CHAPTER XX

TALLY MOORE TALKS

‘Reckon you’re Tally Moore,’ said the sheriff amiably.

The man, pausing on the top of the low bank, looked them over suspiciously. Finally his gaze fell on the skiff, bumping astern, and his faded eyes lighted a little. He nodded, as though agreeing to something he was more than doubtful of.

‘Well, I’m sheriff up to Livermore. These boys came across this skiff yesterday and Jeff Gosling said he thought it belonged to you. If so, here ’tis. ’Course,’ added the sheriff, laughing jokingly, ‘you’ll have to prove your title to it!’

‘It’s mine,’ said Tally in a hoarse voice that sounded much too large for his thin body. ‘Lost it two-three days ago.’

‘Lost it, did you? That’s funny now. The men that had it said they’d hired it from you. Maybe it isn’t the one, after all.’

Tally Moore’s gaze shifted. ‘Well, come to think of it, I did let them fellers take it. Said they wanted a boat to fish in. I never seen ’em afore, but they looked respec’able and I let ’em have it. Strangers roun’ here, they was.’

‘I see,’ answered the sheriff carelessly. ‘Reckon they lied to you, Moore, for they gave the skiff to these boys here.’

‘No, they didn’t,’ began the owner. Then he stopped.

‘Maybe they told you they didn’t,’ chuckled the sheriff, ‘but the boys said they did. What did they tell you now?’

‘I ain’t seen ’em since,’ muttered Tally.

‘I see.’ The sheriff’s gaze roamed along the bank. Several stakes were driven into it at intervals and two of them still held rusty chains and padlocks. ‘Sort of left you without anything to get around in, didn’t it?’ he asked.

‘Brodie, over there, he lets me have his punt when I want it,’ said Tally.

‘Reckon you sold your motor-boat, too,’ the sheriff mused.

Tally’s eyes widened, then dropped quickly. ‘I ain’t had a power-boat for a good while,’ he muttered.

‘What do you call a good while?’ asked the other, his eyes twinkling. ‘’Bout twelve hours?’

‘Now, you look ahere,’ replied Tally querulously. ‘I ain’t goin’ answer no more fool questions. I got my work to do, I have.’

‘Won’t keep you much longer,’ said the sheriff soothingly. ‘How much did you get for the power-boat?’

‘That’s my private affair,’ answered the man with sullen dignity.

‘Sure ’tis, sure ’tis! Just wanted to tell you that whatever money those fellows paid you ain’t worth a cent.’

‘What you mean?’ demanded Tally in alarm.

‘Counterfeit.’

‘What! Counterfeit? Sheriff, you mean that?’

‘Well, I mean they were printing the stuff up on Cypress Creek. ’Course they might have paid you in good money, but it don’t seem likely. Haven’t got it handy, have you?’

There was a moment’s hesitation on the part of Tally. Then he turned and ran toward the cabin. He didn’t go inside, though, but disappeared around the farther corner. He was gone several minutes.

‘Got to dig it up, likely,’ said the sheriff. ‘’Twas his power-boat they got, all right, Kinsey. Don’t reckon he was in with ’em, though.’

The Secret Service agent shook his head. ‘Too stupid, I guess,’ he agreed.

Tally came back, panic in his colorless face. ‘Here’s what they gave me, Sheriff,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Ain’t that good money?’ He yielded the bills to the other. There were eighteen of them. The sheriff sorted them into two lots; two hundred dollars of crisp, new paper and thirty-five dollars in old, creased bills. The new notes he passed on to Mr. Kinsey.

‘I reckon this thirty-five is all right,’ said the sheriff, ‘but that new stuff――’ He looked questioningly at the Secret Service man. The latter was already folding the bills and putting them into his pocket.

‘Counterfeit,’ he said briefly.

‘You give ’em back here!’ cried Tally. ‘Good or bad, stranger, it’s my money!’

‘You hold your horses, Moore,’ said the sheriff. ‘Phoney money belongs to just one person, and that’s Uncle Sam. This here’s Mr. Kinsey, of the United States Secret Service.’

Tally stared open-mouthed. Then he swallowed hard. ‘You mean I don’t get nothin’?’ he faltered.

‘I wouldn’t wonder a mite if you got your boat back,’ answered the sheriff.

‘The skunks!’ broke out Tally angrily. He found worse names then, and mingled ugly oaths with his excited ravings until the sheriff silenced him.

‘Moore,’ he said, ‘if you want we should get your power-boat back for you, you’d better tell us the truth about the business. Here’s your thirty-five. How comes it they paid you that much in real money?’

‘That was first off,’ answered Tally hurriedly in his hoarse tones. ‘That was for the skiff. I sold it to ’em, good an’ all. They was two of ’em come along about three weeks past. Strangers they was. Wanted a boat for fishin’ an’ offered me thirty for mine. I told ’em thirty-five an’ they paid it. I didn’t see ’em again till last night. Then one of ’em, the tall feller, comes here ’bout ten o’clock an’ gets me out o’ bed. Wants to buy the power-boat an’ we haggles awhile an’ he finally pays me two hundred dollars, the――the――’

‘Never mind that,’ soothed the sheriff. ‘Two hundred was quite a price, I reckon, Moore. Must have wanted it bad, I’d say. Then what?’

‘I come down here an’ unlocked that padlock yonder and started it for him and he went off, the dirty――’

‘And that’s the last you saw of him? Or the others?’

‘Yes,’ Tally hesitated. Then he added, ‘I heard ’em, though.’

‘Heard them, eh? How’s that?’

‘’Bout two o’clock, I reckon ’twas. I couldn’t get to sleep again after he’d waked me up, an’ I was lyin’ in the cabin when I heard the power-boat comin’ down the creek. I’d know that engine anywhere, Sheriff. One of them cylinders ain’t never spit just right. I heard it go by the end of the backwater yonder and keep on downstream.’

‘About two o’clock, you say?’

‘Nigh’s I could tell. Reckon I’d been lyin’ there awake more’n three hours. Sheriff, I needs a boat powerful. You goin’ to let me have my skiff back, ain’t you?’

‘’Course I am. You can have it for no more’n you sold it for.’

‘’Tain’t worth thirty-five dollars,’ said Tally indignantly. ‘’Tain’t worth more’n ten, I reckon.’

‘Oh, yes, it is. Call it thirty and you can have it.’

Tally shook his head. ‘Twenty, Sheriff,’ he offered.

‘Not a cent less than thirty. Want it?’

‘No! ’Tain’t worth it. I can buy Brodie’s punt for fifteen.’

‘All right. Anything more you want to know from this man, Kinsey?’

‘I don’t think so. I want to tell him, though, that I could cause his arrest for having counterfeit money in his possession, and that I’m likely to do it if he doesn’t stick right around here in case I need him to identify those men later. Get that, Moore?’

‘I’ll be right here, sir,’ Tally assured him earnestly.

‘Now,’ said Sheriff Bowker, when the launch was once more making its way down the creek, ‘we’ll put you boys aboard your boat next. Casey, you know the short way to the Run from here?’

‘Don’t believe I do, Henry.’

‘Well, it’s first to your right. It’s a sharp turn, sort of hidden. I’ll watch for it.’

‘Mr. Bowker,’ said Pud, ‘does that skiff belong to us?’

‘Well, now, I don’t know.’ The sheriff rubbed his nose reflectively. ‘Maybe it does, Anson. Why?’

‘I was just thinking that we’d rather have had that twenty dollars he offered,’ answered Pud.

‘Oh, that’s it? Well, now, look here, son. That boat’s worth thirty if it’s worth a cent. Tell you what you do. You take it back up to Millville and see can’t you sell it there.’

‘I’d rather have the boat,’ declared Tim. ‘It’s a pretty good one, Pud. All it needs is calking and painting.’

‘We-ell,’ agreed Pud doubtfully. ‘Maybe it will be kind of fun to have a rowboat handy.’

‘Ain’ ’at the truth?’ observed Harmon solemnly.

Pud and Tim exchanged glances. Here was a complication. It was plain that they would have to acquire Harmon’s interest, if he possessed any. Pud wondered if he did. Although at the start of the expedition, Harmon’s status had been that of a menial, Pud felt that he had since then attained to equality. Yes, beyond a doubt Harmon belonged, and, belonging, owned a third――well, anyway, a part of that skiff!

They took the turn that Pud had passed by the night before and almost at once debouched into Two-Pond Run. It was annoying to reflect that had he taken it, too, he would have found Tim and Harmon without difficulty. Still, in that case perhaps he wouldn’t himself have been discovered by the police launch, and if he hadn’t he would have missed all the exciting incidents of the morning.

‘You reckon they went on out, don’t you?’ the sheriff was inquiring of Mr. Kinsey. ‘’Tain’t likely, I suppose, they’d maybe run up around into Little Fox or Marsh Creek.’

‘Not a bit,’ was the reply. ‘When this fellow Thorbourn saw his boat going off down the stream last night, he must have figured that the jig was up. Maybe he didn’t know who was in it, Sheriff, but he did know he’d left this bundle of the queer in it, and I guess he figured that River Swamp wasn’t healthy any longer. We’ll find they’ve made for the railroad, I guess. Some one’s bound to have seen that motor-boat between here and Corbin.’

‘They could get the train at Corbin,’ said the sheriff.

‘Not without being seen by too many folks. They want to save the press and the plates. If they hadn’t, they’d have destroyed them back there, Sheriff. I thought maybe they had. Thought I might find them in the creek. But they hadn’t. Took them with them and will look for new headquarters somewhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d gone right on down the river to Mumford.’

The _Kismet-Jolly Rodger-Vengance_ was just where they had left her an hour and a half before, and the boys were soon transferred. The skiff was untied from the police launch and made fast to the stern of the other. Pud was none too cheerful about the change, for he would vastly have preferred staying with the sheriff and Mr. Kinsey and the round-faced Mr. Casey and sharing in the further pursuit of the counterfeiters, but that, of course, was out of the question.

‘Reckon,’ said the sheriff, ‘you can’t get lost going down, boys. Follow the Run straight south, past First Pond, and you’ll come out at The Flat. Then it’s two miles, about, to Corbin. And, say, when you get there, if I was you I’d stop and telephone your folks. I’ll get word to them, too, but I reckon maybe they’d like to hear from you personal.’

‘All right, sir,’ agreed Pud. ‘And thanks for finding us, and everything. And I hope you’ll catch the counterfeiters.’

‘Well, this gentleman here’ll have to worry about that,’ chuckled the sheriff. ‘But from what I hear of his crowd, those counterfeiters haven’t got a chance! You expecting to get back home to-night?’

‘Gee, I don’t know,’ answered Pud. ‘I guess it’s too far, though.’

‘Well, maybe ’tis. Anyway, you talk to your folks and fix it all right with them, son. And, say, if you stop at Livermore going up, come in and see me. Any one’ll tell you where to find my office. Maybe I mightn’t be in, but if I was I’d be glad to see you and show you ’round a bit. What say, Casey?’

The policeman was beckoning secretively and the sheriff tramped forward and held a whispered conversation with him. Once Pud heard him exclaim ‘Well, I swan!’ in rather amazed tones, and, having exclaimed, he turned to view the occupants of the adjoining boat with a new and peculiar interest. Pud felt slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps Mr. Casey had been told about that rooster that had made a breakfast for them four days previous! But the sheriff was chuckling now, chuckling and nodding to Mr. Casey. Then, clearing his throat, he said: ‘Anson, I reckon you’d better make a point of stopping in and seeing me before you go on home. There’s――er――well, now, there’s certain formalities that ought to be attended to. Being mixed up in this matter, more or less, maybe you’d ought to make an affidavit or something, eh?’

Pud agreed, somewhat puzzled. Tim’s countenance showed that he didn’t hold with affidavits and would much prefer not having anything further to do with the Law.

‘Yes, well, now,’ went on Sheriff Bowker, ‘you see me at my office this afternoon or to-morrow morning. Don’t forget!’

‘No, sir, we won’t,’ answered Pud with scant enthusiasm.

‘Better not,’ said Mr. Casey, smiling broadly. ‘It’s going to be to your advantage, boys, as the advertisements has it!’

‘Yes, that’s so,’ chuckled the sheriff. ‘Well, see you later, then. Let her go, Casey.’

Good-byes were exchanged and the police launch surged away, churning, and fled down the stream, her wash breaking against the bank in miniature waves. Pud and Tim waved as long as it was in sight and then, with one accord, jumped toward the locker that held food!