CHAPTER V
ONE TURN DESERVES ANOTHER
WHEN the two tramps approached the farmhouse at which
Billy had purchased food a few hours before the farmer's wife
called the dog that was asleep in the summer kitchen and took
a shotgun down from its hook beside the door.
From long experience the lady was a reader of character--
of hobo character at least--and she saw nothing in the
appearance of either of these two that inspired even a modicum
of confidence. Now the young fellow who had been there
earlier in the day and who, wonder of wonders, had actually
paid for the food she gave him, had been of a different stamp.
His clothing had proclaimed him a tramp, but, thanks to the
razor Bridge always carried, he was clean shaven. His year of
total abstinence bad given him clear eyes and a healthy skin.
There was a freshness and vigor in his appearance and carriage
that inspired confidence rather than suspicion.
She had not mistrusted him; but these others she did
mistrust. When they asked to use the telephone she refused
and ordered them away, thinking it but an excuse to enter the
house; but they argued the matter, explaining that they had
discovered an escaped murderer hiding near--by--in fact in her
own meadow--and that they wished only to call up the
Kansas City police.
Finally she yielded, but kept the dog by her side and the
shotgun in her hand while the two entered the room and
crossed to the telephone upon the opposite side.
From the conversation which she overheard the woman
concluded that, after all, she had been mistaken, not only
about these two, but about the young man who had come
earlier in the day and purchased food from her, for the
description the tramp gave of the fugitive tallied exactly with
that of the young man.
It seemed incredible that so honest looking a man could be
a murderer. The good woman was shocked, and not a little
unstrung by the thought that she had been in the house alone
when he had come and that if he had wished to he could
easily have murdered her.
"I hope they get him," she said, when the tramp had
concluded his talk with Kansas City. "It's awful the carryings
on they is nowadays. Why a body can't never tell who to
trust, and I thought him such a nice young man. And he paid
me for what he got, too."
The dog, bored by the inaction, had wandered back into
the summer kitchen and resumed his broken slumber. One of
the tramps was leaning against the wall talking with the
farmer woman. The other was busily engaged in scratching his
right shin with what remained of the heel of his left shoe. He
supported himself with one hand on a small table upon the
top of which was a family Bible.
Quite unexpectedly he lost his balance, the table tipped, he
was thrown still farther over toward it, and all in the flash of
an eye tramp, table, and family Bible crashed to the floor.
With a little cry of alarm the woman rushed forward to
gather up the Holy Book, in her haste forgetting the shotgun
and leaving it behind her leaning against the arm of a chair.
Almost simultaneously the two tramps saw the real cause of
her perturbation. The large book had fallen upon its back,
open; and as several of the leaves turned over before coming
to rest their eyes went wide at what was revealed between.
United States currency in denominations of five, ten, and
twenty-dollar bills lay snugly inserted between the leaves of the
Bible. The tramp who lay on the floor, as yet too surprised to
attempt to rise, rolled over and seized the book as a football
player seizes the pigskin after a fumble, covering it with his
body, his arms, and sticking out his elbows as a further
protection to the invaluable thing.
At the first cry of the woman the dog rose, growling, and
bounded into the room. The tramp leaning against the wall
saw the brute coming--a mongrel hound-dog, bristling and
savage.
The shotgun stood almost within the man's reach--a step
and it was in his hands. As though sensing the fellow's
intentions the dog wheeled from the tramp upon the floor,
toward whom he had leaped, and sprang for the other ragged
scoundrel.
The muzzle of the gun met him halfway. There was a
deafening roar. The dog collapsed to the floor, his chest torn
out. Now the woman began to scream for help; but in an
instant both the tramps were upon her choking her to silence.
One of them ran to the summer kitchen, returning a moment
later with a piece of clothesline, while the other sat
astride the victim, his fingers closed about her throat. Once he
released his hold and she screamed again. Presently she was
secured and gagged. Then the two commenced to rifle the
Bible.
Eleven hundred dollars in bills were hidden there, because
the woman and her husband didn't believe in banks--the
savings of a lifetime. In agony, as she regained consciousness,
she saw the last of their little hoard transferred to the pockets
of the tramps, and when they had finished they demanded to
know where she kept the rest, loosening her gag that she
might reply.
She told them that that was all the money she had in the
world, and begged them not to take it.
"Youse've got more coin dan dis," growled one of the men,
"an' youse had better pass it over, or we'll find a way to
make youse."
But still she insisted that that was all. The tramp stepped
into the kitchen. A wood fire was burning in the stove. A pair
of pliers lay upon the window sill. With these he lifted one of
the hot stove-hole covers and returned to the parlor, grinning.
"I guess she'll remember she's got more wen dis begins to
woik," he said. "Take off her shoes, Dink."
The other growled an objection.
"Yeh poor boob," he said. "De dicks'll be here in a little
while. We'd better be makin' our get-away wid w'at we got."
"Gee!" exclaimed his companion. "I clean forgot all about
de dicks," and then after a moment's silence during which his
evil face underwent various changes of expression from fear to
final relief, he turned an ugly, crooked grimace upon his
companion.
"We got to croak her," he said. "Dey ain't no udder way.
If dey finds her alive she'll blab sure, an' dey won't be no
trouble 'bout gettin' us or identifyin' us neither."
The other shrugged.
"Le's beat it," he whined. "We can't more'n do time fer dis
job if we stop now; but de udder'll mean--" and he made a
suggestive circle with a grimy finger close to his neck.
"No it won't nothin' of de kind," urged his companion. "I
got it all doped out. We got lots o' time before de dicks are
due. We'll croak de skirt, an' den we'll beat it up de road AN'
MEET DE DICKS--see?"
The other was aghast.
"Wen did youse go nuts?" he asked.
"I ain't gone nuts. Wait 'til I gets t'rough. We meets de
dicks, innocent-like; but first we caches de dough in de
woods. We tells 'em we hurried right on to lead 'em to dis
Byrne guy, an' wen we gets back here to de farmhouse an'
finds wot's happened here we'll be as flabbergasted as dey be."
"Oh, nuts!" exclaimed the other disgustedly. "Youse don't
tink youse can put dat over on any wise guy from Chi, do
youse? Who will dey tink croaked de old woman an' de ki-yi?
Will dey tink dey kilt deyreselves?"
"Dey'll tink Byrne an' his pardner croaked 'em, you simp,"
replied Crumb.
Dink scratched his head, and as the possibilities of the
scheme filtered into his dull brain a broad grin bared his
yellow teeth.
"You're dere, pal," he exclaimed, real admiration in his
tone. "But who's goin' to do it?"
"I'll do it," said Crumb. "Dere ain't no chanct of gettin' in
bad for it, so I jest as soon do the job. Get me a knife, or an
ax from de kitchen--de gat makes too much noise."
Something awoke Billy Byrne with a start. Faintly, in the
back of his consciousness, the dim suggestion of a loud noise
still reverberated. He sat up and looked about him.
"I wonder what that was?" he mused. "It sounded like the
report of a gun."
Bridge awoke about the same time, and turned lazily over,
raising himself upon an elbow. He grinned at Billy.
"Good morning," he said, and then:
Says I, "Then let's be on the float. You certainly have got my goat;
You make me hungry in my throat for seeing things that's new.
Out there somewhere we'll ride the range a-looking for the new and strange;
My feet are tired and need a change. Come on! It's up to you!"
"Come on, then," agreed Billy, coming to his feet.
As he rose there came, faintly, but distinct, the unmistakable
scream of a frightened woman. From the direction of
the farmhouse it came--from the farmhouse at which Billy
had purchased their breakfast.
Without waiting for a repetition of the cry Billy wheeled
and broke into a rapid run in the direction of the little cluster
of buildings. Bridge leaped to his feet and followed him,
dropping behind though, for he had not had the road work
that Billy recently had been through in his training for the
battle in which he had defeated the "white hope" that time in
New York when Professor Cassidy had wagered his entire pile
upon him, nor in vain.
Dink searched about the summer kitchen for an ax or
hatchet; but failing to find either rummaged through a table
drawer until he came upon a large carving knife. This would
do the job nicely. He thumbed the edge as he carried it back
into the parlor to Crumb.
The poor woman, lying upon the floor, was quite conscious.
Her eyes were wide and rolling in horror. She struggled
with her bonds, and tried to force the gag from her mouth
with her tongue; but her every effort was useless. She had
heard every word that had passed between the two men. She
knew that they would carry out the plan they had formulated
and that there was no chance that they would be interrupted
in their gruesome work, for her husband had driven over to a
farm beyond Holliday, leaving before sunrise, and there was
little prospect that he would return before milking time in the
evening. The detectives from Kansas City could not possibly
reach the farm until far too late to save her.
She saw Dink return from the summer kitchen with the
long knife. She recalled the day she had bought that knife in
town, and the various uses to which she had put it. That very
morning she had sliced some bacon with it. How distinctly
such little things recurred to her at this frightful moment. And
now the hideous creature standing beside her was going to use
it to cut her throat.
She saw Crumb take the knife and feel of the blade,
running his thumb along it. She saw him stoop, his eyes
turned down upon hers. He grasped her chin and forced it
upward and back, the better to expose her throat.
Oh, why could she not faint? Why must she suffer all these
hideous preliminaries? Why could she not even close her eyes?
Crumb raised the knife and held the blade close above her
bared neck. A shudder ran through her, and then the door
crashed open and a man sprang into the room. It was Billy
Byrne. Through the window he had seen what was passing in
the interior.
His hand fell upon Crumb's collar and jerked him backward
from his prey. Dink seized the shotgun and turned it
upon the intruder; but he was too close. Billy grasped the
barrel of the weapon and threw the muzzle up toward the
ceiling as the tramp pulled the trigger. Then he wrenched it
from the man's hands, swung it once above his head and
crashed the stock down upon Dink's skull.
Dink went down and out for the count--for several counts,
in fact. Crumb stumbled to his feet and made a break for the
door. In the doorway he ran full into Bridge, winded, but
ready. The latter realizing that the matted one was attempting
to escape, seized a handful of his tangled beard, and, as he
had done upon another occasion, held the tramp's head in
rigid position while he planted a series of blows in the fellow's
face--blows that left Crumb as completely out of battle as
was his mildewed comrade.
"Watch 'em," said Billy, handing Bridge the shotgun. Then
he turned his attention to the woman. With the carving knife
that was to have ended her life he cut her bonds. Removing
the gag from her mouth he lifted her in his strong arms and
carried her to the little horsehair sofa that stood in one corner
of the parlor, laying her upon it very gently.
He was thinking of "Maw" Watson. This woman resembled
her just a little--particularly in her comfortable, motherly
expansiveness, and she had had a kind word and a cheery
good-bye for him that morning as he had departed.
The woman lay upon the sofa, breathing hard, and moaning
just a little. The shock had been almost too much even for
her stolid nerves. Presently she turned her eyes toward Billy.
"You are a good boy," she said, "and you come just in the
nick o' time. They got all my money. It's in their clothes," and
then a look of terror overspread her face. For the moment she
had forgotten what she had heard about this man--that he
was an escaped convict--a convicted murderer. Was she any
better off now that she had let him know about the money
than she was with the others after they discovered it?
At her words Bridge kneeled and searched the two tramps.
He counted the bills as he removed them from their pockets.
"Eleven hundred?" he asked, and handed the money to
Billy.
"Eleven hundred, yes," breathed the woman, faintly, her
eyes horror-filled and fearful as she gazed upon Billy's face.
She didn't care for the money any more--they could have it
all if they would only let her live.
Billy turned toward her and held the rumpled green mass
out.
"Here," he said; "but that's an awful lot o' coin for a
woman to have about de house--an' her all alone. You ought
not to a-done it."
She took the money in trembling fingers. It seemed incredible
that the man was returning it to her.
"But I knew it," she said finally.
"Knew what?" asked Billy.
"I knew you was a good boy. They said you was a
murderer."
Billy's brows contracted, and an expression of pain crossed
his face.
"How did they come to say that?" he asked.
"I heard them telephonin' to Kansas City to the police," she
replied, and then she sat bolt upright. "The detectives are on
their way here now," she almost screamed, "and even if you
ARE a murderer I don't care. I won't stand by and see 'em get
you after what you have done for me. I don't believe you're a
murderer anyhow. You're a good boy. My boy would be
about as old and as big as you by now--if he lives. He ran
away a long time ago--maybe you've met him. His name's
Eddie--Eddie Shorter. I ain't heard from him fer years.
"No," she went on, "I don't believe what they said--you
got too good a face; but if you are a murderer you get out
now before they come an' I'll send 'em on a wild-goose chase
in the wrong direction."
"But these," said Billy. "We can't leave these here."
"Tie 'em up and give me the shotgun," she said. "I'll bet
they don't come any more funny business on me." She had
regained both her composure and her nerve by this time.
Together Billy and Bridge trussed up the two tramps. An
elephant couldn't have forced the bonds they placed upon
them. Then they carried them down cellar and when they had
come up again Mrs. Shorter barred the cellar door.
"I reckon they won't get out of there very fast," she said.
"And now you two boys run along. Got any money?" and
without waiting for a reply she counted twenty-five dollars
from the roll she had tucked in the front of her waist and
handed them to Billy.
"Nothin' doin'," said he; "but t'anks just the same."
"You got to take it," she insisted. "Let me make believe I'm
givin' it to my boy, Eddie--please," and the tears that came
to her eyes proved far more effective than her generous words.
"Aw, all right," said Billy. "I'll take it an' pass it along to
Eddie if I ever meet him, eh?"
"Now please hurry," she urged. "I don't want you to be
caught--even if you are a murderer. I wish you weren't
though."
"I'm not," said Billy; "but de law says I am an' what de
law says, goes."
He turned toward the doorway with Bridge, calling a goodbye
to the woman, but as he stepped out upon the veranda the
dust of a fast-moving automobile appeared about a bend in
the road a half-mile from the house.
"Too late," he said, turning to Bridge. "Here they come!"
The woman brushed by them and peered up the road.
"Yes," she said, "it must be them. Lordy! What'll we do?"
"I'll duck out the back way, that's what I'll do," said Billy.
"It wouldn't do a mite of good," said Mrs. Shorter, with a
shake of her head. "They'll telephone every farmer within
twenty mile of here in every direction, an' they'll get you sure.
Wait! I got a scheme. Come with me," and she turned and
bustled through the little parlor, out of a doorway into something
that was half hall and half storeroom. There was a
flight of stairs leading to the upper story, and she waddled up
them as fast as her legs would carry her, motioning the two
men to follow her.
In a rear room was a trapdoor in the ceiling.
"Drag that commode under this," she told them. "Then
climb into the attic, and close the trapdoor. They won't never
find you there."
Billy pulled the ancient article of furniture beneath the
opening, and in another moment the two men were in the
stuffy atmosphere of the unventilated loft. Beneath them
they heard Mrs. Shorter dragging the commode back to its
accustomed place, and then the sound of her footsteps descending
the stair.
Presently there came to them the rattling of a motor without,
followed by the voices of men in the house. For an
hour, half asphyxiated by the closeness of the attic, they waited,
and then again they heard the sound of the running engine,
diminishing as the machine drew away.
Shortly after, Mrs. Shorter's voice rose to them from below:
"You ken come down now," she said, "they've gone."
When they had descended she led them to the kitchen.
"I got a bite to eat ready for you while they was here," she
explained. "When you've done you ken hide in the barn 'til
dark, an' after that I'll have my ol' man take you 'cross to
Dodson, that's a junction, an' you'd aughter be able to git
away easy enough from there. I told 'em you started for
Olathe--there's where they've gone with the two tramps.
"My, but I did have a time of it! I ain't much good at
story-tellin' but I reckon I told more stories this arternoon
than I ever tole before in all my life. I told 'em that they was
two of you, an' that the biggest one hed red hair, an' the little
one was all pock-marked. Then they said you prob'ly wasn't
the man at all, an' my! how they did swear at them two
tramps fer gettin' 'em way out here on a wild-goose chase; but
they're goin' to look fer you jes' the same in Olathe, only they
won't find you there," and she laughed, a bit nervously
though.
It was dusk when Mr. Shorter returned from Holliday, but
after he had heard his wife's story he said that he'd drive
"them two byes" all the way to Mexico, if there wasn't any
better plan.
"Dodson's far enough," Bridge assured him, and late that
night the grateful farmer set them down at their destination.
An hour later they were speeding south on the Missouri
Pacific.
Bridge lay back, luxuriously, on the red plush of the smoker seat.
"Some class to us, eh, bo?" asked Billy.
Bridge stretched.
The tide-hounds race far up the shore--the hunt is on! The breakers roar!
Her spars are tipped with gold, and o'er her deck the spray is flung,
The buoys that frolic in the bay, they nod the way, they nod the way!
The hunt is up! I am the prey! The hunter's bow is strung!
