of terror and at last, with every object plainly discernible in the
light of the new day, Bridge would delay no longer; but voiced his final
determination to descend and make a fire in the old kitchen stove. Both
the boy and the girl insisted upon accompanying 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, perhaps, 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
he 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 harmlessly infantile as these two
whom some accident of hilarious fate had cast in the roles of debauchery
and crime.
Aloud, he said: “I'll go first, and if the spook materializes 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
clanking from the cellar. The stairs creaked beneath the unaccustomed
weight of so many bodies as they descended 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 nervous 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 stairway 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 clanking,” 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 difference 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 admitted 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 induced came
a like relaxation of their tongues and temporary 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 had 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
defiance, 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
meaningly and steadily at the side pockets of The Oskaloosa Kid.
“I think,” said Bridge, after a moment of general silence, “that you
two crooks had better beat it. Do you get me?” and he looked from Dopey
Charlie to The General and back again.
“We don't go,” said Dopey Charlie, belligerently, “until 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 extent 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 manner, 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,” retorted 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 he 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
suspicious 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 enveloping 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 mornin'? 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 supplyin' grub fer the United States army ef
that's what yew be buyin' fer.”
A frowsy, rat-faced woman and a gawky youth of fourteen 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?” he 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 garden 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 after 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! Forgive 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 Oskaloosa 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 anything 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 purpose 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. Somehow 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 expression 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 accusingly therefrom. The girl, a silent witness of the
occurrence, 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 thoughtful 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 misplaced 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 vagabond 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 person. I used to think of him as a poor attic
prune grinding 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 country
that is out of doors and he knows the road from La Bajada hill to
Barstow a darned sight better than he knows Broadway.”