"I say, Pudgy," he cried, as he took the steps two at
a time for the second floor, "here's a wire from Benham
saying Gail didn't come on that train and asking when
he's to expect her."
"Impossible!" ejaculated Mrs. Prim. "I certainly saw
her aboard the train myself. Impossible!"
Jonas Prim was a man of action. Within half an hour
he had set in motion such wheels as money and influence
may cause to revolve in search of some clew to the
whereabouts of the missing Abigail, and at the same
time had reported the theft of jewels and money from
his home; but in doing this he had learned that other
happenings no less remarkable in their way had taken
place in Oakdale that very night.
The following morning all Oakdale was thrilled as its
fascinated eves devoured the front page of Oakdale's or-
dinarily dull daily. Never had Oakdale experienced a
plethora of home-grown thrills; but it came as near to
it that morning, doubtless, as it ever had or ever will.
Not since the cashier of The Merchants and Farmers
Bank committed suicide three years past had Oakdale
been so wrought up, and now that historic and classical
event paled into insignificance in the glaring brilliancy
of a series of crimes and mysteries of a single night such
as not even the most sanguine of Oakdale's thrill lovers
could have hoped for.
There was, first, the mysterious disappearance of Abi-
gail Prim, the only daughter of Oakdale's wealthiest cit-
izen; there was the equally mysterious robbery of the
Prim home. Either one of these would have been suffi-
cient to have set Oakdale's multitudinous tongues wag-
ging for days; but they were not all. Old John Baggs, the
city's best known miser, had suffered a murderous as-
sault in his little cottage upon the outskirts of town,
and was even now lying at the point of death in The
Samaritan Hospital. That robbery had been the motive
was amply indicated by the topsy-turvy condition of the
contents of the three rooms which Baggs called home.
As the victim still was unconscious no details of the
crime were obtainable. Yet even this atrocious deed had
been capped by one yet more hideous.
Reginald Paynter had for years been looked upon
half askance and yet with a certain secret pride by Oak-
dale. He was her sole bon vivant in the true sense of
the word, whatever that may be. He was always spoken
of in the columns of The Oakdale Tribune as 'that well
known man-about-town,' or 'one of Oakdale's most prom-
inent clubmen.' Reginald Paynter had been, if not the
only, at all events the best dressed man in town. His
clothes were made in New York. This in itself had been
sufficient to have set him apart from all the other males
of Oakdale. He was widely travelled, had an indepen-
dent fortune, and was far from unhandsome. For years
he had been the hope and despair of every Oakdale
mother with marriageable daughters. The Oakdale
fathers, however, had not been so keen about Reginald.
Men usually know more about the morals of men than
do women. There were those who, if pressed, would
have conceded that Reginald had no morals.
But what place has an obituary in a truthful tale of
adventure and mystery! Reginald Paynter was dead. His
body had been found beside the road just outside the
city limits at mid-night by a party of automobilists re-
turning from a fishing trip. The skull was crushed back
of the left ear. The position of the body as well as the
marks in the road beside it indicated that the man had
been hurled from a rapidly moving automobile. The fact
that his pockets had been rifled led to the assumption
that he had been killed and robbed before being dumped
upon the road.
Now there were those in Oakdale, and they were
many, who endeavored to connect in some way these
several events of horror, mystery, and crime. In the first
place it seemed quite evident that the robbery at the
Prim home, the assault upon Old Baggs, and the mur-
der of Paynter had been the work of the same man; but
how could such a series of frightful happenings be in any
way connected with the disappearance of Abigail Prim?
Of course there were many who knew that Abigail and
Reginald were old friends; and that the former had, on
frequent occasions, ridden abroad in Reginald's French
roadster, that he had escorted her to parties and been,
at various times, a caller at her home; but no less had
been true of a dozen other perfectly respectable young
ladies of Oakdale. Possibly it was only Abigail's added
misfortune to have disappeared upon the eve of the
night of Reginald's murder.
But later in the day when word came from a nearby
town that Reginald had been seen in a strange touring
car with two unknown men and a girl, the gossips com-
menced to wag their heads. It was mentioned, casually
of course, that this town was a few stations along the
very road upon which Abigail had departed the previous
afternoon for that destination which she had not reached.
It was likewise remarked that Reginald, the two strange
men and the GIRL had been first noticed after the time of
arrival of the Oakdale train! What more was needed?
Absolutely nothing more. The tongues ceased wagging
in order that they might turn hand-springs.
Find Abigail Prim, whispered some, and the mystery
will be solved. There were others charitable enough to
assume that Abigail had been kidnapped by the same
men who had murdered Paynter and wrought the other
lesser deeds of crime in peaceful Oakdale. The Oakdale
Tribune got out an extra that afternoon giving a resume
of such evidence as had appeared in the regular edition
and hinting at all the numerous possibilities suggested
by such matter as had come to hand since. Even fear
of old Jonas Prim and his millions had not been enough
to entirely squelch the newspaper instinct of the Trib-
une's editor. Never before had he had such an oppor-
tunity and he made the best of it, even repeating the
vague surmises which had linked the name of Abigail
to the murder of Reginald Paynter.
Jonas Prim was too busy and too worried to pay any
attention to the Tribune or its editor. He already had
the best operative that the best detective agency in the
nearest metropolis could furnish. The man had come to
Oakdale, learned all that was to be learned there, and
forthwith departed.
This, then, will be about all concerning Oakdale for
the present. We must leave her to bury her own dead.
The sudden pressure of the knife point against the
breast of the Oskaloosa Kid awakened the youth with
a startling suddenness which brought him to his feet be-
fore a second vicious thrust reached him. For a time he
did not realize how close he had been to death or that
he had been saved by the chance location of the auto-
matic pistol in his breast pocket--the very pistol he had
taken from the dressing table of Abigail Prim's boudoir.
The commotion of the attack and escape brought the
other sleepers to heavy-eyed wakefulness. They saw
Dopey Charlie advancing upon the Kid, a knife in his
hand. Behind him slunk The General, urging the other
on. The youth was backing toward the doorway. The
tableau persisted but for an instant. Then the would-be
murderer rushed madly upon his victim, the latter's
hand leaped from beneath the breast of his torn coat--
there was a flash of flame, a staccato report and Dopey
Charlie crumpled to the ground, screaming. In the same
instant The Oskaloosa Kid wheeled and vanished into
the night.
It had all happened so quickly that the other members
of the gang, awakened from deep slumber, had only
time to stumble to their feet before it was over. The
Sky Pilot, ignoring the screaming Charlie, thought only
of the loot which had vanished with the Oskaloosa Kid.
"Come on! We gotta get him," he cried, as he ran
from the barn after the fugitive. The others, all but
Dopey Charlie, followed in the wake of their leader.
The wounded man, his audience departed, ceased
screaming and, sitting up, fell to examining himself. To
his surprise he discovered that he was not dead. A fur-
ther and more minute examination disclosed the addi-
tional fact that he was not even badly wounded. The
bullet of The Kid had merely creased the flesh over
the ribs beneath his right arm. With a grunt that might
have been either disgust or relief he stumbled to his
feet and joined in the pursuit.
Down the road toward the south ran The Oskaloosa
Kid with all the fleetness of youth spurred on by terror.
In five minutes he had so far outdistanced his pursuers
that The Sky Pilot leaped to the conclusion that the
quarry had left the road to hide in an adjoining field.
The resultant halt and search upon either side of the
road delayed the chase to a sufficient extent to award
the fugitive a mile lead by the time the band resumed
the hunt along the main highway. The men were de-
termined to overhaul the youth not alone because of
the loot upon his person but through an abiding suspi-
cion that he might indeed be what some of them feared
he was--an amateur detective--and there were at least
two among them who had reason to be especially fear-
ful of any sort of detective from Oakdale.
They no longer ran; but puffed arduously along the
smooth road, searching with troubled and angry eyes to
right and left and ahead of them as they went.
The Oskaloosa Kid puffed, too; but he puffed a mile
away from the searchers and he walked more rapidly
than they, for his muscles were younger and his wind
unimpaired by dissipation. For a time he carried the
small automatic in his hand; but later, hearing no evi-
dence of pursuit, he returned it to the pocket in his coat
where it had lain when it had saved him from death be-
neath the blade of the degenerate Charlie.
For an hour he continued walking rapidly along the
winding country road. He was very tired; but he dared
not pause to rest. Always behind him he expected the
sudden onslaught of the bearded, blear-eyed followers
of The Sky Pilot. Terror goaded him to supreme physical
effort. Recollection of the screaming man sinking to the
earthen floor of the hay barn haunted him. He was a
murderer! He had slain a fellow man. He winced and
shuddered, increasing his gait until again he almost ran
--ran from the ghost pursuing him through the black
night in greater terror than he felt for the flesh and
blood pursuers upon his heels.
And Nature drew upon her sinister forces to add to
the fear which the youth already felt. Black clouds ob-
scured the moon blotting out the soft kindliness of the
greening fields and transforming the budding branches
of the trees to menacing and gloomy arms which ap-
peared to hover with clawlike talons above the dark and
forbidding road. The wind soughed with gloomy and in-
creasing menace, a sudden light flared across the south-
ern sky followed by the reverberation of distant thunder.
Presently a great rain drop was blown against the
youth's face; the vividness of the lightning had increased;
the rumbling of the thunder had grown to the propor-
tions of a titanic bombardment; but he dared not pause
to seek shelter.
Another flash of lightning revealed a fork in the road
immediately ahead--to the left ran the broad, smooth
highway, to the right a dirt road, overarched by trees,
led away into the impenetrable dark.
The fugitive paused, undecided. Which way should
he turn? The better travelled highway seemed less mys-
terious and awesome, yet would his pursuers not natur-
ally assume that he had followed it? Then, of course,
the right hand road was the road for him. Yet still he
hesitated, for the right hand road was black and forbid-
ding; suggesting the entrance to a pit of unknown hor-
rors.
As he stood there with the rain and the wind, the
thunder and the lightning, horror of the past and terror
of the future his only companions there broke suddenly
through the storm the voice of a man just ahead and
evidently approaching along the highway.
The youth turned to flee; but the thought of the men
tracking him from that direction brought him to a sud-
den halt. There was only the road to the right, then,
after all. Cautiously he moved toward it, and at the
same time the words of the voice came clearly through
the night:
"'. . . as, swinging heel and toe,
'We tramped the road to Anywhere, the magic road
to Anywhere,
'The tragic road to Anywhere, such dear, dim years
ago.'"
The voice seemed reassuring--its quality and the an-
nunciation of the words bespoke for its owner consider-
able claim to refinement. The youth had halted again,
but he now crouched to one side fearing to reveal his
presence because of the bloody crime he thought he had
committed; yet how he yearned to throw himself upon
the compassion of this fine voiced stranger! How his
every fibre cried out for companionship in this night of
his greatest terror; but he would have let the invisible
minstrel pass had not Fate ordained to light the scene
at that particular instant with a prolonged flare of
sheet lightning, revealing the two wayfarers to one an-
other.
The youth saw a slight though well built man in
ragged clothes and disreputable soft hat. The image was
photographed upon his brain for life--the honest, laugh-
ing eyes, the well moulded features harmonizing so well
with the voice, and the impossible garments which
marked the man hobo and bum as plainly as though he
wore a placard suspended from his neck.
The stranger halted. Once more darkness enveloped
them. "Lovely evening for a stroll," remarked the man.
"Running out to your country place? Isn't there danger
of skidding on these wet roads at night? I told James,
just before we started, to be sure to see that the chains
were on all around; but he forgot them. James is very
trying sometimes. Now he never showed up this evening
and I had to start out alone, and he knows perfectly
well that I detest driving after dark in the rain."
The youth found himself smiling. His fear had sud-
denly vanished. No one could harbor suspicion of the
owner of that cheerful voice.
"I didn't know which road to take," he ventured, in
explanation of his presence at the cross road.
"Oh," exclaimed the man, "are there two roads here?
I was looking for this fork and came near passing it in
the dark. It was a year ago since I came this way; but I
recall a deserted house about a mile up the dirt road. It
will shelter us from the inclemencies of the weather."
"Oh!" cried the youth. "Now I know where I am. In
the dark and the storm and after all that has happened
to me tonight nothing seemed natural. It was just as
though I was in some strange land; but I know now.
Yes, there is a deserted house a little less than a mile
from here; but you wouldn't want to stop there at night.
They tell some frightful stories about it. It hasn't been
occupied for over twenty years--not since the Squibbs
were found murdered there--the father, mother three
sons, and a daughter. They never discovered the mur-
derer, and the house has stood vacant and the farm un-
worked almost continuously since. A couple of men tried
working it; but they didn't stay long. A night or so was
enough for them and their families. I remember hear-
ing as a little--er--child stories of the frightful things
that happened there in the house where the Squibbs
were murdered--things that happened after dark when
the lights were out. Oh, I wouldn't even pass that place
on a night like this."
The man smiled. "I slept there alone one rainy night
about a year ago," he said. "I didn't see or hear any-
thing unusual. Such stories are ridiculous; and even if
there was a little truth in them, noises can't harm you as
much as sleeping out in the storm. I'm going to en-
croach once more upon the ghostly hospitality of the
Squibbs. Better come with me."
The youth shuddered and drew back. From far be-
hind came faintly the shout of a man.
"Yes, I'll go," exclaimed the boy. "Let's hurry," and he
started off at a half-run toward the dirt road.
The man followed more slowly. The darkness hid the
quizzical expression of his eyes. He, too, had heard the
faint shout far to the rear. He recalled the boy's "after
all that has happened to me tonight," and he shrewdly
guessed that the latter's sudden determination to brave
the horrors of the haunted house was closely connected
with the hoarse voice out of the distance.
When he had finally come abreast of the youth after
the latter, his first panic of flight subsided, had reduced
his speed, he spoke to him in his kindly tones.
"What was it that happened to you to-night?" he
asked. "Is someone following you? You needn't be afraid
of me. I'll help you if you've been on the square. If
you haven't, you still needn't fear me, for I won't peach
on you. What is it? Tell me."
The youth was on the point of unburdening his soul
to this stranger with the kindly voice and the honest
eyes; but a sudden fear stayed his tongue. If he told all
it would be necessary to reveal certain details that he
could not bring himself to reveal to anyone, and so he
commenced with his introduction to the wayfarers in the
deserted hay barn. Briefly he told of the attack upon
him, of his shooting of Dopey Charlie, of the flight and
pursuit. "And now," he said in conclusion, "that you
know I'm a murderer I suppose you won't have any
more to do with me, unless you turn me over to the
authorities to hang." There was almost a sob in his voice,
so real was his terror.
The man threw an arm across his companion's shoul-
der. "Don't worry, kid," he said. "You're not a murderer
even if you did kill Dopey Charlie, which I hope you
did. You're a benefactor of the human race. I have known
Charles for years. He should have been killed long since.
Furthermore, as you shot in self defence no jury would
convict you. I fear, however, that you didn't kill him.
You say you could hear his screams as long as you were
within earshot of the barn--dead men don't scream, you
know."
"How did you know my name?" asked the youth.
"I don't," replied the man.
"But you called me 'Kid' and that's my name--I'm
The Oskaloosa Kid."
The man was glad that the darkness hid his smile of
amusement. He knew The Oskaloosa Kid well, and he
knew him as an ex-pug with a pock marked face, a bul-
let head, and a tin ear. The flash of lightning had re-
vealed, upon the contrary, a slender boy with smooth
skin, an oval face, and large dark eyes.
"Ah," he said, "so you are The Oskaloosa Kid! I am
delighted, sir, to make your acquaintance. Permit me
to introduce myself: my name is Bridge. If James were
here I should ask him to mix one of his famous cock-
tails that we might drink to our mutual happiness and
the longevity of our friendship."
"I am glad to know you, Mr. Bridge," said the youth.
"Oh, I can't tell you how glad I am to know you. I was
so lonely and so afraid," and he pressed closer to the
older man whose arm still encircled his shoulder, though
at first he had been inclined to draw away in some con-
fusion.
Talking together the two moved on along the dark
road. The storm had settled now into a steady rain
with infrequent flashes of lightning and peals of thun-
der. There had been no further indications of pursuit;
but Bridge argued that The Sky Pilot, being wise with
the wisdom of the owl and cunning with the cunning of
the fox, would doubtless surmise that a fugitive would
take to the first road leading away from the main artery,
and that even though they heard nothing it would be
safe to assume that the gang was still upon the boy's
trail. "And it's a bad bunch, too," he continued. "I've
known them all for years. The Sky Pilot has the reputa-
tion of never countenancing a murder; but that is be-
cause be is a sly one. His gang kills; but when they kill
under The Sky Pilot they do it so cleverly that no trace
of the crime remains. Their victim disappears--that is
all."
The boy trembled. "You won't let them get me?" he
pleaded, pressing closer to the man. The only response
was a pressure of the arm about the shoulders of The
Oskaloosa Kid.
Over a low hill they followed the muddy road and
down into a dark and gloomy ravine. In a little open
space to the right of the road a flash of lightning re-
vealed the outlines of a building a hundred yards from
the rickety and decaying fence which bordered the
Squibbs' farm and separated it from the road.
"Here we are!" cried Bridge, "and spooks or no spooks
we'll find a dry spot in that old ruin. There was a stove
there last year and it's doubtless there yet. A good fire
to dry our clothes and warm us up will fit us for a bully
good sleep, and I'll wager a silk hat that The Oskaloosa
Kid is a mighty sleepy kid, eh?"
The boy admitted the allegation and the two turned
in through the gateway, stepping over the fallen gate
and moving through knee high weeds toward the for-
bidding structure in the distance. A clump of trees sur-
rounded the house, their shade adding to the almost ut-
ter blackness of the night.
The two had reached the verandah when Bridge,
turning, saw a brilliant light flaring through the night
above the crest of the hill they had just topped in their
descent into the ravine, or, to be more explicit, the small
valley, where stood the crumbling house of Squibbs. The
purr of a rapidly moving motor rose above the rain, the
light rose, fell, swerved to the right and to the left.
"Someone must be in a hurry," commented Bridge.
"I suppose it is James, anxious to find you and ex-
plain his absence," suggested The Oskaloosa Kid. They
both laughed.
"Gad!" cried Bridge, as the car topped the hill and
plunged downward toward them, "I'd hate to ride be-
hind that fellow on a night like this, and over a dirt
road at that!"
As the car swung onto the straight road before the
house a flash of lightning revealed dimly the outlines of
a rapidly moving touring car with lowered top. Just as
the machine came opposite the Squibbs' gate a woman's
scream mingled with the report of a pistol from the ton-
neau and the watchers upon the verandah saw a dark
bulk hurled from the car, which sped on with undimin-
ished speed, climbed the hill beyond and disappeared
from view.
Bridge started on a run toward the gateway, followed
by the frightened Kid. In the ditch beside the road they
found in a dishevelled heap the body of a young woman.
The man lifted the still form in his arms. The youth
wondered at the great strength of the slight figure. "Let
me help you carry her," he volunteered; but Bridge
needed no assistance. "Run ahead and open the door for
me," he said, as he bore his burden toward the house.
Forgetful, in the excitement of the moment, of his
terror of the horror ridden ruin, The Oskaloosa Kid has-
tened ahead, mounted the few steps to the verandah,
crossed it and pushed open the sagging door. Behind
him came Bridge as the youth entered the dark interior.
A half dozen steps he took when his foot struck against
a soft and yielding mass. Stumbling, he tried to regain
his equilibrium only to drop full upon the thing be-
neath him. One open palm, extended to ease his fall,
fell upon the upturned features of a cold and clammy
face. With a shriek of horror The Kid leaped to his feet
and shrank, trembling, back.
"What is it? What's the matter?" cried Bridge, with
whom The Kid had collided in his precipitate retreat.
"O-o-o!" groaned The Kid, shuddering. "It's dead! It's
dead!"
"What's dead?" demanded Bridge.
"There's a dead man on the floor, right ahead of us,"
moaned The Kid.
"You'll find a flash lamp in the right hand pocket of my
coat," directed Bridge. "Take it and make a light."
With trembling fingers the Kid did as he was bid,
and when after much fumbling he found the button a
slim shaft of white light, fell downward upon the up-
turned face of a man cold in death--a little man,
strangely garbed, with gold rings in his ears, and long
black hair matted in the death sweat of his brow. His
eyes were wide and, even in death, terror filled, his fea-
tures were distorted with fear and horror. His fingers,
clenched in the rigidity of death, clutched wisps of
dark brown hair. There were no indications of a wound
or other violence upon his body, that either the Kid or
Bridge could see, except the dried remains of bloody
froth which flecked his lips.
Bridge still stood holding the quiet form of the girl
in his arms, while The Kid, pressed close to the man's
side, clutched one arm with a fierce intensity which be-
spoke at once the nervous terror which filled him and
the reliance he placed upon his new found friend.
To their right, in the faint light of the flash lamp, a
narrow stairway was revealed leading to the second
story. Straight ahead was a door opening upon the black-
ness of a rear apartment. Beside the foot of the stair-
way was another door leading to the cellar steps.
Bridge nodded toward the rear room. "The stove is
in there," he said. "We'd better go on and make a fire.
Draw your pistol--whoever did this has probably beat
it; but it's just as well to he on the safe side."
"I'm afraid," said The Oskaloosa Kid. "Let's leave
this frightful place. It's just as I told you it was; just as I
always heard."
"We can't leave this woman, my boy," replied Bridge.
"She isn't dead. We can't leave her, and we can't take
her out into the storm in her condition. We must stay.
Come! buck up. There's nothing to fear from a dead
man, and--"
He never finished the sentence. From the depths of
the cellar came the sound of a clanking chain. Some-
thing scratched heavily upon the wooden steps. What-
ever it was it was evidently ascending, while behind it
clanked the heavy links of a dragged chain.
The Oskaloosa Kid cast a wide eyed glance of terror
at Bridge. His lips moved in an attempt to speak; but
fear rendered him inarticulate. Slowly, ponderously the
THING ascended the dark stairs from the gloom ridden
cellar of the deserted ruin. Even Bridge paled a trifle.
The man upon the floor appeared to have met an un-
natural death--the frightful expression frozen upon the
dead face might even indicate something verging upon
the supernatural. The sound of the THING climbing
out of the cellar was indeed uncanny--so uncanny that
Bridge discovered himself looking about for some means
of escape. His eyes fell upon the stairway leading to the
second floor.
"Quick!" he whispered. "Up the stairs! You go first;
I'll follow."
The Kid needed no second invitation. With a bound
he was half way up the rickety staircase; but a glance
ahead at the darkness above gave him pause while he
waited for Bridge to catch up with him. Coming more
slowly with his burden the man followed the boy, while
from below the clanking of the chain warned them that
the THING was already at the top of the cellar stairs.
"Flash the lamp down there," directed Bridge. "Let's
have a look at it, whatever it is."
With trembling hands The Oskaloosa Kid directed the
lens over the edge of the swaying and rotting bannister,
his finger slipped from the lighting button plunging
them all into darkness. In his frantic effort to find the
button and relight the lamp the worst occurred--he fum-
bled the button and the lamp slipped through his fin-
gers, falling over the bannister to the floor below. In-
stantly the sound of the dragging chain ceased; but the
silence was even more horrible than the noise which had
preceded it.
For a long minute the two at the head of the stairs
stood in tense silence listening for a repetition of the
gruesome sounds from below. The youth was frankly
terrified; he made no effort to conceal the fact; but
pressed close to his companion, again clutching his arm
tightly. Bridge could feel the trembling of the slight fig-
ure, the spasmodic gripping of the slender fingers and
hear the quick, short, irregular breathing. A sudden im-
pulse to throw a protecting arm about the boy seized
him--an impulse which he could not quite fathom, and
one to which he could not respond because of the body
of the girl he carried.
He bent toward the youth. "There are matches in my
coat pocket," he whispered, "--the same pocket in which
you found the flash lamp. Strike one and we'll look for a
room here where we can lay the girl."
The boy fumbled gropingly in search of the matches.
It was evident to the man that it was only with the
greatest exertion of will power that he controlled his
muscles at all; but at last he succeeded in finding and
striking one. At the flare of the light there was a sound
from below--a scratching sound and the creaking of
boards as beneath a heavy body; then came the clank-
ing of the chain once more, and the bannister against
which they leaned shook as though a hand had been
laid upon it below them. The youth stifled a shriek and
simultaneously the match went out; but not before
Bridge had seen in the momentary flare of light a par-
tially open door at the far end of the hall in which they
stood.
Beneath them the stairs creaked now and the chain
thumped slowly from one to another as it was dragged
upward toward them.
"Quick!" called Bridge. "Straight down the hall and
into the room at the end." The man was puzzled. He
could not have been said to have been actually afraid,
and yet the terror of the boy was so intense, so real, that
it could scarce but have had its suggestive effect upon
the other; and, too, there was an uncanny element of
the supernatural in what they had seen and heard in
the deserted house--the dead man on the floor below, the
inexplicable clanking of a chain by some unseen THING
from the depth of the cellar upward toward them; and,
to heighten the effect of these, there were the grim stor-
ies of unsolved tragedy and crime. All in all Bridge
could not have denied that he was glad of the room at
the end of the hall with its suggestion of safety in the
door which might be closed against the horrors of the
hall and the Stygian gloom below stairs.
The Oskaloosa Kid was staggering ahead of him,
scarce able to hold his body erect upon his shaking
knees--his gait seemed pitifully slow to the unarmed
man carrying the unconscious girl and listening to the
chain dragging ever nearer and nearer behind; but at
last they reached the doorway and passed through it
into the room.
"Close the door," directed Bridge as he crossed toward
the center of the room to lay his burden upon the floor,
but there was no response to his instructions--only a gasp
and the sound of a body slumping to the rotting boards.
With an exclamation of chagrin the man dropped the
girl and swung quickly toward the door. Halfway down
the hall he could hear the chain rattling over loose plank-
ing, the THING, whatever it might be, was close upon
them. Bridge slammed-to the door and with a shoulder
against it drew a match from his pocket and lighted it.
Although his clothing was soggy with rain he knew that
his matches would still be dry, for this pocket and its
flap he had ingeniously lined with waterproof material
from a discarded slicker he had found--years of tramp-
ing having taught him the discomforts of a fireless camp.
In the resultant light the man saw with a quick glance
a large room furnished with an old walnut bed, dresser,
and commode; two lightless windows opened at the far
end toward the road, Bridge assumed; and there was
no door other than that against which he leaned. In
the last flicker of the match the man scanned the door
itself for a lock and, to his relief, discovered a bolt--old
and rusty it was, but it still moved in its sleeve. An in-
stant later it was shot--just as the sound of the dragging
chain ceased outside. Near the door was the great bed,
and this Bridge dragged before it as an additional bar-
ricade; then, bearing nothing more from the hallway,
he turned his attention to the two unconscious forms up-
on the floor. Unhesitatingly he went to the boy first
though had he questioned himself he could not have told
why; for the youth, undoubtedly, had only swooned,
while the girl had been the victim of a murderous assault
and might even be at the point of death.
What was the appeal to the man in the pseudo Oska-
loosa Kid? He had scarce seen the boy's face, yet the
terrified figure had aroused within him, strongly, the
protective instinct. Doubtless it was the call of youth
and weakness which find, always, an answering assur-
ance in the strength of a strong man.
As Bridge groped toward the spot where the boy had
fallen his eyes, now become accustomed to the dark-
ness of the room, saw that the youth was sitting up.
"Well?" he asked. "Feeling better?"
"Where is it? Oh, God! Where is it?" cried the boy.
"It will come in here and kill us as it killed that--that--
down stairs."
"It can't get in," Bridge assured him. "I've locked the
door and pushed the bed in front of it. Gad! I feel like
an old maid looking under the bed for burglars."
From the hall came a sudden clanking of the chain
accompanied by a loud pounding upon the bare floor.
With a scream the youth leaped to his feet and almost
threw himself upon Bridge. His arms were about the
man's neck, his face buried in his shoulder.
"Oh, don't--don't let it get me!" he cried.
"Brace up, son," Bridge admonished him. "Didn't I
tell you that it can't get in?"
"How do you know it can't get in?" whimpered the
youth. "It's the thing that murdered the man down stairs
--it's the thing that murdered the Squibbs--right here in
this room. It got in to them--what is to prevent its get-
ting in to us. What are doors to such a THING?"
"Come! come! now," Bridge tried to soothe him. "You
have a case of nerves. Lie down here on this bed and
try to sleep. Nothing shall harm you, and when you
wake up it will be morning and you'll laugh at your
fears."
"Lie on THAT bed!" The voice was almost a shriek.
"That is the bed the Squibbs were murdered in--the
old man and his wife. No one would have it, and so it
has remained here all these years. I would rather die
than touch the thing. Their blood is still upon it."
"I wish," said Bridge a trifle sternly, "that you would
try to control yourself a bit. Hysteria won't help us any.
Here we are, and we've to make the best of it. Besides
we must look after this young woman--she may be dy-
ing, and we haven't done a thing to help her."
The boy, evidently shamed, released his hold upon
Bridge and moved away. "I am sorry," he said. "I'll
try to do better; but, Oh! I was so frightened. You can-
not imagine how frightened I was."
"I had imagined," said Bridge, "from what I had
heard of him that it would be a rather difficult thing to
frighten The Oskaloosa Kid--you have, you know, rather
a reputation for fearlessness."
The darkness hid the scarlet flush which mantled
The Kid's face. There was a moment's silence as Bridge
crossed to where the young woman still lay upon the
floor where he had deposited her. Then The Kid spoke.
"I'm sorry," he said, "that I made a fool of myself. You
have been so brave, and I have not helped at all. I
shall do better now."
"Good," said Bridge, and stooped to raise the young
woman in his arms and deposit her upon the bed.
Then he struck another match and leaned close to ex-
amine her. The flare of the sulphur illuminated the room
and shot two rectangles of light against the outer black-
ness where the unglazed windows stared vacantly upon
the road beyond, bringing to a sudden halt a little com-
pany of muddy and bedraggled men who slipped, curs-
ing, along the slimy way.
