Forty-one Thieves | Page 8

trace of
the murderers had been found, except for their discarded clothing.
Sheriff Carter's blood-hounds had followed a hot scent to Deer Creek,

several miles above Nevada City, and the posse who followed the dogs
were led to a pool, in the bottom of which, weighted with stones, was
the clothing. Further than this the dogs could not go. They were soon
sneezing as the result of inhaling red pepper, scattered on the rocks.
And the robbers had probably waded up or down stream to insure
complete safety.
Several suspicious characters had passed over the railroad to
Sacramento and San Francisco; but this was an every-day occurrence,
and the police had learned the futility of arresting men who were
probably innocent miners pursuing the gay life.
Nothing thus far had been accomplished. Hence the meeting over
Haggerty's store. Dr. Mason and Mat Bailey were present. The doctor
came because of a sense of civic duty. His British sense of justice had
been outraged beyond endurance.
"You know, Mr. Francis," he said, "I have performed autopsies upon
eleven murdered men within the last ten years; and in no case has one
of the murderers been brought to justice. It is outrageous, scandalous.
Decent men cannot afford to live in a community where people are
more interested in making money than in enforcing the law. Decent
men become marked men--marked for slaughter as Cummins was. We
must do something, if only to protect ourselves."
"You are quite right, Doctor," replied Francis, "and we propose to
investigate for ourselves. Did you notice any suspicious circumstance
when you rode down from Eureka South the other day?"
The doctor could not think of anything important unless it was the
remarks of the gamblers at Moore's Flat about shipping gold dust out of
the country. But if they were accomplices they would hardly have
spoken so carelessly. And why did they leave the stage at North
Bloomfield? They were still there; but no one had observed anything
remarkable in their behavior.
That Cummins was leaving California, probably with gold, was a
well-known fact. That he would go armed, considering the character of

the man, was almost certain. And this was a good reason why bankers
at Moore's Flat or Lake City might ship bullion that fatal day. Mat
Bailey nodded solemn assent, for he knew that this was sound logic.
It was now his turn to offer suggestions. A stage-driver is always a
person of importance, especially in California. For the past six days
Mat had found his public importance rather embarrassing. Every trip
past the robbers' hiding-place had brought an avalanche of questions
from curious passengers. Probably Mat Bailey had been forced to think
of the tragedy more constantly than had any other person. His opinion
ought to be valuable.
He hesitated, and seemed loath to speak his mind.
"Out with it, Mat," said Francis. "This hearing is among friends, not
official. Tell us just what you think."
"Well," replied Mat, "there is one circumstance you gentlemen ought to
know. Up to this time nobody has mentioned it; and I hate to be the
first to speak of it."
Everybody's interest was aroused. After a pause Mat continued:
"When the robber was going over the baggage he came to Mr.
Cummins' valise, and asked, 'Whose is this?' One of the passengers
spoke up and said, 'That belongs to Mr. Cummins.' Then the row
began."
"Who is the guilty man?" cried Francis.
Mat looked embarrassed: "It wasn't a man. It was Miss Slocum."
There was a moment of silence. Everybody was shocked, and trying to
work out in his own mind some logical connection between the
school-teacher and the crime.
"That's where you've got us guessing, Mat," said one. "What can a
crowd of bachelors do if you drag a woman into the case?"

"And yet," said another, "what else ought we to expect? A woman's at
the bottom of everything, you know."
"Yes, we would none of us be here in this wicked world except for our
mothers," remarked the doctor sarcastically. "How has Miss Slocum
been acting since the tragedy, Mat? I must confess I can't think ill of
that girl."
"Well, Doctor," replied Mat, "she has acted just as you would expect an
innocent girl to act. She's been all broken up--down sick a good part of
the time. And I don't believe there's a man, woman, or child in Nevada
City who mourns Will Cummins more than she does. That's why I hate
to mention her name. And that's why I haven't said anything up to this
time. But some of those cowards who looked on while Cummins was
murdered have begun to talk; so you would have heard the story sooner
or later anyhow. Still, I hate to mention the girl's name."
"You have