Bridge, who had had no intention of deserting his help-
less companions, appeared at last to yield reluctantly to
their pleas. That indefinable something about the youth
which appealed strongly to the protective instinct in the
man, also assured him that the other's mask of criminal-
ity was for the most part assumed even though the stor-
ies of the two yeggmen and the loot bulging pockets
argued to the contrary. There was the chance, however,
that the boy had really taken the first step upon the
road toward a criminal career, and if such were the case
Bridge felt morally obligated to protect his new found
friend from arrest, secure in the reflection that his own
precept and example would do more to lead him back
into the path of rectitude than would any police magis-
trate or penal institute.
For the girl he felt a deep pity. In the past he had
had knowledge of more than one other small-town girl
led into wrong doing through the deadly monotony and
flagrant hypocrisy of her environment. Himself highly
imaginative and keenly sensitive, he realized with what
depth of horror the girl anticipated a return to her home
and friends after the childish escapade which had cul-
minated, even through no fault of hers, in criminal
tragedy of the most sordid sort.
As the three held a council of war at the rear of the
deserted house they were startled by the loud squeaking
of brake bands on the road in front. Bridge ran quickly
into the kitchen and through to the front room where he
saw three men alighting from a large touring car which
had drawn up before the sagging gate. As the foremost
man, big and broad shouldered, raised his eyes to the
building Bridge smothered an exclamation of surprise
and chagrin, nor did he linger to inspect the other mem-
bers of the party; but turned and ran quickly back to his
companions.
"We've got to beat it!" he whispered; "they've brought
Burton himself down here."
"Who's Burton?" demanded the youth.
"He's the best operative west of New York City,"
replied Bridge, as he moved rapidly toward an out-
house directly in rear of the main building.
Once behind the small, dilapidated structure which
had once probably housed farm implements, Bridge
paused and looked about. "They'll search here," he
prophesied, and then; "Those woods look good to me."
The Squibbs' woods, growing rank in the damp ravine
at the bottom of the little valley, ran to within a hun-
dred feet of the out-building. Dense undergrowth
choked the ground to a height of eight or ten feet
around the boles of the close set trees. If they could
gain the seclusion of that tangled jungle there was little
likelihood of their being discovered, provided they were
not seen as they passed across the open space between
their hiding place and the wood.
"We'd better make a break for it," advised Bridge, and
a moment later the three moved cautiously toward the
wood, keeping the out-house between themselves and
the farm house. Almost in front of them as they neared
the wood they saw a well defined path leading into the
thicket. Single-file they entered, to be almost instantly
hidden from view, not only from the house but from
any other point more than a dozen paces away, for the
path was winding, narrow and closely walled by the
budding verdure of the new Spring. Birds sang or twit-
tered about them, the mat of dead leaves oozed spongily
beneath their feet, giving forth no sound as they passed,
save a faint sucking noise as a foot was lifted from each
watery seat.
Bridge was in the lead, moving steadily forward that
they might put as much distance as possible between
themselves and the detective should the latter chance to
explore the wood. They had advanced a few hundred
yards when the path crossed through a small clearing
the center of which was destitute of fallen leaves. Here
the path was beaten into soft mud and as Bridge came
to it he stopped and bent his gaze incredulously upon
the ground. The girl and the youth, halting upon either
side, followed the direction of his eyes with theirs. The
girl gave a little, involuntary gasp, and the boy grasped
Bridge's hand as though fearful of losing him. The man
turned a quizzical glance at each of them and smiled,
though a bit ruefully.
"It beats me," he said.
"What can it be?" whispered the boy.
"Oh, let's go back," begged the girl.
"And go along to father with Burton?" asked Bridge.
The girl trembled and shook her head. "I would rather
die," she said, firmly. "Come, let's go on."
The cause of their perturbation was imprinted deeply
in the mud of the pathway--the irregular outlines of an
enormous, naked, human foot--a great, uncouth foot that
bespoke a monster of another world. While, still more
uncanny, in view of what they had heard in the farm
house during the previous night, there lay, sometimes
partially obliterated by the footprints of the THING,
the impress of a small, bare foot--a woman's or a child's
--and over both an irregular scoring that might have
been wrought by a dragging chain!
In the loft of his father's hay barn Willie Case delved
deep into the small red-covered volume, HOW TO BE
A DETECTIVE; but though he turned many pages and
flitted to and fro from preface to conclusion he met only
with disappointment. The pictures of noted bank burg-
lars and confidence men aided him not one whit, for in
none of them could he descry the slightest resemblance
to the smooth faced youth of the early morning. In fact,
so totally different were the types shown in the little
book that Willie was forced to scratch his head and ex-
claim "Gosh!" many times in an effort to reconcile the
appearance of the innocent boy to the hardened, crimi-
nal faces he found portrayed upon the printed pages.
"But, by gol!" he exclaimed mentally, "he said he was
The Oskaloosie Kid, 'n' that he shot a man last night;
but what I'd like to know is how I'm goin' to shadder
him from this here book. Here it says: 'If the criminal
gets on a street car and then jumps off at the next
corner the good detective will know that his man is
aware that he is being shadowed, and will stay on the
car and telephone his office at the first opportunity.'
'N'ere it sez: 'If your man gets into a carriage don't
run up an' jump on the back of it; but simply hire an-
other carriage and follow.' How in hek kin I foller this
book?" wailed Willie. "They ain't no street cars 'round
here. I ain't never see a street car, 'n'as fer a carriage, I
reckon he means bus, they's only one on 'em in Oakdale
'n'if they waz forty I'd like to know how in hek I'd hire
one when I ain't got no money. I reckon I threw away
my four-bits on this book--it don't tell a feller nothin'
'bout false whiskers, wigs 'n' the like," and he tossed
the book disgustedly into a corner, rose and descended
to the barnyard. Here he busied himself about some
task that should have been attended to a week before,
and which even now was not destined to be completed
that day, since Willie had no more than set himself to it
than his attention was distracted by the sudden appear-
ance of a touring car being brought to a stop in front of
the gate.
Instantly Willie dropped his irksome labor and
slouched lazily toward the machine, the occupants of
which were descending and heading for the Case front
door. Jeb Case met them before they reached the porch
and Willie lolled against a pillar listening eagerly to all
that was said.
The most imposing figure among the strangers was
the same whom Bridge had seen approaching the
Squibbs' house a short time before. It was he who acted
as spokesman for the newcomers.
"As you may know," he said, after introducing him-
self, "a number of crimes were committed in and around
Oakdale last night. We are searching for clews to the
perpetrators, some of whom must still be in the neigh-
borhood. Have you seen any strange or suspicious char-
acters around lately?"
"I should say we hed," exclaimed Jeb emphatically.
"I seen the wo'st lookin' gang o' bums come outen my
hay barn this mornin' thet I ever seed in my life. They
must o' ben upward of a dozen on 'em. They waz makin'
fer the house when I steps in an' grabs my ol' shot
gun. I hollered at 'em not to come a step nigher 'n' I
guess they seed it wa'n't safe monkeyin' with me; so
they skidaddled."
"Which way did they go?" asked Burton.
"Off down the road yonder; but I don't know which
way they turned at the crossin's, er ef they kept straight
on toward Millsville."
Burton asked a number of questions in an effort to
fix the identity of some of the gang, warned Jeb to tele-
phone him at Jonas Prim's if he saw anything further of
the strangers, and then retraced his steps toward the
car. Not once bad Jeb mentioned the youth who had
purchased supplies from him that morning, and the
reason was that Jeb had not considered the young man
of sufficient importance, having cataloged him mentally
as an unusually early specimen of the summer camper
with which he was more or less familiar.
Willie, on the contrary, realized the importance of
their morning customer, yet just how he was to cash in
on his knowledge was not yet entirely clear. He was al-
ready convinced that HOW TO BE A DETECTIVE
would help him not at all, and with the natural suspicion
of ignorance he feared to divulge his knowledge to the
city detective for fear that the latter would find the
means to cheat him out of the princely reward offered
by the Oakdale village board. He thought of going at
once to the Squibbs' house and placing the desperate
criminals under arrest; but as fear throttled the idea in
its infancy he cast about for some other plan.
Even as he stood there thinking the great detective
and his companions were entering the automobile to
drive away. In a moment they would be gone. Were they
not, after all, the very men, the only men, in fact, to
assist him in his dilemma? At least he could test them
out. If necessary he would divide the reward with
them! Running toward the road Willie shouted to the
departing sleuth. The car, moving slowly forward in low,
came again to rest. Willie leaped to the running board.
"If I tell you where the murderer is," he whispered
hoarsely, "do I git the $50.00?"
Detective Burton was too old a hand to ignore even
the most seemingly impossible of aids. He laid a kindly
hand on Willie's shoulder. "You bet you do," he replied
heartily, "and what's more I'll add another fifty to it.
What do you know?"
"I seen the murderer this mornin'," Willie was gasp-
ing with excitement and elation. Already the one hun-
dred dollars was as good as his. One hundred dollars!
Willie "Goshed!" mentally even as he told his tale. "He
come to our house an' bought some vittles an' stuff. Paw
didn't know who he wuz; but when Paw went inside he
told me he was The Oskaloosie Kid 'n' thet he robbed a
house last night and killed a man, 'n' he had a whole
pocket full o' money, 'n' he said he'd kill me ef I told."
Detective Burton could scarce restrain a smile as he
listened to this wildly improbable tale, yet his profes-
sional instinct was too keen to permit him to cast aside
as worthless the faintest evidence until he had proven
it to be worthless. He stepped from the car again and
motioning to Willie to follow him returned to the Case
yard where Jeb was already coming toward the gate,
having noted the interest which his son was arousing
among the occupants of the car. Willie pulled at the
detective's sleeve. "Don't tell Paw about the reward,"
he begged; "he'll keep it all hisself."
Burton reassured the boy with a smile and a nod,
and then as he neared Jeb he asked him if a young
man had been at his place that morning asking for
food.
"Sure," replied Jeb; "but he didn't 'mount to nothin'.
One o' these here summer camper pests. He paid fer all
he got. Had a roll o' bills 's big as ye fist. Little feller he
were, not much older 'n' Willie."
"Did you know that he told your son that he was The
Oskaloosa Kid and that he had robbed a house and
killed a man last night?"
"Huh?" exclaimed Jeb. Then he turned and cast one
awful look at Willie--a look large with menace.
"Honest, Paw," pleaded the boy. "I was a-scairt to
tell you, 'cause he said he'd kill me ef I told."
Jeb scratched his head. "Yew know what you'll get ef
you're lyin' to me," he threatened.
"I believe he's telling the truth," said detective Bur-
ton. "Where is the man now?" he asked Willie.
"Down to the Squibbs' place," and Willie jerked a
dirty thumb toward the east.
"Not now," said Burton; "we just came from there;
but there has been someone there this morning, for
there is still a fire in the kitchen range. Does anyone live
there?"
"I should say not," said Willie emphatically; "the
place is haunted."
"Thet's right," interjected Jeb. "Thet's what they do
say, an' this here Oskaloosie Kid said they heered things
las' night an' seed a dead man on the floor, didn't he
M'randy?" M'randy nodded her head.
"But I don't take no stock in what Willie's ben tellin'
ye," she continued, "'n' ef his paw don't lick him I
will. I told him tell I'm good an' tired o' talkin' thet one
liar 'round a place wuz all I could stand," and she cast a
meaning glance at her husband.
"Honest, Maw, I ain't a-lyin'," insisted Willie. "Wot
do you suppose he give me this fer, if it wasn't to keep
me from talkin'," and the boy drew a crumpled one dol-
lar bill from his pocket. It was worth the dollar to escape
a thrashing.
"He give you thet?" asked his mother. Willie nodded
assent.
"'N' thet ain't all he had neither," he said. "Beside
all them bills he showed me a whole pocket full o'
jewlry, 'n' he had a string o' things thet I don't know
jest what you call 'em; but they looked like they was
made outen the inside o' clam shells only they was all
round like marbles."
Detective Burton raised his eyebrows. "Miss Prim's
pearl necklace," he commented to the man at his side.
The other nodded. "Don't punish your son, Mrs. Case,"
he said to the woman. "I believe he has discovered a
great deal that will help us in locating the man we want.
Of course I am interested principally in finding Miss
Prim--her father has engaged me for that purpose; but
I think the arrest of the perpetrators of any of last
night's crimes will put us well along on the trail of the
missing young lady, as it is almost a foregone conclusion
that there is a connection between her disappearance
and some of the occurrences which have so excited
Oakdale. I do not mean that she was a party to any
criminal act; but it is more than possible that she was ab-
ducted by the same men who later committed the other
crimes."
The Cases hung open-mouthed upon his words, while
his companions wondered at the loquaciousness of this
ordinarily close-mouthed man, who, as a matter of fact,
was but attempting to win the confidence of the boy
on the chance that even now he had not told all that
he knew; but Willie had told all.
Finding, after a few minutes further conversation,
that he could glean no additional information the de-
tective returned to his car and drove west toward Mills-
ville on the assumption that the fugitives would seek
escape by the railway running through that village.
Only thus could he account for their turning off the
main pike. The latter was now well guarded all the
way to Payson; while the Millsville road was still open.
No sooner had he departed than Willie Case disap-
peared, nor did he answer at noon to the repeated
ringing of the big, farm dinner bell.
Half way between the Case farm and Millsville de-
tective Burton saw, far ahead along the road, two figures
scale a fence and disappear behind the fringing black-
berry bushes which grew in tangled profusion on either
side. When they came abreast of the spot he ordered
the driver to stop; but though he scanned the open field
carefully he saw no sign of living thing.
"There are two men hiding behind those bushes," he
said to his companions in a low whisper. "One of you
walk ahead about fifty yards and the other go back the
same distance and then climb the fence. When I see you
getting over I'll climb it here. They can't get away from
us." To the driver he said: "You have a gun. If they
make a break go after 'em. You can shoot if they don't
stop when you tell 'em to."
The two men walked in opposite directions along the
road, and when Burton saw them turn in and start to
climb the fence he vaulted over the panel directly op-
posite the car. He had scarcely alighted upon the other
side when his eyes fell upon the disreputable figures of
two tramps stretched out upon their backs and snoring
audibly. Burton grinned.
"You two sure can go to sleep in a hurry," he said.
One of the men opened his eyes and sat up. When he
saw who it was that stood over him he grinned sheep-
ishly.
"Can't a guy lie down fer a minute in de bushes wid-
out bein' pinched?" he asked. The other man now sat up
and viewed the newcomer, while from either side Bur-
ton's companions closed in on the three.
"Wot's de noise?" inquired the second tramp, looking
from one to another of the intruders. "We ain't done
nothin'."
"Of course not, Charlie," Burton assured him gaily.
"Who would ever suspect that you or The General
would do anything; but somebody did something in
Oakdale last night and I want to take you back there
and have a nice, long talk with you. Put your hands
up!"
"We--."
"Put 'em up!" snapped Burton, and when the four
grimy fists had been elevated he signalled to his com-
panions to search the two men.
Nothing more formidable than knives, dope, and a
needle were found upon them.
"Say," drawled Dopey Charlie. "We knows wot we
knows; but hones' to gawd we didn't have nothin' to do
wid it. We knows the guy that pulled it off--we spent
las' night wid him an' his pal an' a skoit. He creased
me, here," and Charlie unbuttoned his clothing and ex-
posed to view the bloody scratch of The Oskaloosa
Kid's bullet. "On de level, Burton, we wern't in on it.
Dis guy was at dat Squibbs' place wen we pulls in dere
outen de rain. He has a pocket full o' kale an' sparklers
an' tings, and he goes fer to shoot me up wen I tries
to get away."
"Who was he?" asked Burton.
"He called hisself de Oskaloosa Kid," replied Charlie.
"A guy called Bridge was wid him. You know him?"
"I've heard of him; but he's straight," replied Burton.
"Who was the skirt?"
"I dunno," said Charlie; "but she was gassin' 'bout her
pals croakin' a guy an' trunin' 'im outten a gas wagon,
an' dis Oskaloosa Kid he croaks some old guy in Oak-
dale las' night. Mebby he ain't a bad 'un though!"
"Where are they now?" asked Burton.
"We got away from 'em at the Squibbs' place this
mornin'," said Charlie.
"Well," said Burton, "you boes come along with me.
If you ain't done nothing the worst you'll get'll be
three squares and a place to sleep for a few days. I
want you where I can lay my hands on you when I
need a couple of witnesses," and he herded them over
the fence and into the machine. As he himself was about
to step in he felt suddenly of his breast pocket.
"What's the matter?" asked one of his companions.
"I've lost my note book," replied Burton; "it must
have dropped out of my pocket when I jumped the
fence. Just wait a minute while I go look for it," and
be returned to the fence, vaulted it and disappeared be-
hind the bushes.
It was fully five minutes before he returned but when
he did there was a look of satisfaction on his face.
"Find it?" asked his principal lieutenant.
"Yep," replied Burton. "I wouldn't have lost it for
anything."
Bridge and his companions had made their way along
the wooded path for perhaps a quarter of a mile when
the man halted and drew back behind the foliage of a
flowering bush. With raised finger he motioned the oth-
ers to silence and then pointed through the branches
ahead. The boy and the girl, tense with excitement,
peered past the man into a clearing in which stood a log
shack, mud plastered; but it was not the hovel which
held their mute attention--it was rather the figure of a
girl, bare headed and bare footed, who toiled stub-
bornly with an old spade at a long, narrow excavation.
All too suggestive in itself was the shape of the hole
the girl was digging; there was no need of the silent
proof of its purpose which lay beside her to tell the
watchers that she worked alone in the midst of the for-
est solitude upon a human grave. The thing wrapped
in an old quilt lay silently waiting for the making of its
last bed.
And as the three watched her other eyes watched
them and the digging girl--wide, awestruck eyes, filled
with a great terror, yet now and again half closing in
the shrewd expression of cunning that is a hall mark of
crafty ignorance.
And as they watched, their over-wrought nerves sud-
denly shuddered to the grewsome clanking of a chain
from the dark interior of the hovel.
The youth, holding tight to Bridge's sleeve, strove to
pull him away.
"Let's go back," he whispered in a voice that trembled
so that he could scarce control it.
"Yes, please," urged the girl. "Here is another path
leading toward the north. We must be close to a road.
Let's get away from here."
The digger paused and raised her head, listening, as
though she had caught the faint, whispered note of hu-
man voices. She was a black haired girl of nineteen or
twenty, dressed in a motley of flowered calico and silk,
with strings of gold and silver coins looped around her
olive neck. Her bare arms were encircled by bracelets--
some cheap and gaudy, others well wrought from gold
and silver. From her ears depended ornaments fash-
ioned from gold coins. Her whole appearance was bar-
baric, her occupation cast a sinister haze about her; and
yet her eyes seemed fashioned for laughter and her lips
for kissing.
The watchers remained motionless as the girl peered
first in one direction and then in another, seeking an ex-
planation of the sounds which had disturbed her. Her
brows were contracted into a scowl of apprehension
which remained even after she returned to her labors,
and that she was ill at ease was further evidenced by
the frequent pauses she made to cast quick glances to-
ward the dense tanglewood surrounding the clearing.
At last the grave was dug. The girl climbed out and
stood looking down upon the quilt wrapped thing at
her feet. For a moment she stood there as silent and
motionless as the dead. Only the twittering of birds dis-
turbed the quiet of the wood. Bridge felt a soft hand
slipped into his and slender fingers grip his own, He
turned his eyes to see the boy at his side gazing with
wide eyes and trembling lips at the tableau within the
clearing. Involuntarily the man's hand closed tightly
upon the youth's.
And as they stood thus the silence was shattered by
a loud and human sneeze from the thicket not fifty feet
from where they stood. Instantly the girl in the clearing
was electrified into action. Like a tigress charging those
who stalked her she leaped swiftly across the clearing
toward the point from which the disturbance had come.
There was an answering commotion in the underbrush
as the girl crashed through, a slender knife gleaming in
her hand.
Bridge and his companions heard the sounds of a
swift and short pursuit followed by voices, one master-
ful, the other frightened and whimpering; and a moment
afterward the girl reappeared dragging a boy with her
--a wide-eyed, terrified, country boy who begged and
blubbered to no avail.
Beside the dead man the girl halted and then turned
on her captive. In her right hand she still held the
menacing blade.
"What you do there watching me for?" she demanded.
"Tell me the truth, or I kill you," and she half raised
the knife that he might profit in his decision by this
most potent of arguments.
The boy cowered. "I didn't come fer to watch you,"
he whimpered. "I'm lookin' for somebody else. I'm goin'
to be a dee-tectiff, an' I'm shadderin' a murderer; and
he gasped and stammered: "But not you. I'm lookin' for
another murderer."
For the first time the watchers saw a faint smile
touch the girl's lips.
"What other murderer?" she asked. "Who has been
murdered?"
"Two an' mebby three in Oakdale last night," said
Willie Case more glibly now that a chance for dissemi-
nating gossip momentarily outweighed his own fears.
"Reginald Paynter was murdered an' ol' man Baggs an'
Abigail Prim's missin'. Like es not she's been murdered
too, though they do say as she had a hand in it, bein'
seen with Paynter an' The Oskaloosie Kid jest afore the
murder."
As the boy's tale reached the ears of the three hidden
in the underbrush Bridge glanced quickly at his com-
panions. He saw the boy's horror-stricken expression fol-
low the announcement of the name of the murdered
Paynter, and he saw the girl flush crimson.
Without urging, Willie Case proceeded with his story.
He told of the coming of The Oskaloosa Kid to his
father's farm that morning and of seeing some of the
loot and hearing the confession of robbery and killing
in Oakdale the night before. Bridge looked down at the
youth beside him; but the other's face was averted and
his eyes upon the ground. Then Willie told of the arrival
of the great detective, of the reward that had been of-
fered and of his decision to win it and become rich
and famous in a single stroke. As he reached the end
of his narrative he leaned close to the girl, whispering
in her ear the while his furtive gaze wandered toward
the spot where the three lay concealed.
Bridge shrugged his shoulders as the palpable infer-
ence of that cunning glance was borne in upon him.
The boy's voice had risen despite his efforts to hold it to
a low whisper for what with the excitement of the ad-
venture and his terror of the girl with the knife he had
little or no control of himself, yet it was evident that he
did not realize that practically every word he had
spoken had reached the ears of the three in hiding and
that his final precaution as he divulged the information
to the girl was prompted by an excess of timidity and
secretiveness.
The eyes of the girl widened in surprise and fear
as she learned that three watchers lay concealed at
the verge of the clearing. She bent a long, searching
look in the direction indicated by the boy and then
turned her eyes quickly toward the hut as though to
summon aid. At the same moment Bridge stepped from
hiding into the clearing. His pleasant 'Good morning!'
brought the girl around, facing him.
"What you want?" she snapped.
"I want you and this young man," said Bridge, his
voice now suddenly stern. "We have been watching you
and followed you from the Squibbs house. We found the
dead man there last night;" Bridge nodded toward the
quilt enveloped thing upon the ground; "and we sus-
pect that you had an accomplice." Here he frowned
meaningly upon Willie Case. The youth trembled and
stammered.
"I never seen her afore," he cried. "I don' know
nothin' about it. Honest I don't." But the girl did not
quail.
"You get out," she commanded. "You a bad man. Kill,
steal. He know; he tell me. You get out or I call Beppo.
He keel you. He eat you."
"Come, come, now, my dear," urged Bridge, "be calm.
Let us get at the root of this thing. Your young friend
accuses me of being a murderer, does he? And he tells
about murders in Oakdale that I have not even heard
of. It seems to me that he must have some guilty knowl-
edge himself of these affairs. Look at him and look at
me. Notice his ears, his chin, his forehead, or rather the
places where his chin and forehead should be, and then
look once more at me. Which of us might be a murderer
and which a detective? I ask you.
"And as for yourself. I find you here in the depths of
the wood digging a lonely grave for a human corpse.
I ask myself: was this man murdered? but I do not say
that he was murdered. I wait for an explanation from
you, for you do not look a murderer, though I cannot
say as much for your desperate companion."
The girl looked straight into Bridge's eyes for a full
minute before she replied as though endeavoring to
read his inmost soul.
"I do not know this boy," she said. "That is the truth.
He was spying on me, and when I found him he told
me that you and your companions were thieves and
murderers and that you were hiding there watching me.
You tell me the truth, all the truth, and I will tell you
the truth. I have nothing to fear. If you do not tell me
the truth I shall know it. Will you?"
"I will," replied Bridge, and then turning toward the
brush he called: "Come here!" and presently a boy and a
girl, dishevelled and fearful, crawled forth into sight.
Willie Case's eyes went wide as they fell upon the
Oskaloosa Kid.
Quickly and simply Bridge told the girl the story of
the past night, for he saw that by enlisting her sym-
pathy he might find an avenue of escape for his com-
panions, or at least a haven of refuge where they might
hide until escape was possible. "And then," he said in
conclusion, "when the searchers arrived we followed
the foot prints of yourself and the bear until we came
upon you digging this grave."
Bridge's companions and Willie Case looked their sur-
prise at his mention of a bear; but the gypsy girl only
nodded her head as she had occasionally during his nar-
rative.
"I believe you," said the girl. "It is not easy to de-
ceive Giova. Now I tell you. This here," she pointed
toward the dead man, "he my father. He bad man.
Steal; kill; drink; fight; but always good to Giova. Good
to no one else but Beppo. He afraid Beppo. Even our
people drive us out he, my father, so bad man. We wan-
der 'round country mak leetle money when Beppo
dance; mak lot money when HE steal. Two days he no
come home. I go las' night look for him. Sometimes he
too drunk come home he sleep Squeebs. I go there. I
find heem dead. He have fits, six, seven year. He die fit.
Beppo stay guard heem. I carry heem home. Giova
strong, he no very large man. Beppo come too. I bury
heem. No one know we leeve here. Pretty soon I go
way with Beppo. Why tell people he dead. Who care?
Mak lot trouble for Giova whose heart already ache
plenty. No one love heem, only Beppo and Giova. No
one love Giova, only Beppo; but some day Beppo he
keel Giova now HE is dead, for Beppo vera large, strong
bear--fierce bear--ogly bear. Even Giova who love Bep-
po is afraid Beppo. Beppo devil bear! Beppo got evil
eye.
"Well," said Bridge, "I guess, Giova, that you and we
are in the same boat. We haven't any of us done any-
thing so very bad but it would be embarrassing to
have to explain to the police what we have done," here
he glanced at The Oskaloosa Kid and the girl standing
beside the youth. "Suppose we form a defensive alli-
ance, eh? We'll help you and you help us. What do you
say?"
"All right," acquiesced Giova; "but what we do with
this?" and she jerked her thumb toward Willie Case.
"If he don't behave we'll feed him to Beppo," sug-
gested Bridge.
Willie shook in his boots, figuratively speaking, for in
reality he shook upon his bare feet. "Lemme go," he
wailed, "an' I won't tell nobody nothin'."
"No," said Bridge, "you don't go until we're safely
out of here. I wouldn't trust that vanishing chin of
yours as far as I could throw Beppo by the tail."
"Wait!" exclaimed The Oskaloosa Kid. "I have it!"
"What have you?" asked Bridge.
"Listen!" cried the boy excitedly. "This boy has been
offered a hundred dollars for information leading to the
arrest and conviction of the men who robbed and mur-
dered in Oakdale last night. I'll give him a hundred
dollars if he'll go away and say nothing about us."
"Look here, son," said Bridge, "every time you open
your mouth you put your foot in it. The less you adver-
tise the fact that you have a hundred dollars the better
off you'll be. I don't know how you come by so much
wealth; but in view of several things which occurred
last night I should not be crazy, were I you, to have to
make a true income tax return. Somehow I have faith in
you; but I doubt if any minion of the law would be
similarly impressed."
The Oskaloosa Kid appeared hurt and crestfallen.
Giova shot a suspicious glance at him. The other girl in-
voluntarily drew away. Bridge noted the act and shook
his head. "No," he said, "we mustn't judge one another
hastily, Miss Prim, and I take it you are Miss Prim?"
The girl made a half gesture of denial, started to speak,
hesitated and then resumed. "I would rather not say
who I am, please," she said.
"Well," said the man, "let's take one another at face
value for a while, without digging too deep into the
past; and now for our plans. This wood will be searched;
but I don't see how we are to get out of it before dark as
the roads are doubtless pretty well patrolled, or at least
every farmer is on the lookout for suspicious strangers.
So we might as well make the best of it here for the
rest of the day. I think we're reasonably safe for the
time being--if we keep Willie with us."
Willie had been an interested auditor of all that
passed between his captors. He was obviously terrified;
but his terror did not prevent him from absorbing all
that he heard, nor from planning how he might utilize
the information. He saw not only one reward but sev-
eral and a glorious publicity which far transcended the
most sanguine of his former dreams. He saw his picture
not only in the Oakdale Tribune but in the newspapers
of every city of the country. Assuming a stern and arro-
gant expression, or rather what he thought to be such,
he posed, mentally, for the newspaper cameramen; and
such is the power of association of ideas that he was
presently strolling nonchalantly before a battery of mo-
tion picture machines. "Gee!" he murmured, "wont the
other fellers be sore! I s'ppose Pinkerton'll send for me
'bout the first thing 'n' offer me twenty fi' dollars a week,
er mebbie more 'n thet. Gol durn, ef I don't hold out
fer thirty! Gee!" Words, thoughts even, failed him.
As the others planned they rather neglected Willie
and when they came to assisting Giova in lowering her
father into the grave and covering him over with earth
they quite forgot Willie entirely. It was The Oskaloosa
Kid who first thought of him. "Where's the boy?" he
cried suddenly. The others looked quickly about the
clearing, but no Willie was to be seen.
Bridge shook his head ruefully. "We'll have to get out
of this in a hurry now," he said. "That little defective will
have the whole neighborhood on us in an hour."
"Oh, what can we do?" cried the girl. "They mustn't
find us! I should rather die than be found here with--"
She stopped abruptly, flushed scarlet as the other three
looked at her in silence, and then: "I am sorry," she said.
"I didn't know what I was saying. I am so frightened.
You have all been good to me."
"I tell you what we do." It was Giova speaking in the
masterful voice of one who has perfect confidence in his
own powers. "I know fine way out. This wood circle
back south through swamp mile, mile an' a half. The
road past Squeebs an' Case's go right through it. I know
path there I fin' myself. We on'y have to cross road, that
only danger. Then we reach leetle stream south of
woods, stream wind down through Payson. We all go
Gypsies. I got lot clothing in house. We all go Gypsies,
an' when we reach Payson we no try hide--jus' come
out on street with Beppo. Mak' Beppo dance. No one
think we try hide. Then come night we go 'way. Find
more wood an' leetle lake other side Payson. I know
place. We hide there long time. No one ever fin' us
there. We tell two, three, four people in Payson we go
Oakdale. They look Oakdale for us if they wan' fin' us.
They no think look where we go. See?"
"Oh, I can't go to Payson," exclaimed the other girl.
"Someone would be sure to recognize me."
"You come in house with me," Giova assured her, "I
feex you so your own mother no know you. You mens
come too. I geeve you what to wear like Gypsy mens.
We got lots things. My father, him he steal many things
from our people after they drive us out. He go back
by nights an' steal."
The three followed her toward the little hovel since
there seemed no better plan than that which she had
offered. Giova and the other girl were in the lead, fol-
lowed by Bridge and the boy. The latter turned to the
man and placed a hand upon his arm. "Why don't you
leave us," he asked. "You have done nothing. No one is
looking for you. Why don't you go your way and save
yourself from suspicion."
Bridge did not reply.
"I believe," the youth went on, "that you are doing
it for me; but why I can't guess."
"Maybe I am," Bridge half acknowledged. "You're a
good little kid, but you need someone to look after you.
It would be easier though if you'd tell me the truth
about yourself, which you certainly haven't up to now."
"Please don't ask me," begged the boy. "I can't; hon-
estly I can't."
"Is it as bad as that?" asked the man.
"Oh, its worse," cried The Oskaloosa Kid. "It's a thou-
sand times worse. Don't make me tell you, for if I do
tell I shall have to leave you, and--and, oh, Bridge, I
don't want to leave you--ever!"
They had reached the door of the cabin now and
were looking in past the girl who had halted there as
Giova entered. Before them was a small room in which
a large, vicious looking brown bear was chained.
"Behold our ghost of last night!" exclaimed Bridge.
"By George! though, I'd as soon have hunted a real
ghost in the dark as to have run into this fellow."
"Did you know last night that it was a bear?" asked
the Kid. "You told Giova that you followed the foot-
prints of herself and her bear; but you had not said any-
thing about a bear to us."
"I had an idea last night," explained Bridge, "that
the sounds were produced by some animal dragging a
chain; but I couldn't prove it and so I said nothing, and
then this morning while we were following the trail I
made up my mind that it was a bear. There were two
facts which argued that such was the case. The first is
that I don't believe in ghosts and that even if I did I
would not expect a ghost to leave footprints in the mud,
and the other is that I knew that the footprints of a bear
are strangely similar to those of the naked feet of man.
Then when I saw the Gypsy girl I was sure that what
we had heard last night was nothing more nor less than
a trained bear. The dress and appearance of the dead
man lent themselves to a furtherance of my belief and
the wisp of brown hair clutched in his fingers added still
further proof."
Within the room the bear was now straining at his
collar and growling ferociously at the strangers. Giova
crossed the room, scolding him and at the same time
attempting to assure him that the newcomers were
friends; but the wicked expression upon the beast's face
gave no indication that he would ever accept them as
aught but enemies.
It was a breathless Willie who broke into his mother's
kitchen wide eyed and gasping from the effects of ex-
citement and a long, hard run.
"Fer lan' sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Case. "Whatever in
the world ails you?"
"I got 'em; I got 'em!" cried Willie, dashing for the
telephone.
"Fer lan' sakes! I should think you did hev 'em," re-
torted his mother as she trailed after him in the direc-
tion of the front hall. "'N' whatever you got, you got 'em
bad. Now you stop right where you air 'n' tell me what-
ever you got. 'Taint likely its measles, fer you've hed
them three times, 'n' whoopin' cough ain't 'them,' it's 'it,'
'n'--." Mrs. Case paused and gasped--horrified. "Fer lan'
sakes, Willie Case, you come right out o' this house this
minute ef you got anything in your head." She made a
grab for Willie's arm; but the boy dodged and reached
the telephone.
"Shucks!" he cried. "I ain't got nothin' in my head,"
nor did either sense the unconscious humor of the state-
ment. "What I got is a gang o' thieves an' murderers, an'
I'm callin' up thet big city deetectiff to come arter 'em."
Mrs. Case sank into a chair, prostrated by the weight
of her emotions, while Willie took down the receiver af-
ter ringing the bell to attract central. Finally he ob-
tained his connection, which was with Jonas Prim's bank
where detective Burton was making his headquarters.
Here he learned that Burton had not returned; but fi-
nally gave his message reluctantly to Jonas Prim after
exacting a promise from that gentleman that he would
be personally responsible for the payment of the reward.
What Willie Case told Jonas Prim had the latter in a
machine, with half a dozen deputy sheriffs and speed-
ing southward from Oakdale inside of ten minutes.
A short distance out from town they met detective
Burton with his two prisoners. After a hurried consulta-
tion Dopey Charlie and The General were unloaded
and started on the remainder of their journey afoot un-
der guard of two of the deputies, while Burton's com-
panions turned and followed the other car, Burton tak-
ing a seat beside Prim.
"He said that he could take us right to where Abigail
is," Mr. Prim was explaining to Burton, "and that this
Oskaloosa Kid is with her, and another man and a for-
eign looking girl. He told a wild story about seeing
them burying a dead man in the woods back of
Squibbs' place. I don't know how much to believe, or
whether to believe any of it; but we can't afford not
to run down every clew. I can't believe that my daugh-
ter is wilfully consorting with such men. She always
has been full of life and spirit; but she's got a clean
mind, and her little escapades have always been en-
tirely harmless--at worst some sort of boyish prank. I
simply won't believe it until I see it with my own eyes.
If she's with them she's being held by force."
Burton made no reply. He was not a man to jump to
conclusions. His success was largely due to the fact
that he assumed nothing; but merely ran down each
clew quickly yet painstakingly until he had a foundation
of fact upon which to operate. His theory was that the
simplest way is always the best way and so he never be-
fogged the main issue with any elaborate system of de-
ductive reasoning based on guesswork. Burton never
guessed. He assumed that it was his business to KNOW,
nor was he on any case long before he did know. He
was employed now to find Abigail Prim. Each of the sev-
eral crimes committed the previous night might or might
not prove a clew to her whereabouts; but each must be
run down in the process of elimination before Burton
could feel safe in abandoning it.
Already he had solved one of them to his satisfac-
tion; and Dopey Charlie and The General were, all un-
known to themselves, on the way to the gallows for the
murder of Old John Baggs. When Burton had found
them simulating sleep behind the bushes beside the road
his observant eyes had noticed something that resem-
bled a hurried cache. The excuse of a lost note book had
taken him back to investigate and to find the loot of the
Baggs's crime wrapped in a bloody rag and hastily
buried in a shallow hole.
When Burton and Jonas Prim arrived at the Case farm
they were met by a new Willie. A puffed and important
young man swaggered before them as he retold his tale
and led them through the woods toward the spot where
they were to bag their prey. The last hundred yards was
made on hands and knees; but when the party arrived
at the clearing there was no one in sight, only the hovel
stood mute and hollow-eyed before them.
"They must be inside," whispered Willie to the detec-
tive.
Burton passed a whispered word to his followers.
Stealthily they crept through the underbrush until the
cabin was surrounded; then, at a signal from their leader
they rose and advanced upon the structure.
No evidence of life indicated their presence had been
noted, and Burton came to the very door of the cabin
unchallenged. The others saw him pause an instant
upon the threshold and then pass in. They closed be-
hind him. Three minutes later he emerged, shaking his
head.
"There is no one here," he announced.
Willie Case was crestfallen. "But they must be," he
pleaded. "They must be. I saw 'em here just a leetle
while back."
Burton turned and eyed the boy sternly. Willie
quailed. "I seen 'em," he cried. "Hones' I seen 'em. They
was here just a few minutes ago. Here's where they bur-
rit the dead man," and he pointed to the little mound of
earth near the center of the clearing.
"We'll see," commented Burton, tersely, and he sent
two of his men back to the Case farm for spades. When
they returned a few minutes' labor revealed that so
much of Willie's story was true, for a quilt wrapped
corpse was presently unearthed and lying upon the
ground beside its violated grave. Willie's stock rose once
more to par.
In an improvised litter they carried the dead man
back to Case's farm where they left him after notifying
the coroner by telephone. Half of Burton's men were
sent to the north side of the woods and half to the road
upon the south of the Squibbs' farm. There they sep-
arated and formed a thin line of outposts about the
entire area north of the road. If the quarry was within
it could not escape without being seen. In the mean
time Burton telephoned to Oakdale for reinforcements,
as it would require fifty men at least to properly beat the
tangled underbrush of the wood.
