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 forest 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 suddenly 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 human 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 fashioned from gold coins. Her whole appearance was barbaric,
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 explanation 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 toward 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
disturbed 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 masterful, 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 disseminating 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 companions. He saw the boy's
horror-stricken expression follow 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 offered 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 inference 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
adventure 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 suspect 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 knowledge 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 sympathy he might find an avenue of escape
for his companions, 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 surprise at his
mention of a bear; but the gypsy girl only nodded her head as she had
occasionally during his narrative.
“I believe you,” said the girl. “It is not easy to deceive 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 wander '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 Beppo 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 anything 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 alliance, 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,” suggested 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 murdered 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 advertise 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 involuntarily 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 several 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 arrogant 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 motion
picture machines. “Gee!” he murmured, “won't 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, followed 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; honestly I can't.”
“Is it as bad as that?” asked the man.
“Oh, it's worse,” cried The Oskaloosa Kid. “It's a thousand 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 footprints of herself and her bear; but you
had not said anything 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 excitement 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,” retorted his mother as
she trailed after him in the direction of the front hall. “'N' whatever
you got, you got 'em bad. Now you stop right where you air 'n' tell me
whatever you got. 'Taint likely it's 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 statement. “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 after ringing the bell to attract
central. Finally he obtained 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 finally 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 speeding southward from Oakdale inside of ten
minutes.
A short distance out from town they met detective Burton with his two
prisoners. After a hurried consultation Dopey Charlie and The General
were unloaded and started on the remainder of their journey afoot under
guard of two of the deputies, while Burton's companions turned and
followed the other car, Burton taking 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 foreign 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
daughter 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 entirely 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 befogged the main issue with any
elaborate system of deductive 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 several 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 satisfaction; and Dopey Charlie
and The General were, all unknown 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 resembled 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 detective.
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 behind
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 burrit 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.