Bridge felt the youth close beside him as he bent
above the girl upon the bed.
"Is she dead?" the lad whispered.
"No," replied Bridge, "and I doubt if she's badly
hurt." His hands ran quickly over her limbs, bending and
twisting them gently; be unbuttoned her waist, getting
the boy to strike and hold another match while he ex-
amined the victim for signs of a bullet wound.
"I can't find a scratch on her," be said at last. "She's
suffering from shock alone, as far as I can judge. Say,
she's pretty, isn't she?"
The youth drew himself rather stiffly erect. "Her fea-
tures are rather coarse, I think," he replied. There was a
peculiar quality to the tone which caused Bridge to turn
a quick look at the boy's face, just as the match flick-
ered and went out. The darkness hid the expression
upon Bridge's face, but his conviction that the girl was
pretty was unaltered. The light of the match had re-
vealed an oval face surrounded by dark, dishevelled
tresses, red, full lips, and large, dark eyes.
Further discussion of the young woman was discour-
aged by a repetition of the clanking of the chain with-
out. Now it was receding along the hallway toward
the stairs and presently, to the infinite relief of The Os-
kaloosa Kid, the two heard it descending to the lower
floor.
"What was it, do you think?" asked the boy, his voice
still trembling upon the verge of hysteria.
"I don't know," replied Bridge. "I've never been a be-
liever in ghosts and I'm not now; but I'll admit that it
takes a whole lot of--"
He did not finish the sentence for a moan from the
bed diverted his attention to the injured girl, toward
whom he now turned. As they listened for a repetition
of the sound there came another--that of the creaking of
the old bed slats as the girl moved upon the mildewed
mattress. Dimly, through the darkness, Bridge saw that
the victim of the recent murderous assault was attempt-
ing to sit up. He moved closer and leaned above her.
"I wouldn't exert myself," he said. "You've just suf-
fered an accident, and it's better that you remain quiet."
"Who are you?" asked the girl, a note of suppressed
terror in her voice. "You are not--?"
"I am no one you know," replied Bridge. "My friend
and I chanced to be near when you fell from the car--"
with that innate refinement which always belied his vo-
cation and his rags Bridge chose not to embarrass the
girl by a too intimate knowledge of the thing which
had befallen her, preferring to leave to her own volition
the making of any explanation she saw fit, or of none
--"and we carried you in here out of the storm."
The girl was silent for a moment. "Where is 'here'?"
she asked presently. "They drove so fast and it was so
dark that I had no idea where we were, though I know
that we left the turnpike."
"We are at the old Squibbs place," replied the man.
He could see that the girl was running one hand gin-
gerly over her head and face, so that her next question
did not surprise him.
"Am I badly wounded?" she asked. "Do you think that
I am going to die?" The tremor in her voice was pathetic
--it was the voice of a frightened and wondering child.
Bridge heard the boy behind him move impulsively for-
ward and saw him kneel on the bed beside the girl.
"You are not badly hurt," volunteered The Oskaloosa
Kid. "Bridge couldn't find a mark on you--the bullet
must have missed you."
"He was holding me over the edge of the car when
he fired." The girl's voice reflected the physical shudder
which ran through her frame at the recollection. "Then
he threw me out almost simultaneously. I suppose he
thought that he could not miss at such close range."
For a time she was silent again, sitting stiffly erect.
Bridge could feel rather than see wide, tense eyes star-
ing out through the darkness upon scenes, horrible per-
haps, that were invisible to him and the Kid.
Suddenly the girl turned and threw herself face down-
ward upon the bed. "O, God!" she moaned. "Father!
Father! It will kill you--no one will believe me--they
will think that I am bad. I didn't do it! I didn't do it!
I've been a silly little fool; but I have never been a bad
girl--and---and--I had nothing to do with that awful
thing that happened to-night."
Bridge and the boy realized that she was not talking
to them--that for the moment she had lost sight of their
presence--she was talking to that father whose heart
would be breaking with the breaking of the new day,
trying to convince him that his little girl had done no
wrong.
Again she sat up, and when she spoke there was no
tremor in her voice.
"I may die," she said. "I want to die. I do not see how
I can go on living after last night; but if I do die I want
my father to know that I had nothing to do with it and
that they tried to kill me because I wouldn't promise to
keep still. It was the little one who murdered him--the
one they called 'Jimmie' and 'The Oskaloosa Kid.' The
big one drove the car--his name was 'Terry.' After they
killed him I tried to jump out--I had been sitting in
front with Terry--and then they dragged me over into
the tonneau and later--the Oskaloosa Kid tried to kill me
too, and threw me out."
Bridge heard the boy at his side gulp. The girl went
on.
"To-morrow you will know about the murder--every-
one will know about it; and I will be missed; and there
will be people who saw me in the car with them, for
someone must have seen me. Oh, I can't face it! I want
to die. I will die! I come of a good family. My father is
a prominent man. I can't go back and stand the dis-
grace and see him suffer, as he will suffer, for I was all
he had--his only child. I can't bear to tell you my name
--you will know it soon enough--but please find some
way to let my father know all that I have told you--I
swear that it is the truth--by the memory of my dead
mother, I swear it!"
Bridge laid a hand upon the girl's shoulder. "If you
are telling us the truth," he said, "you have only a silly
escapade with strange men upon your conscience. You
must not talk of dying now--your duty is to your father.
If you take your own life it will be a tacit admission of
guilt and will only serve to double the burden of sorrow
and ignominy which your father is bound to feel when
this thing becomes public, as it certainly must if a mur-
der has been done. The only way in which you can
atone for your error is to go back and face the conse-
quences with him--do not throw it all upon him; that
would be cowardly."
The girl did not reply; but that the man's words had
impressed her seemed evident. For a while each was
occupied with his own thoughts; which were presently
disturbed by the sound of footsteps upon the floor be-
low--the muffled scraping of many feet followed a mo-
ment later by an exclamation and an oath, the words
coming distinctly through the loose and splintered floor-
ing.
"Pipe the stiff," exclaimed a voice which The Oska-
loosa Kid recognized immediately as that of Soup Face.
"The Kid musta croaked him," said another.
A laugh followed this evidently witty sally.
"The guy probably lamped the swag an' died of heart
failure," suggested another.
The men were still laughing when the sound of a
clanking chain echoed dismally from the cellar. In-
stantly silence fell upon the newcomers upon the first
floor, followed by a--"Wotinel's that?" Two of the men
had approached the staircase and started to ascend it.
Slowly the uncanny clanking drew closer to the first
floor. The girl on the bed turned toward Bridge.
"What is it?" she gasped.
"We don't know," replied the man. "It followed us up
here, or rather it chased us up; and then went down
again just before you regained consciousness. I imagine
we shall hear some interesting developments from be-
low."
"It's The Sky Pilot and his gang," whispered The Os-
kaloosa Kid.
"It's The Oskaloosa Kid," came a voice from below.
"But wot was that light upstairs then?" queried an-
other.
"An' wot croaked this guy here?" asked a third. "It
wasn't nothin' nice--did you get the expression on his
mug an' the red foam on his lips? I tell youse there's
something in this house beside human bein's. I know the
joint--its hanted--they's spooks in it. Gawd! there it is
now," as the clanking rose to the head of the cellar
stairs; and those above heard a sudden rush of foot-
steps as the men broke for the open air--all but the
two upon the stairway. They had remained too long
and now, their retreat cut off, they scrambled, cursing
and screaming, to the second floor.
Along the hallway they rushed to the closed door at
the end--the door of the room in which the three lis-
tened breathlessly--hurling themselves against it in vio-
lent effort to gain admission.
"Who are you and what do you want?" cried Bridge.
"Let us in! Let us in!" screamed two voices. "Fer
God's sake let us in. Can't you hear IT? It'll be comin'
up here in a minute."
The sound of the dragging chain could be heard at in-
tervals upon the floor below. It seemed to the tense lis-
teners above to pause beside the dead man as though
hovering in gloating exultation above its gruesome prey
and then it moved again, this time toward the stairway
where they all heard it ascending with a creepy slow-
ness which wrought more terribly upon tense nerves
than would a sudden rush.
"The mills of the Gods grind slowly," quoted Bridge.
"Oh, don't!" pleaded The Oskaloosa Kid.
"Let us in," screamed the men without. "Fer the luv
o' Mike have a heart! Don't leave us out here! IT's
comin'! IT's comin'!"
"Oh, let the poor things in," pleaded the girl on the
bed. She was, herself, trembling with terror.
"No funny business, now, if I let you in," commanded
Bridge.
"On the square," came the quick and earnest reply.
The THING had reached the head of the stairs when
Bridge dragged the bed aside and drew the bolt. In-
stantly two figures hurled themselves into the room but
turned immediately to help Bridge resecure the door-
way.
Just as it had done before, when Bridge and The
Oskaloosa Kid had taken refuge there with the girl,
the THING moved down the hallway to the closed door.
The dragging chain marked each foot of its advance. If it
made other sounds they were drowned by the clanking
of the links over the time roughened flooring.
Within the room the five were frozen into utter si-
lence, and beyond the door an equal quiet prevailed for
a long minute; then a great force made the door creak
and a weird scratching sounded high up upon the old
fashioned panelling. Bridge heard a smothered gasp
from the boy beside him, followed instantly by a flash of
flame and the crack of a small caliber automatic; The
Oskaloosa Kid had fired through the door.
Bridge seized the boy's arm and wrenched the weapon
from him. "Be careful!" he cried. "You'll hurt someone.
You didn't miss the girl much that time--she's on the bed
right in front of the door."
The Oskaloosa Kid pressed closer to the man as
though he sought protection from the unknown men-
ace without. The girl sprang from the bed and crossed to
the opposite side of the room. A flash of lightning illumi-
nated the chamber for an instant and the roof of the ve-
randah without. The girl noted the latter and the open
window.
"Look!" she cried. "Suppose it went out of another
window upon this porch. It could get us so easily that
way!"
"Shut up, you fool!" whispered one of the two new-
comers. "It might hear you." The girl subsided into si-
lence.
There was no sound from the hallway.
"I reckon you croaked IT," suggested the second new-
comer, hopefully; but, as though the THING without
had heard and understood, the clanking of the chain
recommenced at once; but now it was retreating along
the hallway, and soon they heard it descending the
stairs.
Sighs of relief escaped more than a single pair of lips.
"IT didn't hear me," whispered the girl.
Bridge laughed. "We're a nice lot of babies seeing
things at night," he scoffed.
"If you're so nervy why don't you go down an' see wot
it is?" asked one of the late arrivals.
"I believe I shall," replied Bridge and pulled the bed
away from the door.
Instantly a chorus of protests arose, the girl and The
Oskaloosa Kid being most insistent. What was the use?
What good could he accomplish? It might be nothing;
yet on the other hand what had brought death so hor-
ribly to the cold clay on the floor below? At last their
pleas prevailed and Bridge replaced the bed before the
door.
For two hours the five sat about the room waiting for
daylight. There could be no sleep for any of them. Occa-
sionally they spoke, usually advancing and refuting sug-
gestions as to the identity of the nocturnal prowler be-
low-stairs. The THING seemed to have retreated again
to the cellar, leaving the upper floor to the five strangely
assorted prisoners and the first floor to the dead man.
During the brief intervals of conversation the girl re-
peated snatches of her story and once she mentioned
The Oskaloosa Kid as the murderer of the unnamed vic-
tim. The two men who had come last pricked up their
ears at this and Bridge felt the boy's hand just touch his
arm as though in mute appeal for belief and protection.
The man half smiled.
"We seen The Oskaloosa Kid this evenin'" volun-
teered one of the newcomers.
"You did?" exclaimed the girl. "Where?"
"He'd just pulled off a job in Oakdale an' had his
pockets bulgin' wid sparklers an' kale. We was follerin'
him an' when we seen your light up here we t'ought it
was him."
The Oskaloosa Kid shrank closer to Bridge. At last he
recognized the voice of the speaker. While he had known
that the two were of The Sky Pilot's band he had not
been sure of the identity of either; but now it was borne
in upon him that at least one of them was the last per-
son on earth he cared to be cooped up in a small, un-
lighted room with, and a moment later when one of
the two rolled a 'smoke' and lighted it he saw in the
flare of the flame the features of both Dopey Charlie
and The General. The Oskaloosa Kid gasped once more
for the thousandth time that night.
It had been Dopey Charlie who lighted the cigaret
and in the brief illumination his friend The General had
grasped the opportunity to scan the features of the
other members of the party. Schooled by long years of
repression he betrayed none of the surprise or elation
he felt when he recognized the features of The Oska-
loosa Kid.
If The General was elated The Oskaloosa Kid was at
once relieved and terrified. Relieved by ocular proof
that he was not a murderer and terrified by the immedi-
ate presence of the two who had sought his life.
His cigaret drawing well Dopey Charlie resumed:
"This Oskaloosa Kid's a bad actor," he volunteered. "The
little shrimp tried to croak me; but he only creased my
ribs. I'd like to lay my mits on him. I'll bet there won't
be no more Oskaloosa Kid when I get done wit him."
The boy drew Bridge's ear down toward his own lips.
"Let's go," he said. "I don't hear anything more down-
stairs, or maybe we could get out on this roof and slide
down the porch pillars."
Bridge laid a strong, warm hand on the small, cold
one of his new friend.
"Don't worry, Kid," he said. "I'm for you."
The two other men turned quickly in the direction of
the speaker.
"Is de Kid here?" asked Dopey Charlie.
"He is, my degenerate friend," replied Bridge; "and
furthermore he's going to stay here and be perfectly
safe. Do you grasp me?"
"Who are you?" asked The General.
"That is a long story," replied Bridge; "but if you
chance to recall Dink and Crumb you may also be able
to visualize one Billy Burke and Billy Byrne and his side
partner, Bridge. Yes? Well, I am the side partner."
Before the yeggman could make reply the girl spoke
up quickly. "This man cannot be The Oskaloosa Kid," she
said. "It was The Oskaloosa Kid who threw me from the
car."
"How do you know he ain't?" queried The General.
"Youse was knocked out when these guys picks you up.
It's so dark in here you couldn't reco'nize no one. How do
you know this here bird ain't The Oskaloosa Kid, eh?"
"I have heard both these men speak," replied the
girl; "their voices were not those of any men I have
known. If one of them is The Oskaloosa Kid then there
must be two men called that. Strike a match and you
will see that you are mistaken."
The General fumbled in an inside pocket for a pack-
age of matches carefully wrapped against possible dam-
age by rain. Presently he struck one and held the light
in the direction of The Kid's face while he and the
girl and Dopey Charlie leaned forward to scrutinize the
youth's features.
"It's him all right," said Dopey Charlie.
"You bet it is," seconded The General.
"Why he's only a boy," ejaculated the girl. "The one
who threw me from the machine was a man."
"Well, this one said he was The Oskaloosa Kid," per-
sisted The General.
"An' he shot me up," growled Dopey Charlie.
"It's too bad he didn't kill you," remarked Bridge
pleasantly. "You're a thief and probably a murderer into
the bargain--you tried to kill this boy just before he shot
you."
"Well wots he?" demanded Dopey Charlie. "He's a
thief--he said he was--look in his pockets--they're
crammed wid swag, an' he's a gun-man, too, or he
wouldn't be packin' a gat. I guess he ain't got nothin'
on me."
The darkness hid the scarlet flush which mounted to
the boy's cheeks--so hot that he thought it must surely
glow redly through the night. He waited in dumb misery
for Bridge to demand the proof of his guilt. Earlier in
the evening he had flaunted the evidence of his crime in
the faces of the six hobos; but now he suddenly felt a
great shame that his new found friend should believe
him a house-breaker.
But Bridge did not ask for any substantiation of Char-
lie's charges, he merely warned the two yeggmen that
they would have to leave the boy alone and in the
morning, when the storm had passed and daylight had
lessened the unknown danger which lurked below-stairs,
betake themselves upon their way.
"And while we're here together in this room you two
must sit over near the window," he concluded. "You've
tried to kill the boy once to-night; but you're not going
to try it again--I'm taking care of him now."
"You gotta crust, bo," observed Dopey Charlie, bellig-
erently. "I guess me an' The General'll sit where we
damn please, an' youse can take it from me on the side
that we're goin' to have ours out of The Kid's haul. If
you tink you're goin' to cop the whole cheese you got
another tink comin'."
"You are banking," replied Bridge, "on the well known
fact that I never carry a gun; but you fail to perceive,
owing to the Stygian gloom which surrounds us, that
I have the Kid's automatic in my gun hand and that
the business end of it is carefully aiming in your direc-
tion."
"Cheese it," The General advised his companion; and
the two removed themselves to the opposite side of the
apartment, where they whispered, grumblingly, to one
another.
The girl, the boy, and Bridge waited as patiently as
they could for the coming of the dawn, talking of the
events of the night and planning against the future.
Bridge advised the girl to return at once to her father;
but this she resolutely refused to do, admitting with ut-
most candor that she lacked the courage to face her
friends even though her father might still believe in
her.
The youth begged that he might accompany Bridge
upon the road, pleading that his mother was dead and
that he could not return home after his escapade. And
Bridge could not find it in his heart to refuse him, for
the man realized that the boyish waif possessed a sub-
tile attraction, as forceful as it was inexplicable. Not
since he had followed the open road in company with
Billy Byrne had Bridge met one with whom he might
care to 'Pal' before The Kid crossed his path on the
dark and storm swept pike south of Oakdale.
In Byrne, mucker, pugilist, and MAN, Bridge had
found a physical and moral counterpart of himself, for
the slender Bridge was muscled as a Greek god, while
the stocky Byrne, metamorphosed by the fire of a wom-
an's love, possessed all the chivalry of the care free
tramp whose vagabondage had never succeeded in sub-
merging the evidences of his cultural birthright.
In the youth Bridge found an intellectual equal with
the added charm of a physical dependent. The man did
not attempt to fathom the evident appeal of the other's
tacitly acknowledged cowardice; he merely knew that
he would not have had the youth otherwise if he could
not have changed him. Ordinarily he accepted male
cowardice with the resignation of surfeited disgust; but
in the case of The Oskaloosa Kid he realized a certain
artless charm which but tended to strengthen his lik-
ing for the youth, so brazen and unaffected was the
boy's admission of his terror of both the real and the
unreal menaces of this night of horror.
That the girl also was well bred was quite evident
to Bridge, while both the girl and the youth realized the
refinement of the strange companion and protector
which Fate had ordered for them, while they also saw
in one another social counterparts of themselves. Thus,
as the night dragged its slow course, the three came to
trust each other more entirely and to speculate upon the
strange train of circumstances which had brought them
thus remarkably together--the thief, the murderer's ac-
complice, and the vagabond.
It was during a period of thoughtful silence when the
night was darkest just before the dawn and the rain
had settled to a dismal drizzle unrelieved by lightning
or by thunder that the five occupants of the room were
suddenly startled by a strange pattering sound from
the floor below. It was as the questioning fall of a child's
feet upon the uncarpeted boards in the room beneath
them. Frozen to silent rigidity, the five sat straining ev-
ery faculty to catch the minutest sound from the black
void where the dead man lay, and as they listened there
came up to them, mingled with the inexplicable foot-
steps, the hollow reverberation from the dank cellar--
the hideous dragging of the chain behind the nameless
horror which had haunted them through the intermin-
able eons of the ghastly night.
Up, up, up it came toward the first floor. The patter-
ing of the feet ceased. The clanking rose until the five
heard the scraping of the chain against the door frame
at the head of the cellar stairs. They heard it pass across
the floor toward the center of the room and then, loud
and piercing, there rang out against the silence of the
awful night a woman's shriek.
Instantly Bridge leaped to his feet. Without a word
he tore the bed from before the door.
"What are you doing?" cried the girl in a muffled
scream.
"I am going down to that woman," said Bridge, and
he drew the bolt, rusty and complaining, from its cor-
roded seat.
"No!" screamed the girl, and seconding her the youth
sprang to his feet and threw his arms about Bridge.
"Please! Please!" he cried. "Oh, please don't leave me."
The girl also ran to the man's side and clutched him
by the sleeve.
"Don't go!" she begged. "Oh, for God's sake, don't
leave us here alone!"
"You heard a woman scream didn't you?" asked
Bridge. "Do you suppose I can stay in up here when a
woman may be facing death a few feet below me?"
For answer the girl but held more tightly to his arm
while the youth slipped to the floor and embraced the
man's knees in a vicelike hold which he could not break
without hurting his detainer.
"Come! Come!" expostulated Bridge. "Let me go."
"Wait!" begged the girl. "Wait until you know that it is
a human voice that screams through this horrible place."
The youth only strained his hold tighter about the
man's legs. Bridge felt a soft cheek pressed to his knee;
and, for some unaccountable reason, the appeal was
stronger than the pleading of the girl. Slowly Bridge re-
alized that he could not leave this defenseless youth
alone even though a dozen women might be menaced
by the uncanny death below. With a firm hand he shot
the bolt. "Leave go of me," he said; "I shan't leave you
unless she calls for help in articulate words."
The boy rose and, trembling, pressed close to the
man who, involuntarily, threw a protecting arm about
the slim figure. The girl, too, drew nearer, while the two
yeggmen rose and stood in rigid silence by the window.
From below came an occasional rattle of the chain, fol-
lowed after a few minutes by the now familiar clanking
as the iron links scraped across the flooring. Mingled
with the sound of the chain there rose to them what
might have been the slow and ponderous footsteps of a
heavy man, dragging painfully across the floor. For a
few moments they heard it, and then all was silent.
For a dozen tense minutes the five listened; but there
was no repetition of any sound from below. Suddenly
the girl breathed a deep sigh, and the spell of terror was
broken. Bridge felt rather than heard the youth sobbing
softly against his breast, while across the room The Gen-
eral gave a quick, nervous laugh which he as immedi-
ately suppressed as though fearful unnecessarily of
calling attention to their presence. The other vagabond
fumbled with his hypodermic needle and the narcotic
which would quickly give his fluttering nerves the quiet
they craved.
Bridge, the boy, and the girl shivered together in their
soggy clothing upon the edge of the bed, feeling now in
the cold dawn the chill discomfort of which the excite-
ment of the earlier hours of the night had rendered them
unconscious. The youth coughed.
"You've caught cold," said Bridge, his tone almost self-
reproachful, as though he were entirely responsible for
the boy's condition. "We're a nice aggregation of molly-
coddles--five of us sitting half frozen up here with a
stove on the floor below, and just because we heard a
noise which we couldn't explain and hadn't the nerve to
investigate." He rose. "I'm going down, rustle some wood
and build a fire in that stove--you two kids have got to
dry those clothes of yours and get warmed up or we'll
have a couple of hospital cases on our hands."
Once again rose a chorus of pleas and objections. Oh,
wouldn't he wait until daylight? See! the dawn was
even then commencing to break. They didn't dare go
down and they begged him not to leave them up there
alone.
At this Dopey Charlie spoke up. The 'hop' had com-
menced to assert its dominion over his shattered nervous
system instilling within him a new courage and a feel-
ing of utter well-being. "Go on down," said he to Bridge.
"The General an' I'll look after the kids--won't we bo?"
"Sure," assented The General; "we'll take care of 'em."
"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Bridge; "we'll leave
the kids up here and we three'll go down. They won't
go, and I wouldn't leave them up here with you two
morons on a bet."
The General and Dopey Charlie didn't know what
a moron was but they felt quite certain from Bridge's
tone of voice that a moron was not a nice thing, and
anyway no one could have bribed them to descend into
the darkness of the lower floor with the dead man and
the grisly THING that prowled through the haunted
chambers; so they flatly refused to budge an inch.
Bridge saw in the gradually lighting sky the near ap-
proach of full daylight; so he contented himself with
making the girl and the youth walk briskly to and fro
in the hope that stimulated circulation might at least par-
tially overcome the menace of the damp clothing and
the chill air, and thus they occupied the remaining hour
of the night.
From below came no repetition of the inexplicable
noises of that night of terror and at last, with every ob-
ject plainly discernible in the light of the new day,
Bridge would delay no longer; but voiced his final de-
termination to descend and make a fire in the old kitchen
stove. Both the boy and the girl insisted upon accom-
panying him. For the first time each had an opportunity
to study the features of his companions of the night.
Bridge found in the girl and the youth two dark eyed,
good-looking young people. In the girl's face was, per-
haps, just a trace of weakness; but it was not the face
of one who consorts habitually with criminals. The man
appraised her as a pretty, small-town girl who had been
led into a temporary escapade by the monotony of
village life, and be would have staked his soul that she
was not a bad girl.
The boy, too, looked anything other than the role he
had been playing. Bridge smiled as he looked at the
clear eyes, the oval face, and the fine, sensitive mouth
and thought of the youth's claim to the crime battered
sobriquet of The Oskaloosa Kid. The man wondered if
the mystery of the clanking chain would prove as harm-
lessly infantile as these two whom some accident of hi-
larious fate had cast in the roles of debauchery and
crime.
Aloud, he said: "I'll go first, and if the spook ma-
terializes you two can beat it back into the room." And
to the two tramps: "Come on, boes, we'll all take a look
at the lower floor together, and then we'll get a good fire
going in the kitchen and warm up a bit."
Down the hall they went, Bridge leading with the
boy and girl close at his heels while the two yeggs
brought up the rear. Their footsteps echoed through the
deserted house; but brought forth no answering clank-
ing from the cellar. The stairs creaked beneath the
unaccustomed weight of so many bodies as they de-
scended toward the lower floor. Near the bottom Bridge
came to a questioning halt. The front room lay entirely
within his range of vision, and as his eyes swept it he
gave voice to a short exclamation of surprise.
The youth and the girl, shivering with cold and ner-
vous excitement, craned their necks above the man's
shoulder.
"O-h-h!" gasped The Oskaloosa Kid. "He's gone," and,
sure enough, the dead man had vanished.
Bridge stepped quickly down the remaining steps,
entered the rear room which had served as dining room
and kitchen, inspected the two small bedrooms off this
room, and the summer kitchen beyond. All were empty;
then he turned and re-entering the front room bent his
steps toward the cellar stairs. At the foot of the stair-
way leading to the second floor lay the flash lamp that
the boy had dropped the night before. Bridge stooped,
picked it up and examined it. It was uninjured and with
it in his hand he continued toward the cellar door.
"Where are you going?" asked The Oskaloosa Kid.
"I'm going to solve the mystery of that infernal clank-
ing," he replied.
"You are not going down into that dark cellar!" It was
an appeal, a question, and a command; and it quivered
gaspingly upon the verge of hysteria.
Bridge turned and looked into the youth's face. The
man did not like cowardice and his eyes were stern as
he turned them on the lad from whom during the few
hours of their acquaintance he had received so many
evidences of cowardice; but as the clear brown eyes of
the boy met his the man's softened and he shook his
head perplexedly. What was there about this slender
stripling which so disarmed criticism?
"Yes," he replied, "I am going down. I doubt if I
shall find anything there; but if I do it is better to come
upon it when I am looking for it than to have it come
upon us when we are not expecting it. If there is to be
any hunting I prefer to be hunter rather than hunted."
He wheeled and placed a foot upon the cellar stairs.
The youth followed him.
"What are you going to do?" asked the man.
"I am going with you," said the boy. "You think I am
a coward because I am afraid; but there is a vast differ-
ence between cowardice and fear."
The man made no reply as he resumed the descent of
the stairs, flashing the rays of the lamp ahead of him;
but he pondered the boy's words and smiled as he ad-
mitted mentally that it undoubtedly took more courage
to do a thing in the face of fear than to do it if fear were
absent. He felt a strange elation that this youth should
choose voluntarily to share his danger with him, for in
his roaming life Bridge had known few associates for
whom he cared.
The beams of the little electric lamp, moving from
side to side, revealed a small cellar littered with refuse
and festooned with cob-webs. At one side tottered the
remains of a series of wooden racks upon which pans of
milk had doubtless stood to cool in a long gone, happier
day. Some of the uprights had rotted away so that a
part of the frail structure had collapsed to the earthen
floor. A table with one leg missing and a crippled chair
constituted the balance of the contents of the cellar
and there was no living creature and no chain nor any
other visible evidence of the presence which had
clanked so lugubriously out of the dark depths during
the vanished night. The boy breathed a heartfelt sigh of
relief and Bridge laughed, not without a note of relief
either.
"You see there is nothing," he said--"nothing except
some firewood which we can use to advantage. I regret
that James is not here to attend me; but since he is not
you and I will have to carry some of this stuff upstairs,"
and together they returned to the floor above, their
arms laden with pieces of the dilapidated milk rack. The
girl was awaiting them at the head of the stairs while the
two tramps whispered together at the opposite side of
the room.
It took Bridge but a moment to have a roaring fire
started in the old stove in the kitchen, and as the warmth
rolled in comforting waves about them the five felt for
the first time in hours something akin to relief and well
being. With the physical relaxation which the heat in-
duced came a like relaxation of their tongues and tem-
porary forgetfulness of their antagonisms and individual
apprehensions. Bridge was the only member of the
group whose conscience was entirely free. He was not
'wanted' anywhere, he bad no unexpiated crimes to
harry his mind, and with the responsibilities of the night
removed he fell naturally into his old, carefree manner.
He hazarded foolish explanations of the uncanny noises
of the night and suggested various theories to account
for the presence and the mysterious disappearance of the
dead man.
The General, on the contrary, seriously maintained
that the weird sounds had emanated from the ghost of
the murdered man who was, unquestionably, none other
than the long dead Squibb returned to haunt his former
home, and that the scream had sprung from the ghostly
lungs of his slain wife or daughter.
"I wouldn't spend anudder night in this dump," he
concluded, "for both them pockets full of swag The
Oskaloosa Kid's packin' around."
Immediately all eyes turned upon the flushing youth.
The girl and Bridge could not prevent their own gazes
from wandering to the bulging coat pockets, the owner
of which moved uneasily, at last shooting a look of defi-
ance, not unmixed with pleading, at Bridge.
"He's a bad one," interjected Dopey Charlie, a glint
of cunning in his ordinarily glassy eyes. "He flashes a
couple o' mitsful of sparklers, chesty-like, and allows as
how he's a regular burglar. Then he pulls a gun on me,
as wasn't doin' nothin' to him, and 'most croaks me. It's
even money that if anyone's been croaked in Oakdale
last night they won't have to look far for the guy that
done it. Least-wise they won't have to look far if he
doesn't come across," and Dopey Charlie looked mean-
ingly and steadily at the side pockets of The Oskaloosa
Kid.
"I think," said Bridge, after a moment of general si-
lence, "that you two crooks had better beat it. Do you
get me?" and he looked from Dopey Charlie to The Gen-
eral and back again.
"We don't go," said Dopey Charlie, belligerently, "un-
til we gets half the Kid's swag."
"You go now," said Bridge, "without anybody's swag,"
and he drew the boy's automatic from his side pocket.
"You go now and you go quick--beat it!"
The two rose and shuffled toward the door. "We'll get
you, you colledge Lizzy," threatened Dopey Charlie,
"an' we'll get that phoney punk, too."
"'And speed the parting guest,'" quoted Bridge, firing
a shot that splintered the floor at the crook's feet.
When the two hoboes had departed the others huddled
again close to the stove until Bridge suggested that he
and The Oskaloosa Kid retire to another room while the
girl removed and dried her clothing; but she insisted
that it was not wet enough to matter since she had been
covered by a robe in the automobile until just a moment
before she had been hurled out.
"Then, after you are warmed up," said Bridge, "you
can step into this other room while the kid and I strip
and dry our things, for there's no question but that we
are wet enough."
At the suggestion the kid started for the door. "Oh,
no," he insisted; "it isn't worth while. I am almost dry
now, and as soon as we get out on the road I'll be all
right. I--I--I like wet clothes," he ended, lamely.
Bridge looked at him questioningly; but did not urge
the matter. "Very well," he said; "you probably know
what you like; but as for me, I'm going to pull off every
rag and get good and dry."
The girl had already quitted the room and now The
Kid turned and followed her. Bridge shook his head.
"I'll bet the little beggar never was away from his
mother before in his life," he mused; "why the mere
thought of undressing in front of a strange man made
him turn red--and posing as The Oskaloosa Kid! Bless
my soul; but he's a humorist--a regular, natural born
one."
Bridge found that his clothing had dried to some ex-
tent during the night; so, after a brisk rub, he put on
the warmed garments and though some were still a trifle
damp he felt infinitely more comfortable than he had for
many hours.
Outside the house he came upon the girl and the
youth standing in the sunshine of a bright, new day.
They were talking together in a most animated man-
ner, and as he approached wondering what the two had
found of so great common interest he discovered that
the discussion hinged upon the relative merits of ham
and bacon as a breakfast dish.
"Oh, my heart it is just achin'," quoted Bridge,
"For a little bite of bacon,
"A hunk of bread, a little mug of brew;
"I'm tired of seein' scenery,
"Just lead me to a beanery
"Where there's something more than only air to
chew."
The two looked up, smiling. "You're a funny kind of
tramp, to be quoting poetry," said The Oskaloosa Kid,
"even if it is Knibbs'."
"Almost as funny," replied Bridge, "as a burglar who
recognizes Knibbs when he hears him."
The Oskaloosa Kid flushed. "He wrote for us of the
open road," he replied quickly. "I don't know of any
other class of men who should enjoy him more."
"Or any other class that is less familiar with him," re-
torted Bridge; "but the burning question just now is
pots, not poetry--flesh pots. I'm hungry. I could eat a
cow."
The girl pointed to an adjacent field. "Help yourself,"
she said.
"That happens to be a bull," said Bridge. "I was
particular to mention cow, which, in this instance, is
proverbially less dangerous than the male, and much
better eating.
"'We kept a-rambling all the time. I rustled grub, he
rustled rhyme--
"'Blind baggage, hoof it, ride or climb--we always
put it through.' Who's going to rustle the grub?"
The girl looked at The Oskaloosa Kid. "You don't
seem like a tramp at all, to talk to," she said; "but I
suppose you are used to asking for food. I couldn't do it
--I should die if I had to."
The Oskaloosa Kid looked uncomfortable. "So should
--" he commenced, and then suddenly subsided. "Of
course I'd just as soon," he said. "You two stay here--I'll
be back in a minute."
They watched him as be walked down to the road
and until he disappeared over the crest of the hill a
short distance from the Squibbs' house.
"I like him," said the girl, turning toward Bridge.
"So do I," replied the man.
"There must be some good in him," she continued,
"even if he is such a desperate character; but I know
he's not The Oskaloosa Kid. Do you really suppose he
robbed a house last night and then tried to kill that
Dopey person?"
Bridge shook his head. "I don't know," he said; "but
I am inclined to believe that he is more imaginative
than criminal. He certainly shot up the Dopey person;
but I doubt if he ever robbed a house."
While they waited, The Oskaloosa Kid trudged along
the muddy road to the nearest farm house. which lay a
full mile beyond the Squibbs' home. As he approached
the door a lank, sallow man confronted him with a sus-
picious eye.
"Good morning," greeted The Oskaloosa Kid.
The man grunted.
"I want to get something to eat," explained the youth.
If the boy had hurled a dynamite bomb at him the
result could have been no more surprising. The lank,
sallow man went up into the air, figuratively. He went
up a mile or more, and on the way down he reached his
hand inside the kitchen door and brought it forth en-
veloping the barrel of a shot gun.
"Durn ye!" he cried. "I'll lam ye! Get offen here. I
knows ye. Yer one o' that gang o' bums that come here
last night, an' now you got the gall to come back beggin'
for food, eh? I'll lam ye!" and he raised the gun to his
shoulder.
The Oskaloosa Kid quailed but he held his ground.
"I wasn't here last night," he cried, "and I'm not begging
for food--I want to buy some. I've got plenty of money,"
in proof of which assertion he dug into a side pocket
and brought forth a large roll of bills. The man lowered
his gun.
"Wy didn't ye say so in the first place then?" he
growled. "How'd I know you wanted to buy it, eh?
Where'd ye come from anyhow, this early in the morn-
in'? What's yer name, eh? What's yer business, that's
what Jeb Case'd like to know, eh?" He snapped his
words out with the rapidity of a machine gun, nor
waited for a reply to one query before launching the
next. "What do ye want to buy, eh? How much money
ye got? Looks suspicious. That's a sight o' money yew got
there, eh? Where'dje get it?"
"It's mine," said The Oskaloosa Kid, "and I want to
buy some eggs and milk and ham and bacon and flour
and onions and sugar and cream and strawberries and
tea and coffee and a frying pan and a little oil stove,
if you have one to spare, and--"
Jeb Case's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "You're
in the wrong pasture, bub," he remarked feelingly.
"What yer lookin' fer is Sears, Roebuck & Company."
The Oskaloosa Kid flushed up to the tips of his ears.
"But can't you sell me something?" he begged.
"I might let ye have some milk an' eggs an' butter an'
a leetle bacon an' mebby my ol' woman's got a loaf left
from her last bakin'; but we ain't been figgerin' on sup-
plyin' grub fer the United States army ef that's what yew
be buyin' fer."
A frowsy, rat-faced woman and a gawky youth of four-
teen stuck their heads out the doorway at either side of
the man. "I ain't got nothin' to sell," snapped the woman;
but as she spoke her eyes fell upon the fat bank roll in
the youth's hand. "Or, leastwise," she amended, "I ain't
got much more'n we need an' the price o' stuff's gone
up so lately that I'll hev to ask ye more'n I would of
last fall. 'Bout what did ye figger on wantin'?"
"Anything you can spare," said the youth. "There are
three of us and we're awful hungry."
"Where yew stoppin'?" asked the woman.
"We're at the old Squibbs' place," replied The Kid.
"We got caught by the storm last night and had to put
up there."
"The Squibbs' place!" ejaculated the woman. "Yew
didn't stop there over night?"
"Yes we did," replied the youth.
"See anything funny?" asked Mrs. Case.
"We didn't SEE anything," replied The Oskaloosa Kid;
"but we heard things. At least we didn't see what we
heard; but we saw a dead man on the floor when we
went in and this morning he was gone."
The Cases shuddered. "A dead man!" ejaculated Jeb
Case. "Yew seen him?"
The Kid nodded.
"I never tuk much stock in them stories," said Jeb,
with a shake of his head; "but ef you SEEN it! Gosh! Thet
beats me. Come on M'randy, les see what we got to
spare," and he turned into the kitchen with his wife.
The lanky boy stepped, out and planting himself in
front of The Oskaloosa Kid proceeded to stare at him.
"Yew seen it?" be asked in awestruck tone.
"Yes," said the Kid in a low voice, and bending close
toward the other; "it had bloody froth on its lips!"
The Case boy shrank back. "An' what did yew hear?"
he asked, a glutton for thrills.
"Something that dragged a chain behind it and came
up out of the cellar and tried to get in our room on the
second floor," explained the youth. "It almost got us,
too," he added, "and it did it all night."
"Whew," whistled the Case boy. "Gosh!" Then he
scratched his head and looked admiringly at the youth.
"What mought yer name be?" he asked.
"I'm The Oskaloosa Kid," replied the youth, unable to
resist the admiration of the other's fond gaze. "Look
here!" and he fished a handful of jewelry from one of
his side pockets; "this is some of the swag I stole last
night when I robbed a house."
Case Jr., opened his mouth and eyes so wide that
there was little left of his face. "But that's nothing,"
bragged The Kid. "I shot a man, too."
"Last night?" whispered the boy.
"Yep," replied the bad man, tersely.
"Gosh!" said the young Mr. Case, but there was that
in his facial expression which brought to The Oskaloosa
Kid a sudden regret that he had thus rashly confided in
a stranger.
"Say," said The Kid, after a moment's strained silence.
"Don't tell anyone, will you? If you'll promise I'll give
you a dollar," and he hunted through his roll of bills for
one of that lowly denomination.
"All right," agreed the Case boy. "I won't say a word
--where's the dollar?"
The youth drew a bill from his roll and handed it to
the other. "If you tell," he whispered, and he bent close
toward the other's ear and spoke in a menacing tone;
"If you tell, I'll kill you!"
"Gosh!" said Willie Case.
At this moment Case pere and mere emerged from
the kitchen loaded with provender. "Here's enough an'
more'n enough, I reckon," said Jeb Case. "We got eggs,
butter, bread, bacon, milk, an' a mite o' garden sass."
"But we ain't goin' to charge you nothin' fer the gar-
den sass," interjected Mrs. Case.
"That's awfully nice of you," replied The Kid. "How
much do I owe you for the rest of it?"
"Oh," said Jeb Case, rubbing his chin, eyeing the big
roll of bills and wondering just the limit he might
raise to, "I reckon 'bout four dollars an' six bits."
The Oskaloosa Kid peeled a five dollar bill from his
roll and proffered it to the farmer. "I'm ever so much
obliged," he said, "and you needn't mind about any
change. I thank you so much." With which he took the
several packages and pails and turned toward the road.
"Yew gotta return them pails!" shouted Mrs. Case af-
ter him.
"Oh, of course," replied The Kid.
"Gosh!" exclaimed Mr. Case, feelingly. "I wisht I'd
asked six bits more--I mought jest as well o' got it as not.
Gosh, eh?"
"Gosh!" murmured Willie Case, fervently.
Back down the sticky road plodded The Oskaloosa
Kid, his arms heavy and his heart light, for, was he not
'bringing home the bacon,' literally as well as figuratively.
As he entered the Squibbs' gateway he saw the girl and
Bridge standing upon the verandah waiting his coming,
and as he approached them and they caught a nearer
view of his great burden of provisions they hailed him
with loud acclaim.
"Some artist!" cried the man. "And to think that I
doubted your ability to make a successful touch! For-
give me! You are the ne plus ultra, non est cumquidibus,
in hoc signo vinces, only and original kind of hand-out
compellers."
"How in the world did you do it?" asked the girl,
rapturously.
"Oh, it's easy when you know how," replied The Oska-
loosa Kid carelessly, as, with the help of the others, he
carried the fruits of his expedition into the kitchen. Here
Bridge busied himself about the stove, adding more
wood to the fire and scrubbing a portion of the top plate
as clean as he could get it with such crude means as he
could discover about the place.
The youth he sent to the nearby brook for water after
selecting the least dirty of the several empty tin cans
lying about the floor of the summer kitchen. He warned
against the use of the water from the old well and while
the boy was away cut a generous portion of the bacon
into long, thin strips.
Shortly after, the water coming to the boil, Bridge
lowered three eggs into it, glanced at his watch, greased
one of the new cleaned stove lids with a piece of bacon
rind and laid out as many strips of bacon as the lid
would accommodate. Instantly the room was filled with
the delicious odor of frying bacon.
"M-m-m-m!" gloated The Oskaloosa Kid. "I wish I
had bo--asked for more. My! but I never smelled any-
thing so good as that in all my life. Are you going to
boil only three eggs? I could eat a dozen."
"The can'll only hold three at a time," explained
Bridge. "We'll have some more boiling while we are
eating these." He borrowed his knife from the girl, who
was slicing and buttering bread with it, and turned the
bacon swiftly and deftly with the point, then he glanced
at his watch. "The three minutes are up," he announced
and, with a couple of small, flat sticks saved for the pur-
pose from the kindling wood, withdrew the eggs one
at a time from the can.
"But we have no cups!' exclaimed The Oskaloosa Kid,
in sudden despair.
Bridge laughed. "Knock an end off your egg and the
shell will answer in place of a cup. Got a knife?"
The Kid didn't. Bridge eyed him quizzically. "You
must have done most of your burgling near home," he
commented.
"I'm not a burglar!" cried the youth indignantly. Some-
how it was very different when this nice voiced man
called him a burglar from bragging of the fact himself
to such as The Sky Pilot's villainous company, or the
awestruck, open-mouthed Willie Case whose very ex-
pression invited heroics.
Bridge made no reply, but his eyes wandered to the
right hand side pocket of the boy's coat. Instantly the
latter glanced guiltily downward to flush redly at the
sight of several inches of pearl necklace protruding ac-
cusingly therefrom. The girl, a silent witness of the oc-
currence, was brought suddenly and painfully to a
realization of her present position and recollection of
the happenings of the preceding night. For the time she
had forgotten that she was alone in the company of a
tramp and a burglar--how much worse either might be
she could only guess.
The breakfast, commenced so auspiciously, continued
in gloomy silence. At least the girl and The Oskaloosa
Kid were silent and gloom steeped. Bridge was thought-
ful but far from morose. His spirits were unquenchable.
"I am afraid," he said, "that I shall have to replace
James. His defection is unforgivable, and he has mis-
placed the finger-bowls."
The youth and the girl forced wan smiles; but neither
spoke. Bridge drew a pouch of tobacco and some papers
from an inside pocket.
"'I had the makings and I smoked
"'And wondered over different things,
"'Thinkin' as how this old world joked
"'In callin' only some men kings
"'While I sat there a-blowin' rings.'"
He paused to kindle a sliver of wood at the stove.
"In these parlous times," he spoke as though to himself,
"one must economize. They are taking a quarter of an
ounce out of each five cents worth of chewing, I am told;
so doubtless each box must be five or six matches short
of full count. Even these papers seem thinner than of
yore and they will only sell one book to a customer at
that. Indeed Sherman was right."
The youth and the girl remained occupied with their
own thoughts, and after a moment's silence the vaga-
bond resumed:
"'Me? I was king of anywhere,
"'Peggin' away at nothing, hard.
"'Havin' no pet, particular care;
"'Havin' no trouble, or no pard;
"'"Just me," filled up my callin' card.'
"Say, do you know I've learned to love this Knibbs per-
son. I used to think of him as a poor attic prune grind-
ing away in his New York sky parlor, writing his verse
of the things he longed for but had never known; until,
one day, I met a fellow between Victorville and Cajon
pass who knew His Knibbs, and come to find out this
Knibbs is a regular fellow. His attic covers all God's coun-
try that is out of doors and he knows the road from La
Bajada hill to Barstow a darned sight better than he
knows Broadway."
There was no answering sympathy awakened in either
of his listeners--they remained mute. Bridge rose and
stretched. He picked up his knife, wiped off the blade,
closed it and slipped it into a trousers' pocket. Then he
walked toward the door. At the threshold he paused
and turned. "'Good-bye girls! I'm through,'" he quoted
and passed out into the sunlight.
Instantly the two within were on their feet and follow-
ing him.
"Where are you going?" cried The Oskaloosa Kid.
"You're not going to leave us, are you?"
"Oh, please don't!" pleaded the girl.
"I don't know," said Bridge, solemnly, "whether I'm
safe in remaining in your society or not. This Oskaloosa
Kid is a bad proposition; and as for you, young lady, I
rather imagine that the town constable is looking for you
right now."
The girl winced. "Please don't," she begged. "I haven't
done anything wicked, honestly! But I want to get away
so that they can't question me. I was in the car when
they killed him; but I had nothing to do with it. It is
just because of my father that I don't want them to find
me. It would break his heart."
As the three stood back of the Squibbs' summer
kitchen Fate, in the guise of a rural free delivery carrier
and a Ford, passed by the front gate. A mile beyond he
stopped at the Case mail box where Jeb and his son
Willie were, as usual, waiting his coming, for the rural
free delivery man often carries more news than is con-
tained in his mail sacks.
"Mornin' Jeb," he called, as he swerved his light car
from the road and drew up in front of the Case gate.
"Mornin', Jim!" returned Mr. Case. "Nice rain we had
last night. What's the news?"
"Plenty! Plenty!" exclaimed the carrier. "Lived here
nigh onto forty year, man an' boy, an' never seen such
work before in all my life."
"How's that?" questioned the farmer, scenting some-
thing interesting.
"Ol' man Baggs's murdered last night," announced the
carrier, watching eagerly for the effect of his announce-
ment.
"Gosh!" gasped Willie Case. "Was he shot?" It was
almost a scream.
"I dunno," replied Jim. "He's up to the horspital now,
an' the doc says he haint one chance in a thousand."
"Gosh!" exclaimed Mr. Case.
"But thet ain't all," continued Jim. "Reggie Paynter
was murdered last night, too; right on the pike south of
town. They threw his corpse outen a ottymobile."
"By gol!" cried Jeb Case; "I hearn them devils go by
last night 'bout midnight er after. 'T woke me up. They
must o' ben goin' sixty mile an hour. Er say," he stopped
to scratch his head. "Mebby it was tramps. They must a
ben a score on 'em round here yesterday and las' night
an' agin this mornin'. I never seed so dum many bums
in my life."
"An' thet ain't all," went on the carrier, ignoring the
others comments. "Oakdale's all tore up. Abbie Prim's
disappeared and Jonas Prim's house was robbed jest
about the same time Ol' man Baggs 'uz murdered, er
most murdered--chances is he's dead by this time any-
how. Doc said he hadn't no chance."
"Gosh!" It was a pater-filius duet.
"But thet ain't all," gloated Jim. "Two of the persons in
the car with Reggie Paynter were recognized, an' who
do you think one of 'em was, eh? Why one of 'em was
Abbie Prim an' tother was a slick crook from Toledo er
Noo York that's called The Oskaloosie Kid. By gum, I'll
bet they get 'em in no time. Why already Jonas Prim's
got a regular dee-dectiff down from Chicago, an' the
board o' select-men's offered a re-ward o' fifty dollars fer
the arrest an' conviction of the perpetrators of these
dastardly crimes!"
"Gosh!" cried Willie Case. "I know--"; but then he
paused. If he told all he knew he saw plainly that either
the carrier or his father would profit by it and collect the
reward. Fifty dollars!! Willie gasped.
"Well," said Jim, "I gotta be on my way. Here's the
Tribune--there ain't nothin' more fer ye. So long! Gid-
dap!" and he was gone.
"I don' see why he don't carry a whip," mused Jeb
Case. "A-gidappin' to that there tin lizzie," he muttered
disgustedly, "jes' like it was as good as a hoss. But I
mind the time, the fust day he got the dinged thing, he
gets out an' tries to lead it by Lem Smith's threshin' ma-
chine."
Jeb Case preferred an audience worthy his mettle;
but Willie was better than no one, yet when he turned
to note the effect of his remarks on his son, Willie was
no where to be seen. If Jeb had but known it his
young hopeless was already in the loft of the hay barn
deep in a small, red-covered book entitled: "HOW TO
BE A DETECTIVE."
