THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.
Roy was tremendously startled. The gun had an easy pull, and his bent
finger was gently touching the trigger, yet so astonished was he by the
unexpected appearance of the man that for some moments he stood rigid
with the weapon leveled at the stranger’s head.
On the other hand, the man was no less dismayed. Not more than
twenty-six or seven years of age, he was somewhat roughly dressed and
decidedly in need of a shave. His eyes opened wide at sight of the
threatening weapon, and a wave of pallor swept over his bronzed face.
Not a word escaped his parted lips.
Presently, with a catch of his breath, Hooker lowered the gun.
“By Jove!” he cried, with a touch of resentment. “You came near getting
shot, bobbing up that fashion from behind those bushes.”
No longer menaced by the gun, the stranger seemed greatly relieved.
Gradually the color returned to his face, and, his eyes searching the
young hunter keenly, he gave a short, nervous laugh.
“It’s pretty serious,” he said, “when a chap can’t sit down by the
roadside to rest without being in danger of getting himself peppered
from a shotgun. You should make sure of the kind of game you’re banging
at, before you fire.”
“If I hadn’t done so,” returned Hooker, still feeling slightly
resentful, “I’d probably blown your head off. I was following a
partridge. Did you see one fly across the road a short time ago?”
“No, I didn’t; but I haven’t been here more than four or five
minutes—perhaps not that long.”
The man had a pleasant, agreeable face, and Hooker thought that, were he
shaved and better dressed, he would be a rather good-looking chap.
Apparently he had not wholly recovered from the start which the sight of
the armed boy had given him, for he was still a bit nervous and uneasy.
“Maybe,” said Roy, “it took me longer than I thought to follow that old
bird to this point. Perhaps she flew across the road before you came
along.”
“Are you alone?” asked the man.
“I’m with a friend. He’s back in the woods somewhere with his dog.”
“Of course you live near here?”
“Yes, in Oakdale.”
The man seemed interested. “Oakdale; that’s a small town near by, isn’t
it?”
“You must be a total stranger in these parts,” said Roy, as he stepped
out into the road. “Oakdale is not more than three or four miles from
here. It’s a country village.” He was wondering if the man could be a
tramp, but closer inspection made this seem quite improbable, despite
the stranger’s rough clothes and somewhat shabby appearance.
“No, I don’t belong around here,” said the man. “I’m looking for work.
Anything a fellow can do in Oakdale?”
“I don’t know about that, but I presume one could find some sort of work
if he wasn’t too particular. There are two mills and some lime quarries,
but the men who work in the quarries are mostly foreigners. What are
your special qualifications?”
“I haven’t any,” was the frank confession. “I’m ready to do any sort of
work to earn an honest living.”
“In that case, it shouldn’t be hard for you to find something.”
“It’s not as easy as you might think. You see, employers usually like to
know something about the workmen they engage, and they are apt to be
suspicious of a total stranger who looks a bit rough and down in his
luck.”
“Of course you’re ready to tell anyone about yourself and give
references?”
The young man shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t happen to have any
references,” he answered. “Of course I can answer questions about
myself, but who would know I wasn’t lying?”
“If you stated your last place of employment, it would be a simple
matter to investigate your story.”
Again that quick shrugging of the shoulders. “Yes, but supposing that,
for reasons of my own, I didn’t care to tell where I’ve been employed?”
“Reasons? What sort of reasons could you have, unless——”
“It might be the case, you know, that I had had trouble with my former
employer. Perhaps,” he went on hastily, “we quarreled over something for
which I was not at all to blame, and that quarrel led to my leaving
without giving due notice. You see, that would deprive me of references
and would make it impossible for me to hope for any benefit by stating
where and for whom I had worked.”
“Yes, I see,” nodded Hooker slowly. “That would put you in bad. In such
a case, unless someone was in great need of a man, I doubt if you could
find employment.”
The stranger made a quick gesture with one hand.
“There you are,” he said; “or rather, there I am. Until you get up
against it yourself, you’ll not be able to understand such a
predicament, and I hope you’ll never have the misfortune to face such a
situation.”
Now Hooker had been led to believe that the misfortunes which usually
befall a person, barring ill health, were almost always the result of
incompetence, carelessness or dishonesty, and the fact that this
stranger was wholly indisposed to make known his past history led the
boy to regard him with doubt and suspicion. Perhaps the man understood
something of what was passing in Roy’s mind, for suddenly he said:
“You can see how it is; even you would hesitate about giving me work.
That’s the way with everybody. They demand to know a person’s past; they
want to pry into his private affairs. But I tell you,” he added, a
trifle bitterly, “I feel that it’s none of their business, and I resent
their impertinence. The man who gives me a job at which I can earn an
honest living will find me ready to do my work, and do it well. Why
should he insist on probing private matters concerning me, any more than
I should demand to know about his personal history? In fact, in many
cases it would be to the advantage of the laborer if his employer were
compelled to lay bare such secrets. A great many would be shown up as
grinders of the poor, bloodsuckers living and growing fat upon the
life-toll of others, unfeeling despots paying their workmen a mere
pittance while they piled up riches by what those workmen produced. And
some would be branded as dishonest rascals from whom their neighbors
would shrink in abhorrence.”
“Jingoes!” exclaimed Hooker, fancying himself enlightened by the
vehement words of the stranger. “I guess I know what’s the matter with
you. You must be a Socialist.”
The man laughed. “That’s the usual term applied in these days to those
who have courage enough to question the honesty and fair dealing of a
certain greedy, selfish brand of employers. But I’m not claiming that
all employers are of that sort. If they were, conditions in this country
would be desperate indeed. But what’s the use in talking to you of such
things; you’re simply a boy, and at your age problems of that nature had
never troubled me for a moment. At your age,” he continued, something
like a dreamy look of sadness creeping into his blue eyes, “I was as
carefree and thoughtless as you are to-day. I’d give a great deal if it
were possible for me to go back to that time.”
This statement served to convince Hooker that the stranger was carrying
a secret locked in his heart, and that the secret was one which gave him
no small amount of regret and remorse. Otherwise, why should a man in
the very prime of his youth and vigor, a time to which Roy looked
forward with eager anticipation, desire to blot out a portion of his
life that he might return to the days of his boyhood?
The sad and dreamy look was gone in a moment, and the stranger asked:
“Have you lived long in Oakdale?”
“Brought up there,” answered Hooker.
“Then I presume you know nearly everyone in town?”
“Sure. In a little place like that everybody knows everybody else.”
The man’s next question gave the lad a start: “Do you know any people by
the name of Sage?”
“What? Sage? I should say so!”
“Ah!” breathed the man. “There is a family by that name in Oakdale?”
“Yes.”
“How long have they been there?”
“Let me see. About three years, I think.”
“Where did they come from? Do you know?”
“Not exactly, though I believe they came from somewhere in New York
State. Why, Fred Sage is my chum.”
“Oh, is he?” The stranger’s eyes were now bright with interest and his
manner eager.
“You bet he is,” nodded Roy. “He’s a fine chap, too. We’re gunning
together to-day. He’s the fellow I spoke of. I left him back yonder with
his dog. Do you know the Sages? If you do, perhaps they might give you a
recommendation that would help you get work.”
At this moment the report of a gun, only a short distance away, rang
through the woods.
“That’s Fred—that’s him now,” cried Hooker. “I’ll bet he bagged that old
biddy.” Then he lifted his voice and shouted: “Hey, Fred! Here I am, out
in the road. Did you get anything?”
“I didn’t miss that time,” came back the triumphant answer. “It’s a
partridge.”
“The one I was after, I reckon,” said Roy, with a touch of chagrin. “She
must have run on the ground so that I lost track of her. Here comes Fred
now.”
There was a sound of someone pushing through the underbrush, and Roy,
facing the woods, waited for his chum to appear. In a few moments,
followed by the dog, Sage came out of the woods, triumphantly holding
aloft a dead partridge.
“The other one fooled me and I lost her,” he said; “but I got a good
open chance at this old biddy. She didn’t get away.”
“She got away from me,” said Roy. “I’m sure that’s the one I chased, but
she gave me the slip all right. I was so hot after her that I came near
shooting——”
He stopped abruptly, his mouth open as he looked around for the
mysterious stranger. To his astonishment, the man had disappeared.