. The stranger saw the concerted glance and made inquiry. Whereupon Mr. Crow, assisted by seven men and five small boys, told Mr. Wicker Bonner, late of Harvard, what had brought them from Tinkletown to the haunted house, and what they had seen upon their arrival. Young Bonner's face glowed with the joy of excitement.

"Great!" he cried, fastening his happy eyes upon the hated thing among the trees. "Let's search the place. By George, this is glorious!"

"Not on your life!" said Ed Higgins. "You can't get me inside that house. Like as not a feller'd never come out alive."

"Well, better men than we have died," said Mr. Bonner tranquilly. "Come on; I'll go in first. It's all tommy-rot about the place being haunted. In any event, ghosts don't monkey around at this time of day. It's hardly dusk."

"But, gosh dern it," exploded Anderson Crow, "we seen it!"

"I seen it first," said Isaac Porter proudly.

"But I heerd it first," peeped up Master Bud.

"You've all been drinking hard cider or pop or something like that," said the brawny scoffer.

"Now, see here, you're gittin' fresh, an—" began the marshal, swelling up like a pigeon.

"Look out behind!" sang out Mr. Bonner, and Anderson jumped almost out of his shoes, besides ripping his shirt in the back, he turned so suddenly.

"Jeemses River!" he gasped.

"Never turn your back on an unknown danger," cautioned the young man serenely. "Be ready to meet it."

"If you're turned t'other way you c'n git a quicker start if you want to run," suggested Jim Borum, bracing himself with a fresh chew of tobacco.

"What time is it?" asked Wicker Bonner.

Anderson Crow squinted up through the leafless treetops toward the setting sun; then he looked at the shadow of a sapling down on the bank.

"It's about seven minutes past five—in the evenin'," he said conclusively. Bonner was impolite enough to pull out his watch for verification.

"You're a minute fast," he observed; but he looked at Anderson with a new and respectful admiration.

"He c'n detect anything under the sun," said Porter with a feeble laugh at his own joke.

"Well, let's go up and ransack that old cabin," announced Bonner, starting toward the willows. The crowd held back. "I'll go alone if you're afraid to come," he went on. "It's my firm belief that you didn't see anything and the noise you boys heard was the wind whistling through the trees. Now, tell the truth, how many of you saw it?"

"I did," came from every throat so unanimously that Jim Borum's supplemental oath stood out alone and forceful as a climax.

"Then it's worth investigating," announced the Boston man. "It is certainly a very mysterious affair, and you, at least, Mr. Town Marshal, should back me up in the effort to unravel it. Tell me again just what it was you saw and what it looked like."

"I won't let no man tell me what my duties are," snorted Anderson, his stars trembling with injured pride. "Of course I'm going to solve the mystery. We've got to see what's inside that house. I thought it was tramps at first."

"Well, lead on, then; I'll follow!" said Bonner with a grin.

"I thought you was so anxious to go first!" exclaimed Anderson with fine tact. "Go ahead yourself, ef you're so derned brave. I dare you to."

Bonner laughed loud enough to awaken every ghost in Bramble County and then strode rapidly toward the house. Anderson Crow followed slowly and the rest straggled after, all alert for the first sign of resistance.

"I wish I could find that derned lantern," said Anderson, searching diligently in the deep grass as he walked along, in the meantime permitting Bonner to reach the grim old doorway far in advance of him.

"Come on!" called back the intrepid leader, seeing that all save the marshal had halted. "You don't need the lantern. It's still daylight, old chap. We'll find out what it was you all saw in the window."

"That's the last of him," muttered Isaac Porter, as the broad back disappeared through the low aperture that was called a doorway. There were no window sashes or panes in the house, and the door had long since rotted from the hinges.

"He'll never come out. Let's go home," added Ed Higgins conclusively.

"Are you coming?" sang out Bonner from the interior of the house. His voice sounded prophetically sepulchral.

"Consarn it, cain't you wait a minute?" replied Anderson Crow, still bravely but consistently looking for the much-needed dark lantern.

"It's all right in here. There hasn't been a human being in the house for years. Come on in; it's fine!"

Anderson Crow finally ventured up to the doorway and peeped in. Bonner was standing near the tumbledown fireplace, placidly lighting a cigarette.

"This is a fine job you've put up on me," he growled. "I thought there would be something doing. There isn't a soul here, and there hasn't been, either."

"Thunderation, man, you cain't see ghosts when they don't want you to!" said Anderson Crow. "It was a ghost, that's settled. I knowed it all the time. Nothin' human ever looked like it, and nothin' alive ever moaned like it did."

By this time the rest of the party had reached the cabin door. The less timorous ventured inside, while others contented themselves by looking through the small windows.

"Well, if you're sure you really saw something, we'd better make a thorough search of the house and the grounds," said Bonner, and forthwith began nosing about the two rooms.

The floors were shaky and the place had the odour of decayed wood. Mould clung to the half-plastered walls, cobwebs matted the ceilings, and rotted fungi covered the filth in the corners. Altogether it was a most uninviting hole, in which no self-respecting ghost would have made its home. When the time came to climb up to the little garret Bonner's followers rebelled. He was compelled to go alone, carrying the lantern, which one of the small boys had found. This part of the house was even more loathsome than below, and it would be impossible to describe its condition. He saw no sign of life, and retired in utter disgust. Then came the trip to the cellar. Again he had no followers, the Tinkletown men emphatically refusing to go down where old Mrs. Rank's body had been buried. Bonner laughed at them and went down alone. It was nauseous with age and the smell of damp earth, but it was cleaner there than above stairs. The cellar was smaller than either of the living rooms, and was to be reached only through the kitchen. There was no exit leading directly to the exterior of the house, but there was one small window at the south end. Bonner examined the room carefully and then rejoined the party. For some reason the posse had retired to the open air as soon as he left them to go below. No one knew exactly why, but when one started to go forth the others followed with more or less alacrity.

"Did you see anything?" demanded the marshal.

"What did old Mrs. Rank look like when she was alive?" asked Bonner with a beautifully mysterious air. No one answered; but there was a sudden shifting of feet backward, while an expression of alarmed inquiry came into every face. "Don't back into that open well," warned the amused young man in the doorway. Anderson Crow looked sharply behind, and flushed indignantly when he saw that the well was at least fifty feet away. "I saw something down there that looked like a woman's toe," went on Bonner very soberly.

"Good Lord! What did I tell you?" cried the marshal, turning to his friends. To the best of their ability they could not remember that Anderson had told them anything, but with one accord the whole party nodded approval.

"I fancy it was the ghost of a toe, however, for when I tried to pick it up it wriggled away, and I think it chuckled. It disappear—what's the matter? Where are you going?"

It is only necessary to state that the marshal and his posse retreated in good order to a distant spot where it was not quite so dark, there to await the approach of Wicker Bonner, who leisurely but laughingly inspected the exterior of the house and the grounds adjoining. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, except as to dilapidation, he rejoined the party with palpable displeasure in his face.

"Well, I think I'll go back to the ice," he said; "that place is as quiet as the grave. You are a fine lot of jokers, and I'll admit that the laugh is on me."

But Bonner was mystified, uncertain. He had searched the house thoroughly from top to bottom, and he had seen nothing unusual, but these men and boys were so positive that he could not believe the eyes of all had been deceived.

"This interests me," he said at last. "I'll tell you what we'll do, Mr. Crow. You and I will come down here to-night, rig up a tent of some sort and divide watch until morning. If there is anything to be seen we'll find out what it is. I'll get a couple of straw mattresses from our boathouse and—"

"I've got rheumatiz, Mr. Bonner, an' it would be the death o' me to sleep in this swamp," objected Anderson hastily.

"Well, I'll come alone, then. I'm not afraid. I don't mean to say I'll sleep in that old shack, but I'll bunk out here in the woods. No human being could sleep in that place. Will any one volunteer to keep me company?"

Silence.

"I don't blame you. It does take nerve, I'll confess. My only stipulation is that you shall come down here from the village early to-morrow morning. I may have something of importance to tell you, Mr. Crow."

"We'll find his dead body," groaned old Mr. Borton.

"Say, mister," piped up a shrill voice, "I'll stay with you." It was Bud who spoke, and all Tinkletown was afterward to resound with stories of his bravery. The boy had been silently admiring the bold sportsman from Boston town, and he was ready to cast his lot with him in this adventure. He thrilled with pleasure when the big hero slapped him on the back and called him the only man in the crowd.

At eight o'clock that night Bonner and the determined but trembling Bud came up the bank from the river and pitched a tent among the trees near the haunted house. From the sledge on the river below they trundled up their bedding and their stores. Bud had an old single-barrel shotgun, a knife and a pipe, which he was just learning to smoke; Bonner brought a Navajo blanket, a revolver and a heavy walking stick. He also had a large flask of whiskey and the pipe that had graduated from Harvard with him.

At nine o'clock he put to bed in one of the chilly nests a very sick boy, who hated to admit that the pipe was too strong for him, but who felt very much relieved when he found himself wrapped snugly in the blankets with his head tucked entirely out of sight. Bud had spent the hour in regaling Bonner with the story of Rosalie Gray's abduction and his own heroic conduct in connection with the case. He confessed that he had knocked one of the villains down, but they were too many for him. Bonner listened politely and then—put the hero to bed.

Bonner dozed off at midnight. An hour or so later he suddenly sat bolt upright, wide awake and alert. He had the vague impression that he was deathly cold and that his hair was standing on end.

The Men in the Sleigh

Let us go back to the night on which Rosalie was seized and carried away from Mrs. Luce's front gate, despite the valiant resistance of her youthful defenders.

Rosalie had drooned Thackeray to the old lady until both of them were dozing, and it was indeed a welcome relief that came with Roscoe's resounding thumps on the front door. Mrs. Luce was too old to be frightened out of a year's growth, but it is perfectly safe to agree with her that the noise cost her at least three months.

Desperately blue over the defection of Elsie Banks, Rosalie had found little to make her evening cheerful indoors, but the fresh, crisp air set her spirits bounding the instant she closed Mrs. Luce's door from the outside. We have only to refer to Roscoe's lively narrative for proof of what followed almost instantly. She was seized, her head tightly wrapped in a thick cloak or blanket; then she was thrown into a sleigh, and knew nothing more except a smothering sensation and the odour of chloroform.

When she regained consciousness she was lying on the ground in the open air, dark night about her. Three men were standing nearby, but there was no vehicle in sight. She tried to rise, but on account of her bonds was powerless to do so. Speech was prevented by the cloth which closed her lips tightly. After a time she began to grasp the meaning of the muttered words that passed between the men.

"You got the rig in all right, Bill—you're sure that no one heard or saw you?" were the first questions she could make out, evidently arising from a previous report or explanation.

"Sure. Everybody in these parts goes to bed at sundown. They ain't got nothing to do but sleep up 'ere."

"Nobody knows we had that feller's sleigh an' horses out—nobody ever will know," said the big man, evidently the leader. She noticed they called him Sam.

"Next thing is to git her across the river without leavin' any tracks. We ain't on a travelled road now, pals; we got to be careful. I'll carry her down to the bank; but be sure to step squarely in my footprints—it'll look like they were made by one man. See?"

"The river's froze over an' we can't be tracked on the ice. It's too dark, too, for any one to see us. Go ahead, Sammy; it's d—— cold here."

The big man lifted her from the ground as if she were a feather, and she was conscious of being borne swiftly through a stretch of sloping woodland down to the river bank, a journey of two or three hundred yards, it seemed. Here the party paused for many minutes before venturing out upon the wide expanse of frozen river, evidently making sure that the way was clear. Rosalie, her senses quite fully restored by this time, began to analyse the situation with a clearness and calmness that afterward was the object of considerable surprise to her. Instead of being hysterical with fear, she was actually experiencing the thrill of a real emotion. She had no doubt but that her abductors were persons hired by those connected with her early history, and, strange as it may seem, she could not believe that bodily harm was to be her fate after all these years of secret attention on the part of those so deeply, though remotely, interested.

Somehow there raced through her brain the exhilarating conviction that at last the mystery of her origin was to be cleared away, and with it all that had been as a closed book. No thought of death entered her mind at that time. Afterward she was to feel that death would be most welcome, no matter how it came.

Her captors made the trip across the river in dead silence. There was no moon and the night was inky black. The exposed portions of her face tingled with cold, but she was so heavily wrapped in the blanket that her body did not feel the effects of the zero weather.

At length the icy stretch was passed, and after resting a few minutes, Sam proceeded to ascend the steep bank with her in his arms. Why she was not permitted to walk she did not know then or afterward. It is possible, even likely, that the men thought their charge was unconscious. She did nothing to cause them to think otherwise. Again they passed among trees, Sam's companions following in his footprints as before. Another halt and a brief command for Davy to go ahead and see that the coast was clear came after a long and tortuous struggle through the underbrush. Twice they seemed to have lost their bearings in the darkness, but eventually they came into the open.

"Here we are!" grunted Sam as they hurried across the clearing. "A hard night's work, pals, but I guess we're in Easy Street now. Go ahead, Davy, an' open the trap!"

Davy swore a mighty but sibilant oath and urged his thick, ugly figure ahead of the others.

A moment later the desperadoes and their victim passed through a door and into a darkness even blacker than that outside. Davy was pounding carefully upon the floor of the room in which they stood. Suddenly a faint light spread throughout the room and a hoarse, raucous voice whispered:

"Have you got her?"

"Get out of the way—we're near froze," responded Davy gruffly.

"Get down there, Bill, and take her; I'm tired carryin' this hundred and twenty pounder," growled Sam.

The next instant Rosalie was conscious of being lowered through a trap door in the floor, and then of being borne rapidly through a long, narrow passage, lighted fitfully by the rays of a lantern in the hands of a fourth and as yet unseen member of the band.

"There!" said Bill, impolitely dropping his burden upon a pile of straw in the corner of the rather extensive cave at the end of the passage; "wonder if the little fool is dead. She ought to be coming to by this time."

"She's got her eyes wide open," uttered the raucous voice on the opposite side; and Rosalie turned her eyes in that direction. She looked for a full minute as if spellbound with terror, her gaze centred at the most repulsive human face she ever had seen—the face of Davy's mother.

The woman was a giantess, a huge, hideous creature with the face of a man, hairy and bloated. Her unkempt hair was grey almost to whiteness, her teeth were snags, and her eyes were almost hidden beneath the shaggy brow. There was a glare of brutal satisfaction in them that appalled the girl.

For the first time since the adventure began her heart failed her, and she shuddered perceptibly as her lids fell.

"What the h—— are you skeering her fer like that, ma," growled Davy. "Don't look at her like that, or—"

"See here, my boy, don't talk like that to me if you don't want me to kick your head off right where you stand. I'm your mother, Davy, an'—"

"That'll do. This ain't no time to chew the rag," muttered Sam. "We're done fer. Get us something to eat an' something to drink, old woman; give the girl a nifter, too. She's fainted, I reckon. Hurry up; I want to turn in."

"Better untie her hands—see if she's froze," added Bill savagely.

Roughly the old woman slashed the bonds from the girl's hands and feet and then looked askance at Sam, who stood warming his hands over a kerosene stove not far away. He nodded his head, and she instantly untied the cloth that covered Rosalie's mouth.

"It won't do no good to scream, girl. Nobody'll hear ye but us—and we're your friends," snarled the old woman.

"Let her yell if she wants to, Maude. It may relieve her a bit," said Sam, meaning to be kind. Instinctively Rosalie looked about for the person addressed as Maude. There was but one woman in the gang. Maude! That was the creature's name. Instead of crying or shrieking, Rosalie laughed outright.

At the sound of the laugh the woman drew back hastily.

"By gor!" she gasped; "the—she's gone daffy!"

The men turned toward them with wonder in their faces. Bill was the first to comprehend. He saw the girl's face grow sober with an effort, and realised that she was checking her amusement because it was sure to offend.

"Aw," he grinned, "I don't blame her fer laughin'! Say what ye will, Maude, your name don't fit you."

"It's as good as any name—" began the old hag, glaring at him; but Sam interposed with a command to her to get them some hot coffee while he had a talk with the girl. "Set up!" he said roughly, addressing Rosalie. "We ain't goin' to hurt you."

Rosalie struggled to a sitting posture, her limbs and back stiff from the cold and inaction. "Don't ask questions, because they won't be answered. I jest want to give you some advice as to how you must act while you are our guest. You must be like one of the family. Maybe we'll be here a day, maybe a week, but it won't be any longer than that."

"Would you mind telling me where I am and what this all means? Why have you committed this outrage? What have I done—" she found voice to say. He held up his hand.

"You forget what I said about askin' questions. There ain't nothin' to tell you, that's all. You're here and that's enough."

"Well, who is it that has the power to answer questions, sir? I have some right to ask them. You have—"

"That'll do, now!" he growled. "I'll put the gag back on you if you keep it up. So's you won't worry, I want to say this to you: Your friends don't know where you are, and they couldn't find you if they tried. You are to stay right here in this cave until we get orders to move you. When the time comes we'll take you to wherever we're ordered, and then we're through with you. Somebody else will have the say. You won't be hurt here unless you try to escape—it won't do you any good to yell. It ain't a palace, but it's better than the grave. So be wise. All we got to do is to turn you over to the proper parties at the proper time. That's all."

"Is the person you speak of my—my mother or my father?" Rosalie asked with bated breath.

With the Kidnapers

Sam stared at her, and there was something like real amazement in his eyes.

"Yer mother or father?" he repeated interrogatively. "Wha—what the devil can they have to do with this affair? I guess they're askin' a lot of questions themselves about this time."

"Mr. and Mrs. Crow are not my parents," she said; and then shrewdly added, "and you know it, sir."

"I've heard that sayin' 'bout a child never knowin' its own father, but this business of both the father and mother is a new one on me. I guess it's the chloroform. Give us that booze, Bill. She's dippy yet."

He tried to induce her to swallow some of the whiskey, but steadfastly she refused, until finally, with an evil snarl, Sam commanded the giantess to hold her while he forced the burning liquor down her throat. There was a brief struggle, but Rosalie was no match for the huge woman, whose enormous arms encircled her; and as the liquid trickled in upon her tongue she heard above the brutal laughter of the would-be doctors the hoarse voice of Bill crying:

"Don't hurt her, Sam! Let 'er alone!"

"Close yer face! Don't you monkey in this thing, Bill Briggs. I'll—well, you know. Drink this, damn you!"

Sputtering and choking, her heart beating wildly with fear and rage, Rosalie was thrown back upon the straw by the woman. Her throat was burning from the effects of the whiskey and her eyes were blinded by the tears of anger and helplessness.

"Don't come any of your highfalutin' airs with me, you little cat," shrieked the old woman, rubbing a knee that Rosalie had kicked in her struggles.

"Lay still there," added Sam. "We don't want to hurt you, but you got to do as I tell you. Understand? Not a word, now! Gimme that coffee-pot, Davy. Go an' see that everything's locked up an' we'll turn in fer the night. Maude, you set up an' keep watch. If she makes a crack, soak her one."

"You bet I will. She'll find she ain't attendin' no Sunday-school picnic."

"No boozin'!" was Sam's order as he told out small portions of whiskey. Then the gang ate ravenously of the bacon and beans and drank cup after cup of coffee. Later the men threw themselves upon the piles of straw and soon all were snoring. The big woman refilled the lantern and hung it on a peg in the wall of the cave; then she took up her post near the square door leading to the underground passage, her throne an upturned whiskey barrel, her back against the wall of the cave. She glared at Rosalie through the semi-darkness, frequently addressing her with the vilest invectives cautiously uttered—and all because her victim had beautiful eyes and was unable to close them in sleep.