machine and beat it!” he cried. “There's a bear loose here, a regular
devil of a bear. You can't do a thing unless you have rifles. Have you?”
“Who are you?” asked the detective.
“He's one of the gang,” yelled Willie Case from the fancied security of
the tonneau. “Seize him!” He wanted to add: “My men”; but somehow his
nerve failed him at the last moment; however he had the satisfaction of
thinking it.
Bridge was placed in the car with Abigail Prim, The Oskaloosa Kid,
Soup Face and The Sky Pilot. Burton sent the driver back to assist in
guarding them; then he with the remaining three, two of whom were armed
with rifles, advanced toward the mill. Beyond it they heard the growling
of the bear at a little distance in the wood; but the man no longer made
any outcry. From a tree Giova warned them back.
“Come down!” commanded Burton, and sent her back to the car.
The driver turned his spot light upon the wood beyond the mill and
presently there came slowly forward into its rays the lumbering bulk of
a large bear. The light bewildered him and he paused, growling. His left
shoulder was partially exposed.
“Aim for his chest, on the left side,” whispered Burton. The two men
raised their rifles. There were two reports in close succession. Beppo
fell forward without a sound and then rolled over on his side. Giova
covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
“He ver' bad, ugly bear,” she said brokenly; “but he all I have to
love.”
Bridge extended a hand and patted her bowed head. In the eyes of The
Oskaloosa Kid there glistened something perilously similar to tears.
In the woods back of the mill Burton and his men found the mangled
remains of Columbus Blackie, and when they searched the interior of the
structure they brought forth the unconscious Dirty Eddie. As the car
already was taxed to the limit of its carrying capacity Burton left two
of his men to march The Kid and Bridge to the Payson jail, taking the
others with him to Oakdale. He was also partially influenced in this
decision by the fear that mob violence would be done the principals by
Oakdale's outraged citizens. At Payson he stopped long enough at the
town jail to arrange for the reception of the two prisoners, to notify
the coroner of the death of Columbus Blackie and the whereabouts of his
body and to place Dirty Eddie in the hospital. He then telephoned Jonas
Prim that his daughter was safe and would be returned to him in less
than an hour.
By the time Bridge and The Oskaloosa Kid reached Payson the town was
in an uproar. A threatening crowd met them a block from the jail; but
Burton's men were armed with rifles which they succeeded in convincing
the mob they would use if their prisoners were molested. The telephone,
however, had carried the word to Oakdale; so that before Burton arrived
there a dozen automobile loads of indignant citizens were racing south
toward Payson.
Bridge and The Oskaloosa Kid were hustled into the single cell of the
Payson jail. A bench ran along two sides of the room. A single barred
window let out upon the yard behind the structure. The floor was
littered with papers, and a single electric light bulb relieved the
gloom of the unsavory place.
The Oskaloosa Kid sank, trembling, upon one of the hard benches. Bridge
rolled a cigaret. At his feet lay a copy of that day's Oakdale Tribune.
A face looked up from the printed page into his eyes. He stooped and
took up the paper. The entire front page was devoted to the various
crimes which had turned peaceful Oakdale inside out in the past twenty
four hours. There were reproductions of photographs of John Baggs,
Reginald Paynter, Abigail Prim, Jonas Prim, and his wife, with a large
cut of the Prim mansion, a star marking the boudoir of the missing
daughter of the house. As Bridge examined the various pictures an
odd expression entered his eyes--it was a mixture of puzzlement,
incredulity, and relief. Tossing the paper aside he turned toward The
Oskaloosa Kid. They could hear the sullen murmur of the crowd in front
of the jail.
“If they get any booze,” he said, “they'll take us out of here and
string us up. If you've got anything to say that would tend to convince
them that you did not kill Paynter I advise you to call the guard and
tell the truth, for if the mob gets us they might hang us first and
listen afterward--a mob is not a nice thing. Beppo was an angel of mercy
by comparison with one.”
“Could you convince them that you had no part in any of these crimes?”
asked the boy. “I know that you didn't; but could you prove it to a
mob?”
“No,” said Bridge. “A mob is not open to reason. If they get us I shall
hang, unless someone happens to think of the stake.”
The boy shuddered.
“Will you tell the truth?” asked the man.
“I will go with you,” replied the boy, “and take whatever you get.”
“Why?” asked Bridge.
The youth flushed; but did not reply, for there came from without a
sudden augmentation of the murmurings of the mob. Automobile horns
screamed out upon the night. The two heard the chugging of motors, the
sound of brakes and the greetings of new arrivals. The reinforcements
had arrived from Oakdale.
A guard came to the grating of the cell door. “The bunch from Oakdale
has come,” he said. “If I was you I'd say my prayers. Old man Baggs is
dead. No one never had no use for him while he was alive, but the whole
county's het up now over his death. They're bound to get you, an'
while I didn't count 'em all I seen about a score o' ropes. They mean
business.”
Bridge turned toward the boy. “Tell the truth,” he said. “Tell this
man.”
The youth shook his head. “I have killed no one,” said he. “That is the
truth. Neither have you; but if they are going to murder you they can
murder me too, for you stuck to me when you didn't have to; and I am
going to stick to you, and there is some excuse for me because I have a
reason--the best reason in the world.”
“What is it?” asked Bridge.
The Oskaloosa Kid shook his head, and once more he flushed.
“Well,” said the guard, with a shrug of his shoulders, “it's up to you
guys. If you want to hang, why hang and be damned. We'll do the best we
can 'cause it's our duty to protect you; but I guess at that hangin's
too good fer you, an' we ain't a-goin' to get shot keepin' you from
gettin' it.”
“Thanks,” said Bridge.
The uproar in front of the jail had risen in volume until it was
difficult for those within to make themselves heard without shouting.
The Kid sat upon his bench and buried his face in his hands. Bridge
rolled another smoke. The sound of a shot came from the front room of
the jail, immediately followed by a roar of rage from the mob and a
deafening hammering upon the jail door. A moment later this turned to
the heavy booming of a battering ram and the splintering of wood. The
frail structure quivered beneath the onslaught.
The prisoners could hear the voices of the guards and the jailer raised
in an attempt to reason with the unreasoning mob, and then came a final
crash and the stamping of many feet upon the floor of the outer room.
Burton's car drew up before the doorway of the Prim home in Oakdale. The
great detective alighted and handed down the missing Abigail. Then he
directed that the other prisoners be taken to the county jail.
Jonas Prim and his wife awaited Abigail's return in the spacious living
room at the left of the reception hall. The banker was nervous. He paced
to and fro the length of the room. Mrs. Prim fanned herself vigorously
although the heat was far from excessive. They heard the motor draw up
in front of the house; but they did not venture into the reception hall
or out upon the porch, though for different reasons. Mrs. Prim because
it would not have been PROPER; Jonas because he could not trust himself
to meet his daughter, whom he had thought lost, in the presence of a
possible crowd which might have accompanied her home.
They heard the closing of an automobile door and the sound of foot steps
coming up the concrete walk. The Prim butler was already waiting at the
doorway with the doors swung wide to receive the prodigal daughter of
the house of Prim. A slender figure with bowed head ascended the
steps, guided and assisted by the detective. She did not look up at the
expectant butler waiting for the greeting he was sure Abigail would have
for him; but passed on into the reception hall.
“Your father and Mrs. Prim are in the living room,” announced the
butler, stepping forward to draw aside the heavy hangings.
The girl, followed by Burton, entered the brightly lighted room.
“I am very glad, Mr. Prim,” said the latter, “to be able to return Miss
Prim to you so quickly and unharmed.”
The girl looked up into the face of Jonas Prim. The man voiced an
exclamation of surprise and annoyance. Mrs. Prim gasped and sank upon
a sofa. The girl stood motionless, her eyes once again bent upon the
floor.
“What's the matter?” asked Burton. “What's wrong?”
“Everything is wrong, Mr. Burton,” Jonas Prim's voice was crisp and
cold. “This is not my daughter.”
Burton looked his surprise and discomfiture. He turned upon the girl.
“What do you mean--” he started; but she interrupted him.
“You are going to ask what I mean by posing as Miss Prim,” she said. “I
have never said that I was Miss Prim. You took the word of an ignorant
little farmer's boy and I did not deny it when I found that you intended
bringing me to Mr. Prim, for I wanted to see him. I wanted to ask him to
help me. I have never met him, or his daughter either; but my father and
Mr. Prim have been friends for many years.
“I am Hettie Penning,” she continued, addressing Jonas Prim. “My father
has always admired you and from what he has told me I knew that you
would listen to me and do what you could for me. I could not bear to
think of going to the jail in Payson, for Payson is my home. Everybody
would have known me. It would have killed my father. Then I wanted to
come myself and tell you, after reading the reports and insinuations in
the paper, that your daughter was not with Reginald Paynter when he was
killed. She had no knowledge of the crime and as far as I know may not
have yet. I have not seen her and do not know where she is; but I was
present when Mr. Paynter was killed. I have known him for years and have
often driven with him. He stopped me yesterday afternoon on the street
in Payson and talked with me. He was sitting in a car in front of the
bank. After we had talked a few minutes two men came out of the bank.
Mr. Paynter introduced them to me. He said they were driving out into
the country to look at a piece of property--a farm somewhere north
of Oakdale--and that on the way back they were going to stop at The
Crossroads Inn for dinner. He asked me if I wouldn't like to come
along--he kind of dared me to, because, as you know, The Crossroads has
rather a bad reputation.
“Father had gone to Toledo on business, and very foolishly I took his
dare. Everything went all right until after we left The Inn, although
one of the men--his companion referred to him once or twice as The
Oskaloosa Kid--attempted to be too familiar with me. Mr. Paynter
prevented him on each occasion, and they had words over me; but after
we left the inn, where they had all drunk a great deal, this man renewed
his attentions and Mr. Paynter struck him. Both of them were drunk.
After that it all happened so quickly that I could scarcely follow it.
The man called Oskaloosa Kid drew a revolver but did not fire, instead
he seized Mr. Paynter by the coat and whirled him around and then he
struck him an awful blow behind the ear with the butt of the weapon.
“After that the other two men seemed quite sobered. They discussed what
would be the best thing to do and at last decided to throw Mr. Paynter's
body out of the machine, for it was quite evident that he was dead.
First they rifled his pockets, and joked as they did it, one of them
saying that they weren't getting as much as they had planned on; but
that a little was better than nothing. They took his watch, jewelry,
and a large roll of bills. We passed around the east side of Oakdale and
came back into the Toledo road. A little way out of town they turned
the machine around and ran back for about half a mile; then they turned
about a second time. I don't know why they did this. They threw the body
out while the machine was moving rapidly; but I was so frightened that
I can't say whether it was before or after they turned about the second
time.
“In front of the old Squibbs place they shot at me and threw me out; but
the bullet missed me. I have not seen them since and do not know where
they went. I am ready and willing to aid in their conviction; but,
please Mr. Prim, won't you keep me from being sent back to Payson or to
jail. I have done nothing criminal and I won't run away.”
“How about the robbery of Miss Prim's room and the murder of Old Man
Baggs?” asked Burton. “Did they pull both of those off before they
killed Paynter or after?”
“They had nothing to do with either unless they did them after they
threw me out of the car, which must have been long after midnight,”
replied the girl.
“And the rest of the gang, those that were arrested with you,” continued
the detective, “how about them? All angels, I suppose.”
“There was only Bridge and the boy they called The Oskaloosa Kid, though
he isn't the same one that murdered poor Mr. Paynter, and the Gypsy
girl, Giova, that were with me. The others were tramps who came into
the old mill and attacked us while we were asleep. I don't know who they
were. The girl could have had nothing to do with any of the crimes. We
came upon her this morning burying her father in the woods back of the
Squibbs' place. The man died of epilepsy last night. Bridge and the boy
were taking refuge from the storm at the Squibbs place when I was thrown
from the car. They heard the shot and came to my rescue. I am sure they
had nothing to do with--with--” she hesitated.
“Tell the truth,” commanded Burton. “It will go hard with you if you
don't. What made you hesitate? You know something about those two--now
out with it.”
“The boy robbed Mr. Prim's home--I saw some of the money and
jewelry--but Bridge was not with him. They just happened to meet by
accident during the storm and came to the Squibbs place together. They
were kind to me, and I hate to tell anything that would get the boy in
trouble. That is the reason I hesitated. He seemed such a nice boy!
It is hard to believe that he is a criminal, and Bridge was always
so considerate. He looks like a tramp; but he talks and acts like a
gentleman.”
The telephone bell rang briskly, and a moment later the butler stepped
into the room to say that Mr. Burton was wanted on the wire. He returned
to the living room in two or three minutes.
“That clears up some of it,” he said as he entered. “The sheriff just
had a message from the chief at Toledo saying that The Oskaloosa Kid is
dying in a hospital there following an automobile accident. He knew he
was done for and sent for the police. When they came he told them he had
killed a man by the name of Paynter at Oakdale last night and the chief
called up to ask what we knew about it. The Kid confessed to clear
his pal who was only slightly injured in the smash-up. His story
corroborates Miss Penning's in every detail, he also said that after
killing Paynter he had shot a girl witness and thrown her from the car
to prevent her squealing.”
Once again the telephone bell rang, long and insistently. The butler
almost ran into the room. “Payson wants you, sir,” he cried to Burton,
“in a hurry, sir, it's a matter of life and death, sir!”
Burton sprang to the phone. When he left it he only stopped at the
doorway of the living room long enough to call in: “A mob has the two
prisoners at Payson and are about to lynch them, and, my God, they're
innocent. We all know now who killed Paynter and I have known since
morning who murdered Baggs, and it wasn't either of those men; but
they've found Miss Prim's jewelry on the fellow called Bridge and
they've gone crazy--they say he murdered her and the young one did for
Paynter. I'm going to Payson,” and dashed from the house.
“Wait,” cried Jonas Prim, “I'm going with you,” and without waiting to
find a hat he ran quickly after the detective. Once in the car he leaned
forward urging the driver to greater speed.
“God in heaven!” he almost cried, “the fools are going to kill the only
man who can tell me anything about Abigail.”
*****
With oaths and threats the mob, brainless and heartless, cowardly,
bestial, filled with the lust for blood, pushed and jammed into the
narrow corridor before the cell door where the two prisoners awaited
their fate. The single guard was brushed away. A dozen men wielding
three railroad ties battered upon the grating of the door, swinging the
ties far back and then in unison bringing them heavily forward against
the puny iron.
Bridge spoke to them once. “What are you going to do with us?” he asked.
“We're goin' to hang you higher 'n' Haman, you damned kidnappers an'
murderers,” yelled a man in the crowd.
“Why don't you give us a chance?” asked Bridge in an even tone,
unaltered by fear or excitement. “You've nothing on us. As a matter of
fact we are both innocent--”
“Oh, shut your damned mouth,” interrupted another of the crowd.
Bridge shrugged his shoulders and turned toward the youth who stood very
white but very straight in a far corner of the cell. The man noticed the
bulging pockets of the ill fitting coat; and, for the first time that
night, his heart stood still in the face of fear; but not for himself.
He crossed to the youth's side and put his arm around the slender
figure. “There's no use arguing with them,” he said. “They've made
up their minds, or what they think are minds, that we're guilty; but
principally they're out for a sensation. They want to see something die,
and we're it. I doubt if anything could stop them now; they'd think we'd
cheated them if we suddenly proved beyond doubt that we were innocent.”
The boy pressed close to the man. “God help me to be brave,” he said,
“as brave as you are. We'll go together, Bridge, and on the other side
you'll learn something that'll surprise you. I believe there is 'another
side,' don't you, Bridge?”
“I've never thought much about it,” said Bridge; “but at a time like
this I rather hope so--I'd like to come back and haunt this bunch of rat
brained rubes.”
His arm slipped down the other's coat and his hand passed quickly behind
the boy from one side to the other; then the door gave and the leaders
of the mob were upon them. A gawky farmer seized the boy and struck him
cruelly across the mouth. It was Jeb Case.
“You beast!” cried Bridge. “Can't you see that that--that's--only a
child? If I don't live long enough to give you yours here, I'll come
back and haunt you to your grave.”
“Eh?” ejaculated Jeb Case; but his sallow face turned white, and after
that he was less rough with his prisoner.
The two were dragged roughly from the jail. The great crowd which had
now gathered fought to get a close view of them, to get hold of them, to
strike them, to revile them; but the leaders kept the others back lest
all be robbed of the treat which they had planned. Through town they
haled them and out along the road toward Oakdale. There was some talk of
taking them to the scene of Paynter's supposed murder; but wiser heads
counselled against it lest the sheriff come with a posse of deputies and
spoil their fun.
Beneath a great tree they halted them, and two ropes were thrown over
a stout branch. One of the leaders started to search them; and when he
drew his hands out of Bridge's side pockets his eyes went wide, and he
gave a cry of elation which drew excited inquiries from all sides.
“By gum!” he cried, “I reckon we ain't made no mistake here, boys. Look
ahere!” and he displayed two handsful of money and jewelry.
“Thet's Abbie Prim's stuff,” cried one.
The boy beside Bridge turned wide eyes upon the man. “Where did you get
it?” he cried. “Oh, Bridge, why did you do it? Now they will kill you,”
and he turned to the crowd. “Oh, please listen to me,” he begged. “He
didn't steal those things. Nobody stole them. They are mine. They have
always belonged to me. He took them out of my pocket at the jail because
he thought that I had stolen them and he wanted to take the guilt upon
himself; but they were not stolen, I tell you--they are mine! they are
mine! they are mine!”
Another new expression came into Bridge's eyes as he listened to the
boy's words; but he only shook his head. It was too late, and Bridge
knew it.
Men were adjusting ropes about their necks. “Before you hang us,” said
Bridge quietly, “would you mind explaining just what we're being hanged
for--it's sort of comforting to know, you see.”
“Thet's right,” spoke up one of the crowd. “Thet's fair. We want to do
things fair and square. Tell 'em the charges, an' then ask 'em ef they
got anything to say afore they're hung.”
This appealed to the crowd--the last statements of the doomed men might
add another thrill to the evening's entertainment.
“Well,” said the man who had searched them. “There might o' been some
doubts about you before, but they aint none now. You're bein' hung fer
abductin' of an' most likely murderin' Miss Abigail Prim.”
The boy screamed and tried to interrupt; but Jeb Case placed a heavy
and soiled hand over his mouth. The spokesman continued. “This slicker
admitted he was The Oskaloosa Kid, 'n' thet he robbed a house an' shot
a man las' night; 'n' they ain't no tellin' what more he's ben up to. He
tole Jeb Case's Willie 'bout it; an' bragged on it, by gum. 'Nenny way
we know Paynter and Abigail Prim was last seed with this here Oskaloosa
Kid, durn him.”
“Thanks,” said Bridge politely, “and now may I make my final statement
before going to meet my maker?”
“Go on,” growled the man.
“You won't interrupt me?”
“Naw, go on.”
“All right! You damn fools have made up your minds to hang us. I doubt
if anything I can say to you will alter your determination for the
reason that if all the brains in this crowd were collected in one
individual he still wouldn't have enough with which to weigh the most
obvious evidence intelligently, but I shall present the evidence, and
you can tell some intelligent people about it tomorrow.
“In the first place it is impossible that I murdered Abigail Prim, and
in the second place my companion is not The Oskaloosa Kid and was not
with Mr. Paynter last night. The reason I could not have murdered Miss
Prim is because Miss Prim is not dead. These jewels were not stolen from
Miss Prim, she took them herself from her own home. This boy whom you
are about to hang is not a boy at all--it is Miss Prim, herself. I
guessed her secret a few minutes ago and was convinced when she cried
that the jewels and money were her own. I don't know why she wishes to
conceal her identity; but I can't stand by and see her lynched without
trying to save her.”
The crowd scoffed in incredulity. “There are some women here,” said
Bridge. “Turn her over to them. They'll tell you, at least that she is
not a man.”
Some voices were raised in protest, saying that it was a ruse to escape,
while others urged that the women take the youth. Jeb Case stepped
toward the subject of dispute. “I'll settle it durned quick,” he
announced and reached forth to seize the slim figure. With a sudden
wrench Bridge tore himself loose from his captors and leaped toward the
farmer, his right flew straight out from the shoulder and Jeb Case went
down with a broken jaw. Almost simultaneously a car sped around a curve
from the north and stopped suddenly in rear of the mob. Two men leaped
out and shouldered their way through. One was the detective, Burton; the
other was Jonas Prim.
“Where are they?” cried the latter. “God help you if you've killed
either of them, for one of them must know what became of Abigail.”
He pushed his way up until he faced the prisoners. The Oskaloosa Kid
gave him a single look of surprise and then sprang toward him with
outstretched arms.
“Oh, daddy, daddy!” she cried, “don't let them kill him.”
The crowd melted away from the immediate vicinity of the prisoners. None
seemed anxious to appear in the forefront as a possible leader of a
mob that had so nearly lynched the only daughter of Jonas Prim. Burton
slipped the noose from about the girl's neck and then turned toward her
companion. In the light from the automobile lamps the man's face was
distinctly visible to the detective for the first time that night,
and as Burton looked upon it he stepped back with an exclamation of
surprise.