# Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 22/Number 2/The Fluctuating Package/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII.
A FLASH IN THE PAN.
AFTER Seventeen had left Okaday, Leason, the conductor, made his tour of the coaches, collecting tickets and cash fares. He was so startled ​he almost dropped his nickel-plated punch when his eyes fell on Ruthven.
"Seems like you just can't tear yourself away from this train," said he.
"Changed my mind again," remarked Ruthven. "How is the express messenger?"
"He's got a sore head, but that's all. Billings was mighty lucky, the way that matter turned out. Not a thing gone; he's checked over his stuff. That robber made a slick move, but it was only a flash in the pan. Where have you made up your mind to go?"
"Dry Wash."
Leason collected the amount due the railroad company, and then passed on to the end of the train.
Presently he came back and dropped into a vacant seat beside Ruthven. "You've got the straight of that express-car business, haven't you?" he queried. "One of the passengers was the holdup man. Between Bluffton and Okaday he sneaked to the express car, and either he found the door open or he picked the lock. He worked quietly and Billings didn't hear him. When he got into the car he hit the messenger over the head, and that gave him a chance to do as he pleased. But he didn't have time to monkey with the safe, where all the stuff worth while was locked up. You see, we were almost within sight of Okaday, and the robber had made a bad mistake in judging distances. All he could do was to drop off the car when we began to slow up for the town. And that's what he did. I told you that your friend had bought a ticket to Dry Wash?"
Ruthven nodded. "Don't call the fellow my friend, though," said he. "If he had been the man I thought he was he wouldn't have been that."
"Well, that chap is missing from among the passengers. I've gone through the train and he isn't aboard."
Ruthven started with surprise. "That means, then," he returned, "that he was the one who made the attempt on the express car!"
"I don't see how else you can figure it. His ticket read to Dry Wash, and he disappeared between Bluffton and Okaday. Why did he get off? Take it from me, he boarded Seventeen with the idea of rifling the messenger's safe. Billings had more than twenty thousand dollars in cash in his iron box. That is why I declare that Billings was mighty lucky."
"By George!" exclaimed Ruthven. "All this tallies with the character of Weasel Morrison. That is who the fellow was, and I was not mistaken, after all."
"You know him, eh?"
"I know of him. He pulled off a robbery in the Catskill Mountains some time ago, and that also turned out to be a flash in the pan. I was staying at the country home of a broker named Noyes, and Morrison made off with ten thousand dollars from a safe in Noyes' study. I had a little to do with getting the money back, and while that was going on I had an experience with the Weasel that fixed his face in my mind. At Bluffton, as Seventeen was pulling out, I thought I saw Morrison at a coach window. I was so sure it was Morrison, that I boarded the train. Then, later, when you told me——"
He paused, greatly disturbed in mind. He was coming to the point where Lois McKenzie figured prominently in the affair, and he was sorry he had pursued the question so far.
"I believe I get you," said Leason. "I told you that Miss McKenzie rode on Seventeen from Williamsburg to Burt City, and that she sat with this—er—Morrison and talked with him. Miss McKenzie is a fine girl, and her father is a member of the legislature, and it isn't possible she would be on speaking terms with a crook. That is the way you reasoned when you finally ​decided, that you didn't know the man. Is that right?"
"Yes," answered Ruthven slowly and a bit reluctantly. "Of course there is some mistake somewhere. Miss McKenzie has no crooks on her list of acquaintances. She took the only unoccupied seat and just happened to pick out the one with Morrison. They merely talked a little, as chance acquaintances sometimes will. Naturally she had no idea what sort of a man Morrison was."
"I guess that's the size of it," Leason agreed. "That side of the question," and he shot a covert glance at the other man, "had nothing to do with your changing your mind and going on to Dry Wash, had it?"
This manifestly was none of the conductor's business. Still, in the circumstances, he might be excused for putting the question.
"Certainly not," Ruthven answered shortly.
The mysterious Barton package was what had caused Ruthven to change his mind and continue the unexpected journey to Dry Wash. His curiosity had been so profoundly stirred by that last increase in the parcel's weight that he had suddenly decided to follow it through to the other ranch. He knew that his absence would not inconvenience Hoover particularly, and his fears had been somewhat aroused by the strange actions of Durfee and Harrington. He did not take the trouble to explain all this to Leason.
"Are you acquainted in Dry Wash?" pursued the conductor.
"Never have been there. Thomas Barton, who has a ranch near the town, is my uncle. My name is Ruthven."
Barton was well and favorably known all over Montana. Most of the people, too, were aware that his brother-in-law was the great Emmet K. Ruthven.
"Thunder!" mused Leason. "Then you must be the Lewis Ruthven I've been hearing about—the chap who had a flare-up with Emmet K. and was sent to Montana as a——" The conductor paused. His excitement was betraying him too far, and he realized it suddenly.
Ruthven stiffened. "I don't know what you heard, nor whom you heard it from," said he, "but there was no 'flare-up,' as you call it, between my father and me. Emmet K. is one of the finest fellows that ever lived. There may have been a slight misunderstanding between us, but when he gets back to the home office from San Francisco he will know just where I stand."
"Beg your pardon, Mr. Ruthven," mumbled Leason. "I didn't mean to blat out the rumors that are going around. Emmet K. is famous throughout the West, and whatever concerns him is considered public property."
"I'm standing on my own feet," said Ruthven, with a considerable show of feeling. "I don't care to be famous, or infamous, just because my father happens to be well known. What I want to do is to make my own way and not pose as the family pet. At Uncle Tom's lower ranch I'm pulling down fifty dollars a month, and Hoover, the foreman, says I earn every cent of it. Emmet K. isn't the fellow to push a man ahead just because the man happens to be his son. And I'm glad of it. I wish you'd tell anybody who gets curious about me that, so far as Emmet K. is concerned, I'm just his brother's hired man; and no more to him, in a business way, than the other hired men in his employ. Will you do that?"
"I will; glad to do it!" assured the conductor vehemently. "You're the right sort, Mr. Ruthven," he added approvingly, and got up as the train slowed for the next station.
Seventeen was due in Dry Wash at half past two, but owing to the delays ​it did not arrive until four o'clock. Ruthven, when he stepped down from the train, found himself in a town not much larger than Bluffton. He watched while a few packages were thrown out of the express car and gathered up by a man in overalls. Among the parcels was the one for Barton. The man carried his load to a store building across the street from the railroad station, and Ruthven followed him.
A sign outside the store bore the legend: "B. Grandy, General Merchandise." Hanging to this sign were two others, one reading "Post Office," and the other "Express Office." The post office was partitioned off next one of the front windows, and the express office was just back of it on the same side of the store.
The man in overalls dumped his load behind the express-office counter, and a youth of sixteen or seventeen came in with a very slim mail bag and disappeared behind a barricade of letter boxes. A young woman in a calico gown was waiting on a customer in the rear of the establishment. These three, the man, the youth, and the girl, evidently comprised the working force.
"I wish you'd put that package for Thomas Barton on the scales, Mr. Grandy," said Ruthven, leaning over the counter.
The man in overalls looked up, and his faded blue eyes filled with suspicion. "What business is it o' yours?" he inquired.
"None at all; but I think the package is overweight, and I am rather interested in seeing it weighed. I'm from Ranch Two, and Mr. Barton is my uncle."
This statement did not impress Grandy. He piled up the Barton package with the rest of the incoming express matter and made no move to put it on the scales.
"When will that package go out to the ranch?" Ruthven inquired, taking another tack.
"It won't go out to-day," was the answer, "'cause Nate Wylie is down with mountain fever. He was shakin' like all get out when he made his trip to town yesterday. Nate does the hauling between Dry Wash and the ranch. Somebody else, I reckon, will drive the wagon to-morrow."
"If you'll let me receipt for the package I'll get a horse and take it out to Uncle Tom this afternoon."
"Not by a jugful," returned Grandy. "Mebby that package is vallyble, and mebby you're a confidence man. Never seen you before. Somebody I know from the ranch gits this piece o' freight, and not any stranger."
"All right," said Ruthven cheerfully. "Is there a hotel I can stop at until some one comes in from the ranch? I want to ride out there with the man who does the freighting."
"The hotel is right next to this store," was the reply. "They'll take care o' you for the night." Ruthven then went out. "I don't like the way that feller acts," went on Grandy to the girl, who had finished waiting on the customer and had walked toward the front door.
"You're foolish, pop," she answered. "I haven't ever seen a finer-looking young man than he is. What did he say his name was?"
"He didn't say. All he told me was that Tom Barton was his uncle. Anybody could drop in here and say that. Now I'll put that package on the scales jest to satisfy myself."
He did so. "Gosh!" he exclaimed. "It's marked six pounds and weighs ten. I——"
"Weighs ten, eh?" called a voice from the platform in front of the open door.
Grandy looked up to see the smiling face of Ruthven. The latter, still smiling, turned and vanished past the window. "Talk about nerve!"" grumbled ​Grandy. "Now I know he ain't square."
At the hotel Ruthven was given a pleasant welcome. He was shown to a comfortable room, and after a while was supplied with a good supper. That night he slept like a top, undisturbed by any apprehensions or surmises about either the Barton package or Weasel Morrison. When he came down to breakfast next morning, the landlord handed him a newspaper as he started into the dining room.
"It's a daily from Helena," the landlord explained, "and just got here."
Ruthven seated himself at the table, ordered ham and eggs, buckwheat cakes and coffee, and began reading while he waited for his breakfast. A moment later his eye caught a headline: "Big Scare at Burt City!" And below that line was this: "Division Superintendent Durfee Holds Up a Train to Look for Infernal Machine and Finds Pair of Boots."
Ruthven whistled in astonishment; then he began to read, forgetting all about his breakfast.