CHAPTER XXII THE ACCUSATION

“Look here, Chunky!” exclaimed Jerry, with one look at his stout chum and another at the tail-end of the wagon. “Is this a joke, or what?”

“Mostly what, I guess,” put in Ned. “If it’s a joke I don’t see the point, giving us heart disease that way. What do you mean? Was it Crooked Nose?”

“That’s what I said,” retorted Bob as nearly sharp as his bubbling good-nature ever permitted him to be. “I tell you I saw the same man, with the same crooked nose, that ran into you, Jerry, in the restaurant that night in Cresville when we had the fire.”

“Naturally if it was the same man he had the same nose,” said Ned.

“Well, it was the same man all right,” went on Bob. “I don’t very often forget a face.”

“Nor the time to eat,” added Jerry with a laugh. “Never mind, it will soon be time, Chunky. Don’t let your stomach get the best of you.”

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“What do you mean?” asked Bob.

“I mean I guess you’re getting delirious from want of food. You’re seeing things.”

“I tell you I saw that man with the crooked nose!” asserted Bob. “And moreover I think it’s our duty to follow him, and see what he’s doing here. He may have my father’s watch, and Mrs. Hopkins’ brooch.”

“Maybe that’s true,” agreed Jerry. “But we’ve got pretty slim evidence to act on. And it seems out of the question to believe that he would be away down here. You probably did see a man with a crooked nose, Bob, but there are lots such.”

“I’m sure it was the same one we saw in Cresville,” insisted the stout lad. “Come on, let’s have a look down that road. We’ve got time.”

But they had not, for just then the order came to fall in, and the march was resumed. But it was only a short hike to the place where camp was to be made for the night, and when Bob found that it was not more than two miles to the road down which he had seen the wagon turn, he said to his chums:

“Say, fellows, we’ve got to investigate this.”

“Investigate what?” asked Jerry, shifting his pack to ease a lame spot on one shoulder.

“Crooked Nose,” replied Bob. “We can ask for a little time off, and take a hike by ourselves[176] down this road. Maybe that fellow works on a farm around here. Though what he’s doing so far from Cresville gets me. I’ll wager it isn’t for any good. But we ought to look him up.”

“S’pose we find he’s the wrong man, even if he has a crooked nose?” asked Ned, not eager for further hiking just then.

“We’ve got to take that chance,” Bob went on. “I’m sure, from the look I had of him, that he’s the same one. Are you with me?”

“Well, you needn’t ask that,” was Jerry’s answer. “Of course we’re with you. And if this turns out a fizzle we won’t say we told you so, Chunky. It’s worth taking a chance on, though if we do find this is the same crooked-nosed chap we saw at the time of the fire, it isn’t going to prove that he robbed the Frenchman. If he got all that valuable stuff he wouldn’t be here—he’d be in the city having a good time.”

“We’ll have to be careful about making an accusation, I guess,” agreed the stout lad. “But if we find he is the same chap we saw we could telegraph to the police of Cresville and ask if he was wanted there. If he is, the police there could take the matter up with the police of this place. That’s the way they do it.”

“Are there any police here?” asked Ned, looking around with a smile, for they were in the midst[177] of a country that looked too peaceful to need officers of the law.

“Oh, they always have constables, deputy sheriffs or something in these villages,” said Jerry. “That part will be all right, Bob. Go to it.”

And “go to it” Bob did. As soon as the army had come to a stop and the supper mess had been served, the three motor boys sought and received permission to go off for a stroll. It was early evening, and they must be back within the guard lines at ten, they were told, but this would give them time enough.

Having traveled about as much as they had, the three friends had acquired a good general sense of direction, and they had noted the location of the highway down which Bob had said the crooked-nosed man had driven.

It was their plan to go back to this point and make some inquiries of any resident they might meet in regard to the existence, on some neighboring farm, of a man with a nose decidedly out of joint.

“His defect is such that it surely will have been noticed,” said Bob. “He’s a marked man if ever there was one, and he ought to be easy to trace.”

As the three friends left the camp, armed with written permission to be absent until “taps” that night, Jerry, looking across the field, where the dog tents were already up, said:

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“There goes Pug Kennedy. He must have a pass, too, for he’s going toward the lines.”

“I hope he isn’t going to trail us,” remarked Bob. “If we make this capture, or give information by which Crooked Nose is caught, we want the honor ourselves,” he added, with a grin.

“Oh, Pug doesn’t know anything about the Cresville fire,” declared Ned.

“He might,” insisted Bob. “He lives just outside the town, and he may have heard of the Frenchman’s loss and about Crooked Nose. Come on, let’s get going, and not have him ahead of us.”

But Pug Kennedy did not seem to be paying any attention to the motor boys. He marched steadily on, showed his pass to the sentry, and was allowed to go through the line. Then he started off down the road.

“That’s the way we’re going,” objected Bob, in disappointed tones.

“Oh, don’t pay any attention to him!” exclaimed Jerry. “He’s probably going out to see if he can pick up any more hens. We’ll mind our own affairs, and he can mind his.”

“If he only will,” murmured Ned.

However there was nothing to do but proceed with the plan they had made. Whether it would succeed or not was a question, and there was also a question as to what to do in case they should[179] discover the right crooked-nosed man. But, being youths of good spirits, the boys did not worry much about this end of the affair.

Down the pleasant country road they marched, in the early twilight. It would not be dark for a while yet, and they expected to make good use of their time. Their first “objective,” as Bob said, would be the road down which the crooked-nosed man had driven.

This place was soon reached, but it proved to be a lonely stretch of highway. At least no house was in sight, and there appeared to be no residents of whom information could be asked.

“But there may be a house just around the turn of the road,” suggested Bob hopefully. “Let’s hike on.”

So go on they did, and they were rewarded by seeing, as they made the turn in the highway, a farmhouse about a quarter of a mile beyond.

“Maybe he lives there, or works there,” suggested Bob.

“What gets me, though, Chunky,” said Jerry, “is what he would be doing down here.”

“Nothing strange in it,” said the stout lad. “He may be a sort of tramp farmer, and they go all over, the same as the umbrella men, or the wash-boiler fixers. Come on!”

They hurried forward, eager for what lay ahead of them, and if they had not been so eager[180] they might have been aware of a figure which had cut across lots and was sneaking along behind them. And the figure was that of Pug Kennedy.

“I wonder what their game is?” Pug muttered to himself. “If they are spying on me, it won’t be healthy for them. I’ll see what they’re up to, and maybe I can put a spoke in their wheel.”

Reaching the house, Ned, Bob and Jerry saw, sitting out in front, evidently resting after his day’s labors, a bronzed farmer. He looked at the boys with interest, and inquired:

“What’s the matter? Lost your way?”

“No, we came to see you,” answered Jerry.

“To see me? Well, I’m sure I’m glad to see any of Uncle Sam’s boys. Used to be one myself, but that’s long ago. Come in and set.”

“No, we’re on business,” went on Jerry, who had been elected spokesman. “Have you seen a man around these parts with a very crooked nose?”

The farmer started, and looked closely at the boys.

“A crooked nose?” he repeated.

“Yes,” interjected Bob, “a very crooked nose. It’s spread all over one side of his face.”

“Why, that must be Jim Waydell! At least that’s what he called himself when he came to work for me,” said the farmer, who had given his[181] name as Thomas Martin to the boys, when they told him who they were.

“Do you know him?” asked Jerry.

“Well, not very much, no. He came along, asked for work, and, as I was short-handed, I gave it to him. Why do you ask?”

“We’re not sure whether he’s the man we want to see or not,” answered Jerry, determined to be a bit cautious. “If we could have a look at him close by——”

“He’s out in the barn now,” interrupted the farmer. “Go talk to him, if you like.”

He waved his hand toward a ramshackle red building, and the three boys started toward it. As they entered they heard some one moving around, and then they caught sight of the very man they were looking for standing in the opened rear door. The last rays of the setting sun streamed full in on him from behind, and illuminated his face. His crooked nose was very much in evidence.

“There he is!” exclaimed Bob.

And as if the words were a warning the man, with a cry, gave a jump up into the haymow and disappeared from sight.

“Come on!” cried Ned. “We’ll get him!”

The three motor boys sprang to the pursuit, scrambling over the hay. It was a noiseless chase, for the hay deadened all sounds. They could not[182] see the man, but it was evident that he was either going to hide, or was making toward some unseen door by which he could escape.

“We’ll get him!” exclaimed Bob. “Come on!”

There came a cry from Ned.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jerry.

“Slipped and stuck my hand into a hen’s nest in the hay,” was the answer. “Broke about half a dozen eggs, I guess! Too bad! We might have taken ’em back to camp to fry for breakfast.”

Hardly had Ned uttered the words than the boys were startled by hearing a voice they knew—the voice of Pug Kennedy. It said:

“There they are now, Mister, stealing your eggs! I told you that’s what they were after—robbing hens’ nests. Better look out for your eggs!”

“I will!” exclaimed the voice of the farmer, in answer to this accusation. “I wondered at their story of the crooked-nosed man! They just wanted to get into my barn! I’ll fix ’em!”