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more just yesterday, Grant and Hutchinson from the Flying W ranch. Couple of wild ones those two buckeroos. Herb Grant has a scar from a knife fight that split his lips, and Hutch has a scar over his right eyebrow and just above it. Got hit with a broken bottle in a saloon fight one night.” “Thank you very much,” Tom said. We ran all the way to the marshal’s office. Sheriff Baker had returned and was sitting at his desk. He was a very big man, taller and heavier and quite a bit older than Uncle Mark. He had the biggest gray walrus mustache of any man in town.
“Howdy, boys,” he said. “If you are looking for your uncle he will be back in a few minutes.”
“I guess Uncle Mark told you all about the train robbery and murder of Mr. Simpson,” Tom said as we sat down. “Yep,” Sheriff Baker said. “Figure your uncle is right
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about it not being Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch.”
We talked about the train robbery until Uncle Mark arrived a few minutes later. He said hello to Tom and me and then spoke to the sheriff.
“Checked the livery stable,” he said. “No horses were rented out the morning of the train robbery. Wouldn’t have done us much good anyway. The outlaws hid the horses be-hind some trees and bushes.”
“Didn’t the engineer and fireman get a look at the brands on the horses when the outlaws took them along?” Sheriff Baker asked.
“Couldn’t,” Uncle Mark said. “The outlaws blindfolded them and told them not to look back when they let them go.”
“Just another thing that indicates it must have been somebody around here who did the job,” Sheriff Baker said. “They were afraid somebody on the train from Adenville might recognize one or more of the horses.”
Tom stood up. “If I can help you find the outlaws will I get the reward?” he asked.
^eriff Baker leaned forward in his chair. “Your uncle has told me some fantastic stories about that great brain of yours,” he said. “You help us catch and convict these outlaws and you can have any reward money there might be.”
“First,” Tom said, “what can you tell me about a man named Hutchinson who works at the Flying W ranch?”
“He is the nephew of Fred Pearson who owns the ranch,” Sheriff Baker said. “His mother died when the boy was just a youngster and his father was killed in an accident soon after. Pearson took the boy in to raise and spoiled him rotten. Your uncle can tell you more about that than I can.”
Uncle Mark sat down at his desk. “Ever since he was old enough to enter a saloon,” he said, “Hutch has been nothing
65
but trouble. He started a saloon fight every time he came to town and he began gambling and running up debts. His uncle paid for the damages and the fines and settled the gambling debts for about three years. Then about a month ago I guess Pearson got fed up. He notified the saloon keep-ers he wouldn’t be responsible for any more of his nephew’s gambling debts. And he told Judge Potter and me he would let his nephew rot in jail before he would pay any more fines.” Uncle Mark shook his head. “But I knew it wouldn’t last.”
“Why do you say that?” Tom asked.
“Because Hutch has been gambling and losing heavily at the Fairplay Saloon for the past two nights,” Uncle Mark answered.
“Just one more question,” Tom said, “and I think my great brain will have the train robbery solved. Mr. Simpson would know Hutchinson, wouldn’t he?”
“Of course,” Uncle Mark said. “Hutch has been coming into town with his uncle since he was about sixteen to tally cattle sold to Simpson.” Then Uncle Mark came out of his chair as if he had been sitting on a tack. “I know what you are leading up to but go on.”
“You called him Hutch,” Tom said. “And Mr. Forester called him Hutch. And there is nobody around here with a name that sounds like Butch except him. And Mr. Forester said Hutch had a scar over his left eyebrow. A scar like that
“Howdy, boys,” he said. “If you are looking for your uncle he will be back in a few minutes.”
“I guess Uncle Mark told you all about the train robbery and murder of Mr. Simpson,” Tom said as we sat down. “Yep,” Sheriff Baker said. “Figure your uncle is right
64
about it not being Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch.”
We talked about the train robbery until Uncle Mark arrived a few minutes later. He said hello to Tom and me and then spoke to the sheriff.
“Checked the livery stable,” he said. “No horses were rented out the morning of the train robbery. Wouldn’t have done us much good anyway. The outlaws hid the horses be-hind some trees and bushes.”
“Didn’t the engineer and fireman get a look at the brands on the horses when the outlaws took them along?” Sheriff Baker asked.
“Couldn’t,” Uncle Mark said. “The outlaws blindfolded them and told them not to look back when they let them go.”
“Just another thing that indicates it must have been somebody around here who did the job,” Sheriff Baker said. “They were afraid somebody on the train from Adenville might recognize one or more of the horses.”
Tom stood up. “If I can help you find the outlaws will I get the reward?” he asked.
^eriff Baker leaned forward in his chair. “Your uncle has told me some fantastic stories about that great brain of yours,” he said. “You help us catch and convict these outlaws and you can have any reward money there might be.”
“First,” Tom said, “what can you tell me about a man named Hutchinson who works at the Flying W ranch?”
“He is the nephew of Fred Pearson who owns the ranch,” Sheriff Baker said. “His mother died when the boy was just a youngster and his father was killed in an accident soon after. Pearson took the boy in to raise and spoiled him rotten. Your uncle can tell you more about that than I can.”
Uncle Mark sat down at his desk. “Ever since he was old enough to enter a saloon,” he said, “Hutch has been nothing
65
but trouble. He started a saloon fight every time he came to town and he began gambling and running up debts. His uncle paid for the damages and the fines and settled the gambling debts for about three years. Then about a month ago I guess Pearson got fed up. He notified the saloon keep-ers he wouldn’t be responsible for any more of his nephew’s gambling debts. And he told Judge Potter and me he would let his nephew rot in jail before he would pay any more fines.” Uncle Mark shook his head. “But I knew it wouldn’t last.”
“Why do you say that?” Tom asked.
“Because Hutch has been gambling and losing heavily at the Fairplay Saloon for the past two nights,” Uncle Mark answered.
“Just one more question,” Tom said, “and I think my great brain will have the train robbery solved. Mr. Simpson would know Hutchinson, wouldn’t he?”
“Of course,” Uncle Mark said. “Hutch has been coming into town with his uncle since he was about sixteen to tally cattle sold to Simpson.” Then Uncle Mark came out of his chair as if he had been sitting on a tack. “I know what you are leading up to but go on.”
“You called him Hutch,” Tom said. “And Mr. Forester called him Hutch. And there is nobody around here with a name that sounds like Butch except him. And Mr. Forester said Hutch had a scar over his left eyebrow. A scar like that
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