Marshall’s cabin and approached Porter at
work. Stroebel suggested that as he wis
hard up he would like to help with the
ditching. Porter said he would pay him
two dollars a day, and Stroebel started right
to work. The lame youth had thrown his
coat on the ground, and from a hip pocket
produced a revolver which he threw on top
of the coat. There was nothing unusual
about a man carrying a revolver in those
days, and Porter thought little of it. Stroebel
worked with Porter all afternon and when
they finished about half past five, Stroebel
put on his coat, pocketed his gun and walk-
ed off. Porter thought the youth walked in
the direction of Marshall’s cabin but he
wasn't sure.

Curious, thought Lucas, that Stroebel

Huntington.

should have been the first to acquaint him
of the tragedy. And the boy hadn’t men-
tioned being with Marshall on Wednesday.

Moresby agreed to check other nearby
residents on the Canadian side of the line,
while Lucas went back to Sumas to inter-
view Stroebel.

It was dark when the town Marshal
called at the Bartlett’s boarding house again
and found Al in his room. The young
fellow occupied Room 16 upstairs, and as
Lucas mounted to the landing, he heard
the familiar soft harmony of the mouth
organ. There was no doubt who was in
the room, for no one else could cajole such
music from the simple instrument. The
Marshal knocked at Stroebel’s door, and
the music abruptly stopped.

“Who’s there?” called Stroebel

Without answering, Lucas opened the
door and walked in. Stroebel was lying on
his bed, the ever present mouth organ in his
hands.

The Marshal eyed the youth narrowly,
and came right to the point.

“Al,” said the Marshal, “we've been mak-

WINTER EDITION

International Boundary Line, 1913.

ing some enquiries in that Marshall affair
and I think you can help us. Where were
you yesterday afternoon—all afternoon?”

Stroebel studied the mouth organ in his
hands, and then turned to his questioner.

“I helped old man Porter with some
ditching,” he volunteered.

“Did you see old Porcugee John—old
John Marshall?” continued Lucas.

“Yes, I saw him in the morning,” said
Stroebel. “I used to call on the old fellow
now and again. I sure hope they get the
fellow that killed him.”

“T do too,” agreed the Marshal. Then he
continued:

“Did you ever have any words with the
old man?”

“Me? Gosh no—he was a good friend of

Sumas.

—Photo courtesy Provincial Archives, Victoria, B. C.

mine,” replied the youth heatedly, as he
sat up on the edge of his bed.

“Alright, alright,” said Lucas,
answer my questions.”

“Go ahead,” said Stroebel, a tenseness
in his tone. “Ask me anything you like.”

“Did you have a meal with the old man?”
said Lucas quietly.

“Sure I did, I had lunch with him on
Wednesday,” continued the boy, “and then
I played the mouth organ for him for a
while. I helped him wash up his dishes
and I left about two o’clock. He was alright
when I left him.”

“And then what did you do,” prompted
Lucas.

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“IT went over to Porter’s and helped him
with his ditching. I was there all afternoon.
We quit about half past five, and then I
went fishing.”

“You went fishing? asked Lucas. “Didn't
you go home for supper?”

“No, [often do that, I don’t mind missing
a meal,” the young fellow replied.

“Did you have a fishing pole?” queried
the Marshal, doubt in his voice.

“Sure I did,” said Stroebel. “I cached it
in some brush on the way to Marshall’s,
and I picked it up when I left Porter in the
evening.”

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Page Twenty-nine

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