<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2>
<h3>THE SWEDE’S TELEGRAM</h3></div>
<p>As soon as the shadows hid the young man’s retreating
form from the Swede’s watchful eye, that individual quickened
his pace and presently broke into a run. Circling
round a few blocks and regaining the main street a little
below the hotel, he entered the telegraph office. There
his haste seemed to leave him. He stood watching the
clerk a few minutes, but the latter paid no attention to him.</p>
<p>“Hullo!” he said at last.</p>
<p>“Hallo, yourself!” said the boy, without looking up or
taking his hand from the steadily clicking instrument.</p>
<p>“Say, I lak it you send me somet’ing by telegraph.”</p>
<p>“All right. Hold on a minute,” and the instrument
clicked on.</p>
<p>After a little the Swede grew impatient. He scratched
his pale gold head and shuffled his feet.</p>
<p>“Say, I lak it you send me a little somet’ing yet.” He
reached out and touched the boy on the shoulder.</p>
<p>“Keep out of here. I’ll send your message when I’m
through with this,” and the instrument clicked on. Then
the Swede resigned himself, watching sullenly.</p>
<p>“Everybody has to take his turn,” said the boy at last.
“You can’t cut in like that.” The boy was newly promoted
and felt his importance. He took the soiled scrap of paper
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_343' name='page_343'></SPAN>343</span>
held out to him. It was written over in a clear, bold hand.
“This isn’t signed. Who sends this?”</p>
<p>“You make it yust lak it iss. I send dot.”</p>
<p>“Well, sign it.” He pushed a pen toward him, and the
Swede took it in clumsy fingers and wrote laboriously,
“Nels Nelson.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t write this message?”</p>
<p>“No. I vork by de hotel, und I get a man write it.”</p>
<p>“It isn’t dated. Been carrying it around in your pocket
a good while I guess. Better date it.”</p>
<p>“Date it?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Put down the time you send, you know.”</p>
<p>“Oh, dat’s not’ing. He know putty goot when he get it.”</p>
<p>“Very well. ‘To Mr. John Thomas,––State Street,
Chicago. Job’s ready. Come along.’ Who’s job is it?
Yours?”</p>
<p>“No. It’s hees yob yet. You mak it go to-night, all
right. Goot night. I pay it now, yas. Vell, goot night.”</p>
<p>He paid the boy and slipped out into the shadows of the
street, and again making the detour so that he came to the
hotel from the rear, he passed the stables, and before climbing
to his cupboard of a room at the top of the building, he
stepped round to the side and looked in at the dining room
windows, and there he saw the young man seated at supper.</p>
<p>“All right,” he said softly.</p>
<p>The omnibus sent regularly by the hotel management
brought only one passenger from the early train next day.
Times had been dull of late and travel had greatly fallen off,
as the proprietor complained. There was nothing unusual
about this passenger,––the ordinary traveling man, representing
a well-known New York dry-goods house.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_344' name='page_344'></SPAN>344</span></div>
<p>Nels Nelson drove the omnibus. He had done so ever
since Elder Craigmile went to Scotland with his wife. The
young man he had found on the river bluff was pacing the
hotel veranda as he drove up, and Nels Nelson glanced at
him, and into the eyes of the traveling man, as he handed
down the latter’s heavy valise.</p>
<p>Standing at the desk, the newcomer chatted with the
clerk as he wrote his name under that of the last arrival the
day before.</p>
<p>“Harry King,” he read. “Came yesterday. Many
stopping here now? Times hard! I guess so! Nothing
doing in my line. Nobody wants a thing. Guess I’ll
leave the road and ‘go west, young man,’ as old Greeley
advises. What line is King in? Do’ know? Is that him
going into the dining room? Guess I’ll follow and fill up.
Anything good to eat here?”</p>
<p>In the dining room he indicated to the waiter by a nod
of his head the seat opposite Harry King, and immediately
entered into a free and easy conversation, giving him a history
of his disappointments in the way of trade, and reiterating
his determination to “go west, young man.”</p>
<p>He hardly glanced at Harry, but ate rapidly, stowing
away all within reach, until the meal was half through,
then he looked up and asked abruptly, “What line are you
in, may I ask?”</p>
<p>“Certainly you may ask, but I can’t tell you. I would be
glad to do so if I knew myself.”</p>
<p>“Ever think of going west?”</p>
<p>“I’ve just come from there––or almost there––whereever
it is.”</p>
<p>“Stiles is my name––G. B. Stiles. Good name for a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_345' name='page_345'></SPAN>345</span>
dry-goods salesman, don’t you think so? I know the styles
all right, for men, and women too. Like it out west?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Very well.”</p>
<p>“Been there long?”</p>
<p>“Oh, two or three years.”</p>
<p>“Had enough of it, likely?”</p>
<p>“Well, I can scarcely say that.”</p>
<p>“Mean to stay east now?”</p>
<p>“I may. I’m not settled yet.”</p>
<p>“Better take up my line. If I drop out, there’ll be an
opening with my firm––good firm, too. Ward, Williams
& Co., New York. Been in New York, I suppose?”</p>
<p>“No, never.”</p>
<p>“Well, better try it. I mean to ‘go west, young man.’
Know anybody here? Ever live here?”</p>
<p>“Yes, when I was a boy.”</p>
<p>“Come back to the boyhood home. We all do that,
you know. There’s poetry in it––all do it. ‘Old oaken
bucket’ and all that sort of thing. I mean to do it myself
yet,––back to old York state.” G. B. Stiles wiped his
mouth vigorously and shoved back his chair. “Well, see
you again, I hope,” he said, and walked off, picking his
teeth with a quill pick which he took from his vest pocket.</p>
<p>He walked slowly and meditatively through the office
and out on the sidewalk. Here he paused and glanced
about, and seeing his companion of the breakfast table was
not in sight, he took his way around to the stables. Nels
Nelson was stooping in the stable yard, washing a horse’s
legs. G. B. Stiles came and stood near, looking down on
him, and Nels straightened up and stood waiting, with the
dripping rags in his hand.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_346' name='page_346'></SPAN>346</span></div>
<p>“Vell, I tol’ you he coomin’ back sometime. I vaiting
long time all ready, but yust lak I tol’ you, he coom.”</p>
<p>“I thought I told you not to sign that telegram. But
it’s no matter,––didn’t do any harm, I guess.”</p>
<p>“Dot vas a fool, dot boy dere. He ask all tam, ’Vot for?
Who write dis? You not? Eh? Who sen’ dis?’ He
make me put my name dere; den I get out putty quvick or
he ask yet vat iss it for a yob you got somebody, eh?”</p>
<p>“Oh, well, we’ve got him now, and he don’t seem to care
to keep under cover, either.” G. B. Stiles seemed to address
himself. “Too smart to show a sign. See here, Nelson,
are you ready to swear that he’s the man? Are you ready
to swear to all you told me?”</p>
<p>“It is better you gif me a paper once, vit your name, dot
you gif me half dot money.”</p>
<p>Nels Nelson stooped deliberately and went on washing
the horse’s legs. A look of irritation swept over the placid
face of G. B. Stiles, and he slipped the toothpick back in
his vest pocket and walked away.</p>
<p>“I say,” called the Swede after him. “You gif me dot
paper. Eh?”</p>
<p>“I can’t stand talking to you here. You’ll promise to
swear to all you told me when I was here the first time. If
you do that, you are sure of the money, and if you change
it in the least, or show the least sign of backing down, we
neither of us get it. Understand?”</p>
<p>Again the Swede arose, and stood looking at him sullenly.
“It iss ten t’ousand tallers, und I get it half, eh?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you go to thunder!” The proprietor of the hotel
came around the corner of the stable, and G. B. Stiles addressed
himself to him. “I’d like the use of a horse to-day,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_347' name='page_347'></SPAN>347</span>
and your man here, if I can get him. I’ve got to make a
trip to Rigg’s Corners to sell some dry goods. Got a good
buggy?”</p>
<p>“Yes, and a horse you can drive yourself, if you like.
Be gone all day?”</p>
<p>“No, don’t want to fool with a horse––may want to
stay and send the horse back––if I find a place where the
grub is better than it is here. See?”</p>
<p>“You’ll be back after one meal at any place within a
hundred miles of here.” The proprietor laughed.</p>
<p>“Might as well drive yourself. You won’t want to send
the horse back. I’m short of drivers just now. Times are
bad and travel light, so I let one go.”</p>
<p>“I’ll take the Swede there.”</p>
<p>“He’s my station hand. Maybe Jake can drive you.
Nels, where’s Jake?”</p>
<p>“He’s dere in the stable. Shake!” he shouted, without
glancing up, and Jake slouched out into the yard.</p>
<p>“Jake, here’s a gentleman wants you to drive him out
into the country,––”</p>
<p>“I’ll take the Swede. Jake can drive your station wagon
for once.”</p>
<p>G. B. Stiles laughed good-humoredly and returned to the
piazza and sat tilted back with his feet on the rail not far
from Harry King, who was intently reading the <i>New York
Tribune</i>. For a while he eyed the young man covertly,
then dropped his feet to the floor and turned upon him
with a question on the political situation, and deliberately
engaged him in conversation, which Harry King entered into
courteously yet reluctantly. Evidently he was preoccupied
with affairs of his own.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_348' name='page_348'></SPAN>348</span></div>
<p>In the stable yard a discussion was going on. “Dot
horse no goot in buggy. Better you sell heem any
vay. He yoomp by de cars all tam, und he no goot by
buggy.”</p>
<p>“Well, you’ve got to take him by the buggy, if he is no
good. I won’t let Jake drive him around the trains, and
he won’t let Jake go with him out to Rigg’s Corners, so
you’ll have to take the gray and the buggy and go.” The
Swede began a sullen protest, but the proprietor shouted
back to him, “You’ll do this or leave,” and walked in.</p>
<p>Nels went then into the stable, smiling quietly. He was
well satisfied with the arrangement. “Shake, you put dot
big horse by de buggy. No. Tak’ d’oder bridle. I don’t
drive heem mit ol’ bridle; he yoomp too quvick yet. All
tam yoomping, dot horse.”</p>
<p>Presently Nels drove round to the front of the hotel with
the gray horse and a high-top buggy. Harry King regarded
him closely as he passed, but Nels looked straight ahead.
A boy came out carrying Stiles’ heavy valise.</p>
<p>“Put that in behind here,” said Stiles, as he climbed in
and seated himself at Nels Nelson’s side. The gray leaped
forward on the instant with so sudden a jump that he
caught at his hat and missed it. Harry King stepped
down and picked it up.</p>
<p>“What ails your horse?” he asked, as he restored it to
its owner.</p>
<p>“Oh, not’in’. He lak yoomp a little.” And again the
horse leaped forward, taking them off at a frantic pace,
the high-topped buggy atilt as they turned the corner of
the street into the country road. Harry King returned to
his seat. Surely it was the Scandinavian who had walked
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_349' name='page_349'></SPAN>349</span>
down from the bluff with him the evening before. There
was no mistaking that soft, drawling voice.</p>
<p>“See here! You pull your beast down, I want to talk
with you. Hi! There goes my hat again. Can’t you
control him better than that? Let me out.” Nels pulled
the animal down with a powerful arm, and he stood quietly
enough while G. B. Stiles climbed down and walked back
for his hat. “Look here! Can you manage the beast, or
can’t you?” he asked as he stood beside the vehicle and
wiped the dust from his soft black felt with his sleeve.
“If you can’t, I’ll walk.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yas, I feex heem. I leek heem goot ven ve coom
to place nobody see me.”</p>
<p>“I guess that’s what ails him now. You’ve done that
before.”</p>
<p>“Yas, bot if you no lak I leek heem, ust you yoomp in
und I lat heem run goot for two, t’ree mile. Dot feex heem
all right.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know about that. Sure you can hold him?”</p>
<p>“Yas, I hol’ heem so goot he break hee’s yaw off, if
he don’t stop ven I tol’ heem. Now, quvick. Whoa!
Yoomp in.”</p>
<p>G. B. Stiles scrambled in with unusual agility for him,
and again they were off, the gray taking them along with
leaps and bounds, but the road was smooth, and the dust
laid by frequent showers was like velvet under the horse’s
feet. Stiles drew himself up, clinging to the side of the
buggy and to his hat.</p>
<p>“How long will he keep this up?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Oh, he stop putty quvick. He lak it leetle run. T’ree,
four mile he run––das all.” And the Swede was right.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_350' name='page_350'></SPAN>350</span>
After a while the horse settled down to a long, swinging trot.
“Look at heem now. I make heem go all tam lak dis.
Ven I get my money I haf stable of my own und den I buy
heem. I know heem. I all tam tol’ Meester Decker dot
horse no goot––I buy heem sheep. You go’n gif me dot
money, eh?”</p>
<p>“I see. You’re sharp, but you’re asking too much. If
it were not for me, you wouldn’t get a cent, or me either.
See? I’ve spent a thousand hunting that man up, and you
haven’t spent a cent. All you’ve done is to stick here at
the hotel and watch. I’ve been all over the country. Even
went to Europe and down in Mexico––everywhere.
You haven’t really earned a cent of it.”</p>
<p>“Vat for you goin’ all offer de vorld? Vat you got by
dot? Spen’ money––dot vot you got. Me, I stay here.
I fin’ heem; you not got heem all offer de vorld. I tol’
you, of a man he keel somebody, he run vay, bot he goin’
coom back where he done it. He not know it vot for he do
it, bot he do it all right.”</p>
<p>“Look here, Nelson; it’s outrageous! You can’t lay
claim to that money. I told you if he was found and you
were willing to give in your evidence just as you gave it to
me that day, I’d give you your fair share of the reward, as
you asked for it, but I never gave you any reason to think
you were to take half. I’ve spent all the money working
up this matter, and if I were to go back now and do nothing,
as I’m half a mind to do, you’d never get a cent of it.
There’s no proof that he’s the man.”</p>
<p>“You no need spen’ dot money.”</p>
<p>“Can’t I get reason into your head? When I set out to
get hold of a criminal, do you think I sit down in one place
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_351' name='page_351'></SPAN>351</span>
and wait? You didn’t find him; he came here, and it’s
only by an accident you have him, and he may clear out yet,
and neither of us be the better off because of your pig-headedness.
Here, drive into that grove and tie your
horse a minute and we’ll come to an understanding. I
can’t write you out a paper while we’re moving along like
this.”</p>
<p>Then Nels turned into the grove and took the horse
from the shafts and tied him some distance away, while
G. B. Stiles took writing materials from his valise, and, sitting
in the buggy, made a show of drawing up a legal paper.</p>
<p>“I’m going to draw you up a paper as you asked me to.
Now how do you know you have the man?”</p>
<p>“It iss ten t’ousand tallers. You make me out dot
paper you gif me half yet.”</p>
<p>“Damn it! You answer my question. I can’t make
this out unless I know you’re going to come up to the
scratch.” He made a show of writing, and talked at the
same time. “I, G. B. Stiles, detective, in the employ of
Peter Craigmile, of the town of Leauvite, for the capture of
the murderer of his son, Peter Craigmile, Jr., do hereby
promise one Nels Nelson, Swede,––in the employ of Mr
Decker, hotel proprietor, as stable man,––for services
rendered in the identification of said criminal at such time
as he should be found,–––Now, what service have you
rendered? How much money have you spent in the
search?”</p>
<p>“Not’ing. I got heem.”</p>
<p>“Nothing. That’s just it.”</p>
<p>“I got heem.”</p>
<p>“No, you haven’t got him, and you can’t get him without
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_352' name='page_352'></SPAN>352</span>
me. Don’t you think it. I am the one to get him.
You have no warrant and no license. I’m the one to put
in the claim and get the reward for you, and you’ll have to
take what I choose to give, and no more. By rights you
would only have your fee as witness, and that’s all. That’s
all the state gives. Whatever else you get is by my kindness
in sharing with you. Hear?”</p>
<p>A dangerous light gleamed in the Swede’s eyes, and
Stiles, by a slight disarrangement of his coat in the search
for his handkerchief, displayed a revolver in his hip pocket.
Nels’ eyes shifted, and he looked away.</p>
<p>“You’d better quit this damned nonsense and say what
you’ll take and what you’ll swear to.”</p>
<p>“I’ll take half dot money,” said Nels, softly and stubbornly.</p>
<p>“I’ll take out all I’ve spent on this case before we divide
it in any way, shape, or manner.” Stiles figured a moment
on the margin of his paper. “Now, what are you going to
swear to? You needn’t shift round. You’ll tell me here
just what you’re prepared to give in as evidence before I
put down a single figure to your name on this paper. See?”</p>
<p>“I done tol’ you all dot in Chicago dot time.”</p>
<p>“Very well. You’ll give that in as evidence, every word
of it, and swear to it?”</p>
<p>“Yas.”</p>
<p>“I don’t more than half believe this is the man. You
know it’s life imprisonment for him if it’s proved on him,
and you’d better be sure you have the right one. I’m in
for justice, and you’re in for the money, that’s plain.”</p>
<p>“Yas, I tank you lak it money, too.”</p>
<p>“I’ll not put him in irons to-night unless you give me
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_353' name='page_353'></SPAN>353</span>
some better reason for your assertion. Why is he the
man?”</p>
<p>“I seen heem dot tam, I know. He got it mark on hees
head vere de blud run dot tam, yust de sam, all right. I
know heem. He speek lak heem. He move hees arm lak
heem. Yas, I know putty good.”</p>
<p>“You’re sure you remember everything he said––all you
told me?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yas. I write it here,” and he drew a small book
from his pocket, very worn and soiled. “All iss here
writed.”</p>
<p>“Let’s see it.” With a smile the Swede put it in Stiles’
hand. He regarded it in a puzzled way.</p>
<p>“What’s this?” He handed the book back contemptuously.
“You’ll never be able to make that out,––all
dirty and––”</p>
<p>“Yas, I read heem, you not,––dot’s Swedish.”</p>
<p>“Very well. Perhaps you know what you’re about,”
and the discussion went on, until at last G. B. Stiles, partly
by intimidation, partly by assumption of being able to get
on without his services, persuaded Nels to modify his demands
and accept three thousand for his evidence. Then
the gray was put in the shafts again, and they drove to the
town quietly, as if they had been to Rigg’s Corners and
back.</p>
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