Mastermind
and the Case of the Missing Citizens Bank Loot
a true Huckabay & Baum Family Story
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Daybreak caught Sheriff Williams at the wheel of his new 1926 Ford Coupe Police Cruiser, parked next to a cabin on the banks of the Big River. The cool September morning air drove a furious fog rising from the Big. He strained to see through the fog and the fat drops of water that dripped off the overhanging willows onto the cruiser's windshield. The fog concealed both the natural landscape as well as the secrets of the men he hunted. He repeated aloud the two questions that had vexed him throughout his sleepless night; "Where is the cash?" and, "Where are the guns?"
Downtown Festus & Citizens Bank, date unknown.
Only 18 hours earlier, three men walked into the Citizens Bank in downtown Festus, Missouri brandishing pistols and a shotgun, demanding cash from the teller. Williams would long remember September 25, 1926. This was the date of the only bank robbery in Jefferson County that occurred during his tenure as Sheriff. The robbers fled north with their loot in a big 1925 Nash Coupe, to this place. There was no doubt that Williams had the right men in custody. His deputy, Eddie Staat, pursued them in his little Willys-Overland after the robbers passed his shop in Antonia. The robbers and pursuer engaged in a seven mile running gun battle, exchanging more than 100 pistol, rifle, and shotgun blasts as they sped along the narrow, winding, muddy road toward House Springs. At one point, the Nash collided with a Chevrolet driven by a local farmer. Both cars lurched to a stop as their bumpers entangled. While his henchmen freed the Nash, Roy Schooley, the gang's leader, calmly stepped out of the car, knelt in the road, and held Staat at bay barely 75 yards away with volley after volley from his Colt .38. At the cabin later that evening, Staat was able to positively identify Schooley, sealing the arrest of the six person gang.
Headlights in his mirror jolted the Sheriff back to the present, signaling what he hoped would be answers to his questions.
Wm. B. Huckabay & Mastermind in 1927
Deputy Staat pulled in first and parked his Overland next to the 1924 Moon, another of the gang's cars. Two other deputies from Hillsboro wheeled their Studebaker under the trees, close to Staat. As the Sheriff stepped out, he studied the third car, 1923 Dodge Coupe, as it pulled alongside. He didn't recognize the car, but knew it had to belong to the detective he'd summoned from East St. Louis, Illinois.
The passenger climbed out of the Dodge, extended his hand to Sheriff Williams, and simply said, "William Huckabay. What do we have here?"
The Sheriff quickly sized up the detective. Medium build, wearing a dark suit and a dapper, light color vest. The accent was deeper South, maybe Arkansas. His dark, piercing eyes expressed a sense of urgency, emphasized by the speed with which he got down to business. Williams would learn later that Huckabay was a serial entrepreneur, indeed from Arkansas. He migrated to East St. Louis during these "Roaring '20's" to establish his detective agency. Sometime later, he met the widow Lena Hirsch Baum in Monroe City, Illinois. They married and while in Monroe City he sold HUCKABAY & BAUM Baseball bats and produced Uncle Huck's Fish Bait for sale around the area.
But there was little time to study Huckabay. The hound in the back seat of the Dodge was raising a racket.
Henry Goodman, Huckabay's own deputy, opened the rear door and the dog charged out. Mastermind was a magnificent black and tan English Bloodhound. To the casual observer, his mournful face drew attention away from his massive size. Over two feet tall and 150 pounds, he seemed to mirror Huckabay's intensity and urgency as he strained against the leash. Huckabay outfitted Mastermind with a stout, black leather chest harness, festooned with silver epaulets. Goodman, no small man, struggled to control the dog at the other end of the heavy leashes.
The Sheriff was accustomed to being in control of situations, but it was clear the hound would abide no delay. Williams spoke quickly, filling in details of the robbery for Huckabay. Most importantly, that Mastermind’s role was to find the cash and guns. The Sheriff felt sure that Frank Smith, the most notorious of the robbers, was key to closing the case. The deputies captured Smith in his room in the cabin the previous evening. The Moon parked out front belonged to him. Smith almost certainly had possession of the cash at some point.
The entire party went inside, up to Smith's room. More precisely, they were dragged there by the excited hound. Huckabay ripped the sheet off the bed and held it out for Mastermind. The big dog calmed for a few seconds, sniffing the sheet intently. In his eyes, the Sheriff could see the dog processing the scent, filing it away almost indelibly in a brain genetically disposed for exactly this purpose.
Huckabay commanded, “Find ‘um!”
On cue, the dog wheeled, nose down, charged across the room, down the stairs, and outside with his posse of sheriffs and detectives in tow. He headed straight to the Moon, jumping up and streaking muddy paw prints down the driver side window. Huckabay pulled open the driver's door. Mastermind bolted, his front paws landing on the car's rocker panel and buried his nose into the seat.
Almost immediately he turned his head skyward and loosed a hoarse, piercing howl, like those that have, for ages, driven fear into the hearts of fugitives.
The hound whirled, moving quickly but deliberately southwards across the driveway and through the yard, his discerning nose never more than an inch from the ground, his entourage following closely, like apostles following The One at revival. Mastermind led the troupe toward a brushy area along the river bank. Sheriff Williams and his impromptu posse searched that very area yesterday but found neither guns nor money.
At one point, Williams paused to take in the scene. He’d seen hounds work rabbits and birds on the hunt. He knew that a good hound, hot on the trail, was a beauty to behold. But Mastermind seemed exceptional, especially considering the circumstances. In the first place, the trail was fast approaching 24 hours old, becoming colder with each passing minute. The September fog, mud puddles, and dripping condensation further diluted the scent. To complicate matters, his posse trampled the scene yesterday. By now, Smith’s trail had been crossed, criss-crossed, and contaminated by a dozen people. Most of them were farmers whose shoes carried the mud from scores of cattle, horses, pigs, chickens, and sundry barnyard animals. Almost everyone in the posse was a tobacco user and the ground was covered with butts, chews, spits, and ‘fixin’s’ of all sort. And yet, there was Mastermind, on the trail.
When the scent was hot, the hound followed it straightaway, voice silent, nose to the ground, tail high in the air whipping back and forth like the Ford’s radio antenna at 50 miles per hour. When the scent cooled, he’d stop, sniff in all directions, then veer off a few feet to the right. Maybe a few more feet to the right if he couldn’t pick it up again. Eventually he’d circle back to the left. Sometimes it would take less than a minute. Others, it would take so long the Sheriff feared the track had played out. But each time, Mastermind would again pick up the scent. When he did, he would raise his head and howl, the sound echoing across the entire Big River Valley.
After ten minutes, the Sheriff grew impatient. The dog seemed singularly focused on searching the brushy area that, at most, stretched 100 yards from the cabin. The brush was not dense, kept thin by frequent Big flooding. His posse had thoroughly searched this area yesterday to no avail. He started toward Huckabay to discuss the matter.
At that moment, Mastermind plunged his head into a tuft of weeds surrounding an old fence post. His howl turned to excited yapping. Before Goodman could react, Mastermind clawed at the weeds and in a flash came up with a cloth sack. Goodman grabbed it and handed it to Huckabay. Huckabay turned and thrust it into the Sheriff’s hands. Mastermind sat on his haunches, panting heavily, his eyes glued to Huckabay with high anticipation. Huckabay held out the reward treat and Mastermind wolfed it down.
Sheriff Williams held up the tan cotton cinch bag. Emblazoned across the front in thick black letters, “Citizens Bank, Festus, Missouri.” He jerked open the leather cinch strap. Inside he saw hundreds-- no, thousands-- of dollars. This was the loot!
But there was no time to celebrate. Huckabay pointed to the ground and in low voice commanded, “Ha!”
Excited, Mastermind was back on the scent. Moving at double speed now. Almost running alongside an old fencerow. Goodman stumbling behind, saplings and branches slapping him in the face, losing his hat. The other deputies running abreast. Fighting the underbrush. In less than a minute, Mastermind stopped at a rotted stump and let loose a howl so loud it could be heard in House Springs. There, shabbily covered by handfuls of weeds were the guns! A shotgun and three pistols, including one taken from the bank teller. Staat and the deputies held them up for the Sheriff to see.
Another reward from Huckabay and Mastermind was off again. This time, trailing in a beeline back to the cabin. He reached the front stoop, sat down, and looked up at Huckabay, as if to say, “We're done. Let's go home!”
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