All that
afternoon he reflected. Tinkletown, seeing his mood, refrained from
breaking in upon it. He was allowed to stroke his whiskers in peace and
to think to his heart's content. By nightfall his face had become an
inscrutable mask, and then it was known that the President of Bramble
County's Horse-Thief Detective Association was determined to fathom the
great problem. Stealthily he went up to the great attic in his home and
inspected his "disguises." In some far-off period of his official career
he had purchased the most amazing collection of false beards, wigs and
garments that any stranded comedian ever disposed of at a sacrifice. He
tried each separate article, seeking for the best individual effect;
then he tried them collectively. It would certainly have been
impossible to recognise him as Anderson Crow. In truth, no one could
safely have identified him as a human being.
"I'm goin' after them raskils," he announced to Andrew Gregory and the
whole family, as he came down late to take his place at the head of the
supper table.
"Ain't you goin' to let 'em show here, pop?" asked Roscoe in distress.
"Show here? What air you talkin' about?"
"He means the train robbers, Roscoe," explained the lad's mother. The
boy breathed again.
"They are a dangerous lot," volunteered Gregory, who had been in Albany
for two days.
Pages:
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267