Shortly after ten o'clock a group of fifteen or eighteen men
moved silently away from Jackson's cigar-store, led by their
commander-in-chief. He was flanked on one side by Bill Kepsal, the
brawny blacksmith, and on the other by Sim Jackson, who happened to
possess a revolver.
After the posse had turned into the unrelieved shades of Maple Street,
Mr. Crow halted every few yards and said: "Sh!"
He had related a portion but not all of his experiences, winding up with
the statement that poor Mrs. Smith had been terribly frightened by the
mysterious prowler, and that it was their duty as citizens to put an end
to his activities if possible.
"Her description of him don't fit anybody livin' in this town," he had
said during the course of his narrative. "We ain't got anybody who c'n
jump thirty foot, or who c'n shin up a chimbly like a squirrel. You
never saw anybody as quick as he is, either. Supposin' you think you see
him standin' right beside you. Zip! Before you could blink an eye, he's
over there in front of Mort's store--just like that. Or up a tree!
Spryest cuss I ever laid eyes on. Made me think of a ghost."
"Ghost?" said Newt Spratt, pausing in the act of rolling up his sleeves.
"You say you saw him, Anderson?" inquired Alf Reesling.
"Course I did. Tall feller with--"
"And the lady saw him too?"
"She saw him first, I been tellin' you. She seemed to be able to see
quicker'n I could, 'cause she saw nearly every move he made. My
eyesight ain't as good as it used to be, an' besides, she could see
plainer from where she stood. Come on now--no time to waste. We got to
post ourselves all around the place an'--an' nab him if he shows himself
again. All you fellers have got to do is to obey orders."
* * * * *
At the corner of Maple and Sickle streets, a few hundred feet from the
Nixon cottage, the cavalcade received a whispered order to halt. The
Marshal, enjoining the utmost stealth, instructed his men where to place
themselves about the grounds they were soon to invest from various
approaches. After stealing over the stone wall, they were to crawl
forward on hands and knees until each man found a hiding-place behind a
bush or flower-bed. There he was to wait and watch. The first glimpse of
the mysterious intruder was to be the signal for a shout of alarm;
whereupon the whole posse was to close in upon him without an instant's
delay.
In course of time, the posse successfully debouched upon the lawn and
occupied crouching positions behind various objects of nature. The
minutes slowly consolidated themselves into half an hour; they were
pretty well started on the way toward the three-quarter mark, and still
no sign of the sprightly stranger. Lights were gleaming behind the
yellow shades of the downstairs window in the cottage; through the
Japanese curtains enveloping the veranda a dull, restricted glow forced
its way out upon the bordering flower-beds.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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