 Section 8 of the Oakdale Affair by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The beams of the little electric lamp moving from side to side revealed a small cellar littered with refuse and festooned with cobwebs. At one side tottered the remains of a series of wooden racks upon which pans of milk had doubtlessly 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 legubriously out of the dark depths during the vanished night. The boy breathed, the heart felt 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 return 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 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 unexpated 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 squib 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 another night in this dump, he concluded, for both them pockets full of swag deoscalucic kids packing around. Immediately all eyes turned toward 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 of mitts full of sparklers, chesty-like, and allows as how he's a regular burglar. Then he pulls a gun on me, as wasn't doing nothing 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 oscalucic 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 get half the kid's swag. "'You go now,' said Bridge, without anybody's swag. And he drew the boys automatic from his side pocket. "'You go now, and you go quick. Beat it.' The two rolls and shuffled toward the door. We'll get you, you college-lizzy,' threatened Dopey Charlie, and we'll get that phony punk too. And speed the parting guest,' quoted Bridge, firing a shot that splintered the floor at the croak's feet. When the two hobos had departed the others huddled again close to the stove until Bridge suggested that he and the oscalucic 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 worthwhile. I'm 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 oscalosa kid! Bless my soul! But he's a humorous, 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 hints upon the relative merits of ham and bacon as a breakfast-dish. "'Oh, my heart, it is just aching,' quoted Bridge, for a little bit of bacon. A hunk of bread, a little mug of brew, I'm tired of seeing the 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 oscalosa kid, even if it is nibs. "'Almost as funny,' replied Bridge, as a burglar who recognizes nibs when he hears him.' The oscalosa kid flashed. 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 wrestled grub, he wrestled rhyme. Blind baggage hoof it, ride or climb. We always put it through.' "'Who's going to wrestle the grub?' The girl looked at the oscalosa kid. "'You don't seem like a tramp at all to talk to,' she said. "'But I suppose you were used to asking for food?' "'I couldn't do it. I should die if I had to.' The oscalosa 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 squib's 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 oscalosa 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 oscalosa kid trudged along the muddy road to the nearest farmhouse, which lay a full mile beyond the squib's home, as he approached the door a lanked, sallow man confronted him with a suspicious eye. "'Good morning,' greeted the oscalosa 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 lanked, 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 shotgun. "'Darn ye,' he cried. "'I'll lamb ye. Get off and hear. I know ye. You're one of that gang of bums that come here last night, and now you've got the gall to come back begging for food, eh? I'll lamb ye.' And he raised the gun to his shoulder. The oscalosa 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 lured his gun. "'Why, didn't ye say so in the first place then?' he growled. "'How'd I know you wanted to buy it, eh? Where'd you come from anyhow, this early in the morning? What's your name, eh? What's your business? That's what Jeb Casey'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 you want to buy, eh? How much money you got? Looks suspicious. That's a sight of money you got there, eh? Where'd you get it?' "'It's mine,' said the oscalosa 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 Casey's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "'You're in the wrong pasture, Bob,' he remarked feelingly. "'What you're looking for is Sears' robuckin' company.' The oscalosa kid flushed up to the tips of his ears. "'But can't you sell me something?' he begged. "'I might let you have some milk and eggs and butter and a little bacon, and maybe my old woman's got a loaf left from her last bacon. But we ain't been figurin' on supply and grub for the United States Army, if that's what you be buyin' for.' 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 bankroll in the youth's hand. "'Or at least wise,' she amended. "'I ain't got much more than we need, and the price of stuff's gone up, so lately that I'll have to ask you more than I would have last fall. But what did you figure on wanton?' "'Anything you can spare,' said the youth. "'There are three of us, and we're awful hungry.' "'Where you stoppin'?' asked the woman. "'We're at the old squib's place,' replied this kid. "'We got caught by the storm last night and had to put up there.' "'The squib's place?' ejaculated the woman. "'You didn't stop there overnight?' "'Yes, we did,' replied the youth. "'See, anything funny?' asked Mrs. Gaze. "'We didn't see anything,' replied the Oskaloosy 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. "'At this morning he was gone.' The case is shuttered. "'A dead man?' ejaculated Jeb Case. "'You've seen him?' the kid nodded. "'I never took much stock in them stories,' said Jeb, with a shake of his head. "'But if you've seen it, gosh, that beats me. "'Come on, Miranda, let's 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 Oskaloosy kid proceeded to stare at him. "'You've 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. "'And what did you 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. "'Shh!' whistled the case boy. "'Gosh!' then he scratched his head and looked admiringly at the youth. "'What might your name be?' he asked. "'I'm the Oskaloosy kid,' replied the youth, unable to resist the admiration of the other's fond gaze. "'Look here!' and he fist 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.' End of Section 8. Section 9 of the Oakdale Affair by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Case Junior 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 tertially. "'Gosh!' said the young Mr. Case. But there was that in his facial expression, which brought to the Oskaloosy kid a sudden regret that he had thus rashly confided in a stranger. "'Say,' said the kid, after a moment's strange silence. "'Don't tell anyone, will you? If you'll promise, I'll give you a dollar.' And he hunted through his roll of bells 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 bell 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 Peer and Meir emerged from the kitchen loaded with Provender. "'Ears enough and mourn enough, I reckon,' said Jeb Case. "'We got eggs, butter, bread, bacon, milk, and a mighty garden-sass. "'But we ain't going to charge you for nothing for 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 bells, and wondering just the limit he might raise to. "'I reckon about four dollars and 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 pales and turned toward the road. "'You've got to return them pales,' shouted Mrs. Case after him. "'Oh, of course,' replied the kid. "'Gosh!' exclaimed Mr. Case feelingly. "'I wished I'd asked six bits more. I'm not just as well, I got it as not. "'Gosh! Eh?' "'Gosh!' murmured Willie Case fervently. Back down the sticky road plotted 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 Scribb's gateway, he saw the girl and bridge standing upon the veranda 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're the Naeplus Ultra, non est cum kitibus in hock sig novinsis, only an original kind of hand-out compelers. "'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 awake had a generous portion of the bacon into long, thin strips. Shortly after, the water coming to the boil, Bridge lured three eggs into it, glanced at his watch, greased one of the new clean stove-libs 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 the frying bacon. "'Hmmm!' glotted the Oskaloosa kid. "'I wish I had bought—' "'Ask 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 will 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, save 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 and 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 burglaring 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-mouth willy-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 gas. The breakfast, commenced so auspiciously, continued in gloomy silence. At least the girl and the oscaloose kid were silent and gloom-steeped. Bridge was thoughtful but far from morose, his spirits were unquenchable. I'm 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 won 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, thinking as how this old world joked, and calling only some men kings, while I sat there a blowin' rings. He paused the kindlest sliver of wood at the stove. In these parlous times, he spoke as though to himself, one must economize. They're taking a quarter of an ounce out of each five cents worth of chewing, I'm told, so doubtless each box must be five or six matches short of full count. Even these papers seem thinner than of your, 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, pegging away at nothing hard, havin' no pet, particular care, havin' no trouble, or no part. Just me, filled up my callin' card. Say, do you know I've learned to love this nibs person? I used to think of him as a poor addict 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 Cahoon Pass, who knew his nibs, and come to find out this nibs is a regular fellow. His addict covers all God's country that is out of doors, and he knows the road from La Bahada Hill to Barstow, a darn sight better than he knows Broadway. There was no answering sympathy awakened in either of his listeners. They remained mute. Bridge rose and stretched. He picked up his knife, wiped off the blade, closed it, and slipped it into a trouser's pocket. Then he walked toward the door. At the threshold he paused and turned. Good-bye, girls. I'm through," he quoted and passed out into the sunlight. Instantly the two within were on their feet and following him. Where are you going? cried the Oskaloosa kid. You're not going to leave us, are you? Oh, please don't! pleaded the girl. I don't know, said Bridge solemnly, whether I'm safe and remaining in your society or not. This Oskaloosa kid is a bad proposition, and as for you, young lady, I rather imagine that the town constable is looking for you right now. The girl winched. Please don't, she begged. I haven't done anything wicked, honestly, but I want to get away so that they can't question me. I was in the car when they killed him, but I had nothing to do with it. It is just because of my father that I don't want them to find me. It would break his heart. As the three stood back of the squib summer kitchen, fate in the guise of a rural free delivery carrier and a ford passed by the front gate. A mile beyond he stopped at the case mailbox where Jeb and his son Willie were, as usual, waiting for his coming. For the rural free delivery man often carries more news than is contained in his mail sacks. Mornin, Jeb, he called as he swerved his light car from the road and drew up in front of the case gate. Mornin, Jeb, returned Mr. Case. Nice rain we had last night. What's the news? Plenty, plenty, exclaimed the carrier. Lived here an eye on the forty-year man and boy and never seen such work before in all my life. How's that? questioned the farmer, sending something interesting. Old man bags murdered last night, announced the carrier watching eagerly for the effect of his announcement. Gosh! asked Willie Case. Was he shot? It was almost a scream. I don't know, replied Jim. He's up to the harsh battle now and the doc says he ain't to one chance in a thousand. Gosh! exclaimed Mr. Case. But they ain't all, continued Jim. Reggie Painter was murdered last night, too, right on the pike south of town. They threw his corpse out in an automobile. By gall, cried Jeb Case. I heard them devils go by last night, about midnight or after. Twop me up. They must have been going sixty miles an hour. Or say, he stopped to scratch his head, maybe it was tramps. They must have been a score on them around here yesterday and last night and again this morning. I never seen such dumb many bums in my life. And that ain't all, went on the carrier, ignoring the other's comments. Oak Nails all tore up. Abby Primm's disappeared and Jonas Primm's house was robbed just about the same time old man bags is murdered, or most murdered. Chance is easy dead by this time anyhow. Doc said he hadn't no chance. Gosh! it was a painter-filius duet. But that ain't all, bloated Jim. Two of the persons in the car with Reggie Painter were recognized. And who do you think one of them was, eh? One of them was Abby Primm and Tether was a slick crook from to leader New York that's called the Oskaloosy Kid. By gum I'll bet they get him in no time. Why already Jonas Primm's got a regular detective down from Chicago and the board of selectmen's offered a reward of fifty dollars for the arrest and conviction of the perpetrators of these dastardly crimes. Gosh! cried Willie Case. I know. But then he paused. If he told all he knew, he saw plainly that either the carrier or his father would profit by it and collect the reward. Fifty dollars, Willie gasped. Well, said Jim, I gotta be on my way. Here's the tribune. There ain't nothing more for ye so long. Get up. And he was gone. I don't see why he don't carry a whip, used Jim Case. A giddy eppin' to that there tin Lizzy, he muttered disgustedly, just like it was as good as a horse. But I mind the time the first day he got the ding thing, he gets out and tries to lead it by Lem Smith's thrashing machine. Jim Case preferred an audience worthy his medal. But Willie was better than no one, yet when he turned to note the effect of his remarks on his son, Willie was nowhere to be seen. If Jed had but known it, his young hopeless was already in the loft of the hay barn, deep in a small red-covered book entitled How to be a Detective. Bridge, who had no intention of deserting his helpless companions, appeared at last to yield reluctantly to their pleas. That indefinable something about the youth which appealed strongly to the protective instinct in the man, also assured him that the other's mask of criminality was for the most part assumed, even though the stories of the two Yegman and the loot-bulging pockets argued to the contrary. There was the chance, however, that the boy had really taken the first step upon the road toward a criminal career, and, if such were the case, Bridge felt morally obligated to protect his newfound friend from arrest, secure in the reflection that his own precept and example would do more to lead him back into the path of rectitude than would any police magistrate or penal institute. For the girl he felt a deep pity. In the past he had had knowledge of more than one other small-town girl led into wrongdoing through the deadly monotony and flagrant hypocrisy of her environment. Himself highly imaginative and keenly sensitive, he realized with what depth of horror the girl anticipated a return to her home and friends after the childish escapade which had culminated, even through no fault of hers, in criminal tragedy of the most sordid sort. End of Section 9 Section 10 of the Oakdale Affair by Edgar Rice Burroughs This LibriBox recording is in the public domain. As the three held a council of war at the rear of the deserted house, they were startled by the loud squeaking of brake-bands on the road in front. Bridge ran quickly into the kitchen and threw to the front room where he saw three men lighting from a large touring car which had drawn up before the sagging gate. As the foremost man, big and broad-shouldered, raised his eyes to the building, Bridge smothered an exclamation of surprise and chagrin. Nor did he linger to inspect the other members of the party, but turned and ran quickly back to his companions. We've got to be that, he whispered. They brought Burton himself down here. Who's Burton? demanded the youth. He's the best operative west of New York City, replied Bridge, as he moved rapidly toward an outhouse directly in rear of the main building. Once behind the small, dilapidated structure which had once probably housed farm implements, Bridge paused and looked about. They'll search here, he prophesied. And then, those woods look good to me. The squibs' woods, growing rank in the damp ravine at the bottom of the little valley, ran to within a hundred feet of the outbuilding. Dense undergrowth choked the ground to a height of eight or ten feet around the bowls of the close-set trees. If they could gain the seclusion of that tangled jungle, there was little likelihood of their being discovered, provided they were not seen as they passed across the open space between their hiding place and the wood. We'd better make a break for it, advised Bridge. And a moment later the three moved cautiously toward the wood, keeping the outhouse between themselves and the farmhouse. Almost in front of them, as they neared the wood, they saw a well-defined path leading into the thicket. Single file they entered, to be almost instantly hidden from view, not only from the house, but from any other point more than a dozen paces away, for the path was winding, narrow, and closely walled by the budding verger of the new spring. Birds sang or twittered about them. The mat of dead leaves oozed spongily beneath their feet, giving forth no sound as they passed, save a faint sucking noise as a foot was lifted from each watery seat. Bridge was in the lead, moving steadily forward, that they might put as much distance as possible between themselves and the detectives should the latter a chance to explore the wood. They had advanced a few hundred yards when the path crossed through a small clearing, the center of which was destitute of fallen leaves. Here the path was beaten into soft mud, and as Bridge came to it he stopped and bent his gaze incredulously upon the ground, the girl and the youth halting upon either side followed the direction of his eyes with theirs. The girl gave a little involuntary gasp, and the boy grasped Bridge's hand as though fearful of losing him. The man turned the quizzical glance at each of them and smiled, though a bit ruefully. It beats me, he said. What can it be? whispered the boy. Oh, let's go back, begged the girl, and go along to father with Burton, asked Bridge. The girl trembled and shook her head. I would rather die, she said firmly. Come, let's go on. The cause of their perturbation was imprinted deeply in the mud of the pathway, the irregular outlines of an enormous naked human foot, a great uncouth foot that bespoke a monster of another world. While still more uncanny in view of what they had heard in the farmhouse during the previous night, their lay, sometimes partially obliterated by the footprints of the thing, the impress of a small bare foot, a woman's or a child's, and over both an irregular scoring that might have been wrought by a dragging chain. In the loft of his father's hay barn, Willie Case delved deep into the small red-covered volume, how to be a detective, but though he turned many pages and flitted to and fro from preface to conclusion, he met only with disappointment. The pictures of noted bank burglars and confidence men aided him not one whit, for in none of them could he describe the slightest resemblance to the smooth-faced youth of the early morning, in fact so totally different with the type shown in the little book that Willie was forced to scratch his head and exclaimed, gosh, many times in an effort to reconcile the appearance of the innocent boy to the hardened criminal faces he found portrayed upon the printed pages. But by gall, he exclaimed medley, he said he was the Oscar Lucy kid, and that he shot a man last night. But what I'd like to know is how I'm going to shatter him from this here book. Here it says, if the criminal gets on a street car and then jumps off at the next corner, the good detective will know that his man is aware that he's being shadowed, and will stay on the car and telephone his office at the first opportunity. And here it says, if your man gets into a carriage, don't run up and jump on the back of it, but simply hire another carriage and follow. How in the heck can I follow this book, well, Willie? They ain't no street cars round here. I ain't never seen a street car. And as far as a carriage, I reckon he means bus. There's only one of them in Oakdale, and if and they was forty I'd like to know how in heck I'd hire one when I ain't got no money. I reckon I threw away my four bits on this book. It don't tell a fellow nothing, but false whiskers, wigs, and the like, and he tossed the book disgustedly into a corner, rose and descended to the barnyard. Here he busied himself about some task that should have been attended to a week before, and which even now was not destined to be completed that day, since Willie had no more than set himself to it, then his attention was distracted by the sudden appearance of a touring car being brought to a stop in front of the gate. Instantly Willie dropped deserts of labour and slouts lazily toward the machine, the occupants of which were descending and heading for the case front door. Jeb Case met them before they reached the porch, and Willie lulled against a pillar listening eagerly to all that was said. The most imposing figure among the strangers was the same whom Bridge had seen approaching the Squibb's house a short time before. It was he who acted as spokesmen for the newcomers. As you may know, he said, after introducing himself, a number of crimes were committed in and around Oakdale last night. We are searching for clues to the perpetrators, some of whom must still be in the neighbourhood. Have you seen any strange or suspicious characters around lately? I should say we had, exclaimed Jeb emphatically. I seen the worst-looking gang of bums come out in my hay barn this morning that I ever seen in my life. They must have been upward of a dozen of them. They was making for the house when I stepped in and grabbed my old shotgun. I hollered at them not to come a step nearer, and I guess they seeed it weren't safe monkeying with me, so they skedaddled. Which way did they go? asked Burton. Off down the road yonder. But I don't know which way they turned at the crossings or if they kept straight on toward Millsville. Burton asked a number of questions in an effort to fix the identity of some of the gang. Warned Jeb to telephone him at Jonas Prim's if he saw anything further of the strangers, and then retraced his steps toward the car. Not once had Jeb mentioned the youth who had purchased supplies from him that morning, and the reason was that Jeb had not considered the young man of sufficient importance, having catalogued him mentally as an unusually early specimen of the summer camper with which he was more or less familiar. Willy, on the contrary, realized the importance of their morning customer, yet just how he was to cash in on his knowledge was not yet entirely clear. He was already convinced that how to be a detective would help him not at all, and with the natural suspicion of ignorance he feared to divulge his knowledge to the city detective for fear that the latter would find the means to cheat him out of the princely reward offered by the Oakdale Village Board. He thought of going at once to the Squibbs' house and placing the desperate criminals under arrest. But, as fair throttled the idea, in its infancy, he cast about for some other plan. Even as he stood there thinking, the great detective and his companions were entering the automobile to drive away. In a moment they would be gone. Were they not, after all, the very man, the only man, in fact, to assist him in his dilemma? At least he could test them out. If necessary, he would divide the reward with them. Running toward the road, Willy shouted to the departing sleuth. The car, moving slowly forward and low, came again to rest. Willy leaped to the running board. If I tell you where the murderer is, he whispered hoarsely, do I get the fifty dollars? Detective Burton was too old a hand to ignore even the most seemingly impossible of aids. He laid a kindly hand on Willy's shoulder. You bet you do, he replied heartily. And what's more, I'll add another fifty to it. What do you know? I seen the murderer this morning. Willy was gasping with excitement and elation. Already the one hundred dollars was as good as his. One hundred dollars. Willy gashed mentally even as he told his tale. He come to our house and bought some vitals and stuff. Pa didn't know who he was, but when Pa went inside he told me he was the Oscar Lucy kid, and that he robbed a house last night and killed a man. And he had a whole pocket full of money, and he said he'd kill me if I told. Detective Burton could scarce restrain a smile as he listened to this wildly improbable tale, yet his professional instinct was too keen to permit him to cast aside as worthless the faintest evidence until he had proven it to be worthless. He stepped from the car again and motioning to Willy to follow him returned to the case yard where Jeb was already coming toward the gate, having noted the interest which his son was arousing among the occupants of the car. Willy pulled at the detective's sleeve. Don't tell Pa about the reward, he begged. He'll keep it all himself. Burton reassured the boy with a smile and a nod, and then, as he neared Jeb, he asked him if a young man had been at his place that morning asking for food. Sure, replied Jeb, but he didn't mount to nothing. One of these hairs summer camper pass. He paid for all he got. Had a roll of bells as big as he fist, little fellerer he were, not much older than Willy. Did you know that he told your son that he was the Oscar Lucy kid and that he had robbed the house and killed a man last night? Huh! exclaimed Jeb. Then he turned and cast one awful look at Willy, a look large with menace. Honest Pa! pleaded the boy. I was a scared to tell you, because he said he'd kill me if I told. Jeb scratched his head. You know what you'll get if you're lying to me, he threatened. I believe he's telling the truth, said Detective Burton. Where is the man now? he asked Willy. Down to the squib's place, and Willy jerked a dirty thump toward the east. Not now, said Burton. We just came from there. But there has been someone there this morning, for there is still a fire in the kitchen range. Does anyone live there? I should say not, said Willy emphatically. The place is haunted. That's right, interjected Jeb. That's what they say, and this here Oscar Lucy kid said they heard things last night and see the dead man on the floor. Didn't he, Miranda? Miranda nodded her head. But I don't take no stock in what Willy's been telling ya, she continued, and if his Pa don't lick him I will. I told him tell I'm good and tired of talking that one liar around a place was all I could stand. And she cast a meaningless at her husband. Honest ma, I ain't a lion, insisted Willy. What do you suppose he give me this for if it wasn't to keep me from talking? And the boy drew a crumpled one dollar bill from his pocket. It was worth the dollar to escape a thrashing. He give you that, asked his mother. Will he not a dissent? And that ain't all he had, neither, he said. Beside all them bills he showed me a whole pocket full of jewelry, and he had a string of things that I don't know just what you call them, but they looked like they were made out in the inside or clam shells, only they was all round like marbles. Detective Burton raised his eyebrows. Miss Prim's pearl necklace, he commented to the man at his side. The other nodded. Don't punish your son, Mrs. Case, he said to the woman. I believe he has discovered a great deal that will help us in locating the man we want. Of course, I am interested principally in finding Miss Prim. Her father has engaged me for that purpose. But I think the arrest of the perpetrators of any of last night's crimes will put us well along on the trail of the missing young lady, as it is almost a foregone conclusion that there is a connection between her disappearance and some of the occurrences which have so excited Oakdale. I do not mean that she was a party to any criminal act, but it is more than possible that she was abducted by the same men who later committed the other crimes. End of Section 10. Section 11 of the Oakdale Affair by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The cases hung open mouthed upon his words, while his companions wondered at the loquaciousness of this ordinarily closed mouth man, who, as a matter of fact, was but attempting to win the confidence of the boy on the chance that even now he had not told all that he knew, but Willie had told all. Finding after a few minutes further conversation that he could glean no additional information, the detective returned to his car and drove west toward Millsville on the assumption that the fugitives would seek escape by the railway running through that village. Only thus could he account for their turning off the main pike. The latter was now well guarded all the way to Payson, while the Millsville road was still open. No sooner had he departed than Willie Case disappeared, nor did he answer it noon to the repeated ringing of the big farm dinner bell. Halfway between the Case Farm and Millsville, Detective Burton saw far ahead along the road two figures scale offence and disappear behind the fringing blackberry bushes which grew in tangled profusion on either side. When they came abreast of the spot, he ordered the driver to stop, but though he scanned the open field carefully, he saw no sign of living thing. There are two men hiding behind those bushes, he said to his companions in a low whisper. One of you walk ahead about fifty yards, and the other go back the same distance and then climb the fence. When I see you getting over, I'll climb it here. They can't get away from us. To the driver, he said, You have a gun. If they make a break, go after them. You can shoot if they don't stop when you tell them to. The two men walked in opposite directions along the road, and when Burton saw them turn in and start to climb the fence, he vaulted over the panel directly opposite the car. He had scarcely alighted upon the other side when his eyes fell up on the disreputable figures of two tramps stretched out upon their backs and snoring audibly. Burton grinned. You too sure can go to sleep in a hurry, he said. One of the men opened his eyes and sat up. When he saw who it was that stood over him, he grinned sheepishly. Can't a guy lie down for a minute in these bushes without being pinched, he asked. The other man now sat up and viewed the newcomer, while from either side Burton's companions closed in on the three. What's the noise? inquired the second tramp, looking from one to another of the intruders. We ain't done nothing. Of course not, Charlie. Burton assured him, Gailey. Who would ever suspect that you or the General would do anything. But somebody did something in Oakdale last night, and I want to take you back there and have a nice, long talk with you. Put your hands up. We put them up, snapped Burton. And when the foregrimy fists had been elevated, he signaled to his companions to search the two men. Nothing more formidable than knives, dope, and a needle were found upon them. Say, drawled, dopey Charlie. We knows what we knows, but honest to God, we didn't have nothing to do with it. We knows the guy that pulled it off. We spent last night with him and his pal in a scoit. He craced me here, and Charlie unbuttoned his clothing and exposed to view the bloody scratch of the Oskaloosa kid's bullet. On the level, Burton, we weren't in on it. This guy was at Dot Squibb's place when he pulls in there out into the ring, and he has a pocket full of kale and sparklers and things, and he goes for to shoot me up when I tries to get away. Who was he? asked Burton. He called himself the Oskaloosa kid, replied Charlie. A guy called Bridge was with him. You know him? I've heard of him, but he's straight, replied Burton. Who was the skirt? I don't know, said Charlie, but she was gassing about her pal's croak and a guy in a trunity mountain of gas wagon, and this Oskaloosa kid, he croaked some old guy in Oakdale last night. Maybe he ain't a badan, though. Where are they now? asked Burton. We got away from him at the Squibb's place this morning, said Charlie. Well, said Burton, you bulls come along with me. If you've done nothing, the worst you'll get'll be three squares and a place to sleep for a few days. I want you where I can lay my hands on you when I need a couple of witnesses, and he herded them over the fence and into the machine. As he himself was about to step in, he felt suddenly of his breast pocket. What's the matter? asked one of his companions. I've lost my notebook, replied Burton. It must have dropped out of my pocket when I jumped the fence, just a minute while I go look for it, and he returned to the fence, vaulted it, and disbared behind the bushes. It was fully five minutes before he returned, but when he did, there was a look of satisfaction on his face. Find it, asked his principal lieutenant. Yes, replied Burton. I wouldn't have lost it for anything. Bridge and his companions had made their way along the wooded path for perhaps a quarter of a mile when the man halted and drew back behind the foliage of a flowering bush. With raised finger he motioned the others to silence and then pointed through the branches ahead. The boy and the girl, tense with excitement, peered past the man into a clearing in which stood a long shack, mud plastered, but it was not the hovel which held their mute attention, it was rather the figure of a girl, bareheaded and barefooted, who toiled stubbornly with an old spade at a long narrow excavation. All too suggestive in itself was the shape of the hole the girl was 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 watchtower, 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 hallmark of crafty ignorance. And as they watched their overwrought nerves suddenly shuttered to the gruesome 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 labours, 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 youths. 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 stopped 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 they are watching me for, she demanded. Tell me the truth or I will 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 for to watch you, he whimpered. I'm looking for somebody else. I'm going to be a detective and I'm a shatter in a murder. And he gasped and stammered. But not you. I'm looking 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 and maybe three in Oakdale last night, said Willie Cates, more glibly now that a chance for disseminating gossip momentarily outweighed his own fears. Reginald Painter was murdered and Old Man Bags and Abigail Primms Misson. Like his notch he'd been murdered too, though they do say as she had had a hand in it being seen with Painter and the Oskaloosie Kid just before the murder. As the boy's tail 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 Painter, and he saw the girl flush crimson. Without urging Willie Cates proceeded with his story. He told of the coming of the Oskaloosie 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 a rear 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 along 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 and his voice, now suddenly stern. We have been watching you and followed you from the squib's house. We found the dead man there last night. Bridge nodded toward the quilt-inveloped 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've never seen her before! he cried. I don't know nothing 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 kill 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 looks 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. This 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, disheveled 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 footprints of yourself and the bear until we came upon you digging this grave. XII of the Oatdale Affair by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 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 Jiova. 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 Jiova, 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, make little money when Beppo dance, make locked money when he steal. To days he come no home. I go last night, look for him. Sometimes he too drunk come home, he sleep squeebs, I go there, I find him dead. He have feats, seeks, seven year, he die feet. Beppo stay guard him, I carry him home. Jiova strong, he no very large man. Beppo come too, I bury him. No one know he leave here. Pretty soon I go away with Beppo. Why tell people he dead? Who care? Mackalot travel for Jiova, whose heart already ache plenty. No one love him, only Beppo and Jiova. No one love Jiova, only Beppo. But some day Beppo he kill Jiova, now he is dead, for Beppo very large, strong bear, fierce bear, ugly bear. Even Jiova, who love Beppo, is afraid Beppo. Beppo devil bear, Beppo got evil eye. Well, said bridge, I guess Jiova, 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 Jiova. But what we do with these, and she jerked her thumb toward willy-case. If he don't behave, we'll feed him to Beppo, suggested bridge. Willy shook in his boots, figuratively speaking, for in reality he shook upon his bare feet. Let me go, he wailed, and I won't tell nobody nothing. 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. Java 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 cameraman, 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 suppose Pinkerton for me bought the first thing, and offer me twenty-five dollars a week, or maybe more net. Oh, darn if I don't hold out for thirty. Gee! Words, thoughts even, failed him. As the others planned, they rather neglected Willie, and when they came to assisting Jabba in luring 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 Scarlett as the other three looked at her in silence, and then, I'm sorry, she said. I don't know what I was saying. I'm so frightened. You have all been good to me. I tell you what we do. It was Jabba speaking in the masterful voice of one who has perfect confidence in his own powers. I know fine way out. This word circle back south through Schwamp, mile, mile and a half. The road pass quebs and cases go right through it. I know path where I find myself. We only have to cross-road. That only danger. Then we reach little streams south of words. Stream wind down through Payson. We all go gypsies. I got lot clothing in house. We all go gypsies, and when we reach Payson, we no try hide. Just come out on street with Beppo. Make Beppo dance. No one think we try hide. Then come night we go away. Find more wood, and little lake other side Payson. I know place. We hide there long time. No one ever find us there. We tell two, three, four people in Payson. We go Oakdale. They look Oakdale for us. If they won't find 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, Java assured her. I fix you so your own mother no know you. You men's come too. I give you what to wear like gypsy men's. We got lots things. My father heamed steel many things from our people after they drive us out. He go back by nights and steal. The three followed her toward the little hovels since there seemed no better plan than that which he had offered. Java 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're 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 it if I do tell you I shall have to leave you. 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 Java 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 Java 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, exclaimed 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 a 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. Java 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 ought but enemies. It was a breathless willy who broke into his mother's kitchen, wide-eyed, and gasping from the effects of excitement and a long, hard run. Furland's sakes! exclaimed Mrs. Case. Whatever in the world ails you! I got him! I got him! cried willy, dashing for the telephone. Furland's sakes! I should think you did have him! retorted his mother as she trailed after him in the direction of the front hall. And whatever you got you got him bad! Now you stop right where you are, and tell me whatever you got. Taint likely it's measles, for you'd had them three times, and whoop and cough ain't damn. It's it's in Mrs. Case's paws and gaffed horrified. Furland's sakes, willy Case! You come right out of this house this minute if you've got anything in your head. She made a grab for willy's arm, but the boy dodged and reached the telephone. Sharks! he cried. I ain't got nothing in my head. Nor did either sense the unconscious humor of the statement. What I got is a gang of thieves and murderers, and I'm calling up that big city detective to come out of them. Mrs. Case sat into a chair, prostrated by the weight of her emotions, while willy 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 willy 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 Oscar-Lucy 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 Squibb's 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 clue. I can't believe that my daughter is willfully 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 boy's 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 clue 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 clue 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 Bags. When Burton had found them simulating sleep behind the bushes beside the road, his observant eyes had noticed something that resembled a hurried cash. The excuse of a lost notebook had taken him back to investigate, and to find the loot of the bag'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 willy. A puffed and important young man swaggered before them as he retold his tail 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 willy 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. Willy Case was crestfallen. But they must be, he pleaded. They must be! I saw him here just a little while back. Burton turned and eyed the boy sternly. Willy quailed. I seen him! he cried. Oh, yes, I seen him! They was here just a few minutes ago. Here's where they buried 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 Willy's story was true, for a quilt-wrapped corpse was presently unearthed and lying upon the ground beside its violated grave. Willy's stock rose once more to par. In an improvised litter they carried the dead man back to Case's Farm, where they left him after notifying the coroner by telephone. Half of Burton's men were sent to the north side of the woods, and half to the road upon the south of the Squibbs Farm. There they separated and formed a thin line of outposts about the entire area north of the road. If the query was within it could not escape without being seen. In the meantime Burton telephoned Oakdale for reinforcements, as it would require fifty men at least to properly beat the tangled underbrush of the wood. In a clump of Willows beside the little stream which winds through the town of Payson, a party of four halted on the outskirts of the town. There were two men, two young women, and a huge brown bear. The men and women were obviously gypsies. Their clothing, their headdress, their barbaric ornamentation proclaimed the fact to whoever might pass. But no one passed. End of Section 12. Section 13 of the Oakdale Affair by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. I think, said Bridge, that we will just stay where we are until after dark. We haven't passed or seen a human being since we left the cabin. No one can know that we are here, and if we stay here until late tonight we should be able to pass around Payson unseen and reach the wood to the south of town. If we do not meet anyone tonight we'll stop them and inquire the way to Oakdale. That'll throw them off the track. The others acquiesced in his suggestion, but there were queries about the food to be answered. It seemed that all were hungry and that the bear was ravenous. What does he eat, Bridgest of Jiava? Most anything, replied the girl. He liked garbage fine. Often I take him into town late, very late at night, and he eats swill. I do that to-night. Beppo, he got to be fed or he eat Jiava. I go feed Beppo. You go get food for us. Then we all meet at Edge of Wood, just other side town near Old Mill. During the remainder of the afternoon and well after dark, the party remained hidden in the willows. Then Jiava started out with Beppo in search of garbage cans. Bridge bent his steps toward a small store upon the outskirts of town where food could be purchased, the Oskaloosa kid having donated a $10 bill for the stocking of the commissariat, and the youth and the girl made their way around the south end of the town toward the meeting place beside the Old Mill. As Bridge moved through the quiet road at the outskirts of the little town, he let his mind revert to the events of the past twenty-four hours, and as he pondered each happening since he met the youth in the dark of the storm, the preceding night, he asked himself why he had cast his lot with these strangers. In his years of vagabondage, Bridge had never crossed that invisible line which separates honest men from thieves and murderers, and which once crossed may never be recrossed. Chance and necessity had thrown him off in among such men and women, but never had he been of them. The police of more than one city knew Bridge. They knew him, though, as a character and not as a criminal. A dozen times he had been arraigned upon suspicion, but as many times had he been released with a clean bill of morals until of late Bridge had become almost immune from arrest. The police who knew him knew that he was straight, and they knew too that he would give no information against another man. For this they admired him as did the majority of the criminals with whom he had come in contact during his rovings. The present crisis, however, appeared most unpromising to Bridge. Grave crimes had been committed in Oakdale, and here was Bridge conniving in the escape of at least two people who might readily be under police suspicion. It was difficult for the man to bring himself to believe that either the youth or the girl was in any way actually responsible for either of the murders. Yet it appeared that the latter had been present when a murder was committed, and now by attempting to allude the police had become an accessory after the fact, since she possessed knowledge of the identity of the actual murderer, while the boy, by his own admission, had committed a burglary. Bridge shook his head wearily. Was he not himself an accessory after the fact in the matter of two crimes at least? These new friends, it seemed, were about to topple him into the abyss which he had studiously avoided for so long a time. But why should he permit it? What were they to him? A freight train was puffing into the sighting at the Payson Station. Bridge could hear the complaining brakes a mile away. It would be easy to leave the town and his dangerous companions far behind him. But even as the thought forced its way into his mind, another obtruded itself to shoulder aside the first. It was recollection of the boy's words. Oh, Bridge, I don't want to leave you. Ever. I couldn't do it, used Bridge. I don't know just why, but I couldn't. That kid has certainly got me. The first thing someone knows, I'll be starting a Foundling's home. There is no question but that I am the soft mark, and I wonder why it is. Why a kid I never saw before last night has a stranglehold on my heart that I can't shake loose and don't want to. Now if it was a girl I could understand it. Bridge stopped suddenly in the middle of the road. From his attitude he might have been startled either by a surprising noise or by a surprising thought. For a minute he stood motionless. Then he shook his head again and proceeded along his way toward the little store. Evidently if he had heard anything he was assured that it constituted no menace. As he entered the store to make his purchase a Fox-eyed man saw him and stepped quickly behind the huge stove which had not yet been taken down for the summer. Bridge made his purchases, the volume of which required a large gunny sack for transportation, and while he was thus occupied the Fox-eyed man clung to his coin of vantage, himself unnoticed by the purchaser. When Bridge departed the other followed him, keeping in the shadow of the trees which bordered the street. Around the edge of town and down a road which led southward the two went until Bridge passed through a broken fence and halted beside an abandoned mill. The watcher saw his quarry set down his burden, seat himself beside it and proceed to roll a cigarette. Then he faded away in darkness and Bridge was alone. Five or ten minutes later two slender figures appeared dimly out of the north. They approached timidly, stopping often, and looking first this way and then that and always listening. When they arrived opposite the mill, Bridge saw them and gave a little whistle. Immediately the two passed through the fence and approached him. My! exclaimed one, I thought we never would get here, but we didn't see a soul on the road. Where is Java? She hadn't come yet, replied Bridge, and she may not. I don't see how a girl can browse around town like this with a big bear at night and not be seen, and if she is seen she'll be followed. It would be too much of a treat for the rubes ever to be passed up, and if she's followed she won't come here. At least I hope she won't. What's that? exclaimed the Oscar-Lucicad. Each stood in silence listening. The girl shuddered. Even now that I know what it is, it makes me creep, she whispered, as the faint clanking of a distant chain came to their ears. We ought to be used to it by this time, Miss Prim, said Bridge. We heard it all last night in a good part of today. The girl made no comment upon the use of the name which he had applied to her, and in the darkness he could not see her features, nor did he see the odd expression upon the boy's face as he heard the name addressed to her. Was he thinking of the nocturnal raid he so recently had made upon the boudoir of Miss Abigail Prim? Was he pondering the fact that his pockets buzzed to the stolen belongings of that young lady? But whatever was passing in his mind he permitted none of it to pass his lips. As the three stood waiting in silence, Java came presently among them, the beast Bepple lumbering awkwardly at her side. Did he find anything to eat? asked the man. Oh yes, exclaimed Java. He feel up now. That make him better nature. Bepple not so ugly now. Well, I'm glad of that, said Bridge. I haven't been looking forward much to his company through the woods tonight, especially while he was hungry. Java laughed alone, musical little laugh. I don't think he hurt you anyway, she said. Now he know you, my friend. I hope you're quite correct in your surmise, replied Bridge. But even so I'm not taking any chances. Willie Case had been taken to Payson to testify before the coroner's jury investigating the death of Java's father, and with the dollar which the Oskaloosa kid had given him in the morning, burning in his pocket, had proceeded to indulge in an orgy of dissipation, the moment that he had been freed from the inquest. Ice cream, red pop, peanuts, candy, and soda water may have diminished his appetite, but not his pride and self-satisfaction as he sat alone and by night for the first time in a public eating place. Willie was now a man of the world, a bon vivant, and as he ordered ham and eggs from the pretty waitress of the elite restaurant on Broadway, but at heart he was not happy, for never before had he realized what a great proportion of his anatomy was made up of hands and feet. As he glanced fearfully at the former, celawetted against the white of the tablecloth, he flushed scarlet, assured as he was that the waitress who had just turned away toward the kitchen, with his order, was convulsed with laughter, and that every other eye in the establishment was glued upon him. To assume an air of nonchalance and thereby impress and disarm his critics, Willie reached for a toothpick in the little glass holder near the center of the table and upset the sugar-ball. Immediately Willie snatched back the offending hand and glared ferociously at the ceiling. He could feel the roots of his hair being consumed in the heat of his skin. A quick side glance that required all his willpower to consummate showed him that no one appeared to have noticed his faux pas, and Willie was again slowly returning to normal when the proprietor of the restaurant came up from behind and asked him to remove his hat. Never had Willie Kay spent so frightful a half hour as that within the brilliant interior of the elite restaurant. Twenty-three minutes of this eternity was consumed and waiting for his order to be served, and seven minutes in disposing of the meal and paying his check. Willie's method of eating was in itself a sermon on efficiency. There was no lost motion, no waste of time. He placed his mouth within two inches of his plate after cutting his ham and eggs into pieces of a size that would permit each mouthful to enter without wedging. Then he mixed his mashed potatoes in with the result, and working his knife and fork alternately with bill-wildering rapidity shot a continuous stream of food into his gaping maw. In addition to the meat and potatoes, there was one vegetable in a side dish and as dessert four prunes. The meat course gone Willie placed the vegetable dish on the empty plate, seized a spoon in lieu of knife and fork, and presto the side dish was empty, whereupon the prune dish was set in the empty side dish. Four deft motions and there were no prunes in the dish. The entire feat had been accomplished in six minutes thirty-four and a half seconds, setting a new world's record for red-headed farmer boys with one splay foot. In the remaining twenty-five and one-half seconds Willie walked what seemed to him a mile from his seat to the cashier's desk, and at the last instant bumped into a waitress with a tray full of dishes. Clutched tightly in Willie's hand was thirty-five cents and his check with a like mount written upon it, amid the crash of crockery which followed the collision Willie slammed check and money upon the cashier's desk and fled, nor did he pause until in the reassuring seclusion of a dark side street. There Willie sank upon the curb, alternately cold with fear and hot with shame, weak and panting, and into his heart entered the iron of class hatred, searing it to the core. Fortunately for youth it recuperates rapidly from mortal blows, and so it was that another half-hour found Willie wandering up and down Broadway, but at the far end of the street from the elite restaurant. A motion picture theatre arrested his attention and presently parting with one of his two remaining dimes he entered. The feature of the bill was a detective melodrama. Nothing in the world could have better suited Willie's psychic needs. It recalled his earlier feats of the day in which he took pardonable pride and raised him once again to a self-confidence he had not felt since he entered the ever-to-be-hated elite restaurant. The show over Willie set forth a foot for home. A long walk lay ahead of him. This in itself was bad enough, but what lay at the end of the long walk was infinitely worse, as Willie's father had warned him to return immediately after the inquest, in time for milking, preferably. Before he had gone two blocks from the theatre Willie had concocted at least three tales to account for his tardiness, either one of which would have done credit to the imaginative powers of a rider haggard or a Jules Verne, but at the end of the third block he caught a glimpse of something which drove all thoughts of home from his mind, and came but barely short of driving his mind out to. He was approaching the entrance to an alley. Old trees grew in the parkway at his side. At the street corner, a half block away, a high flung arc swung gently from its supporting cables, casting a fair light upon the alley's mouth, and just emerging from behind the nearer fence Willie Case saw the huge bulk of a bear. Terrified, Willie jumped behind a tree, and then fearful lest the animal might have caught sight or sent of him, poked his head cautiously around the side of the bowl just in time to see the figure of a girl come out of the alley behind the bear. Willie recognized her at the first glance. She was the very girl he had seen bearing, the dead man in the squibs' woods. Instantly Willie Case was transformed again into the shrewd and death-defying sleuth. At a safe distance he followed the girl, and the bear threw one alley after another until they came out upon the road which leads south from Payson. He was across the road when she joined Bridge and his companions. When they turned toward the old mill he followed them, listening close to the rotting clapboards for any chance remark which might indicate their future plans. He heard them debating the wisdom of remaining where they were for the night, or moving on to another location which they had evidently decided upon, but no clue to which they dropped. The objection to remaining here, said Bridge, is that we can't make a fire to cook by. It would be too plainly visible from the road. But I can find road by dark, exclaimed Java. It bad road by day, very much worse by night. Beppo no come cross swamp by night. No, we got stay here till morning. All right, replied Bridge, we can eat some of this canned stuff and have our ham and coffee after we reach camp tomorrow morning, and now that we've gotten through Payson safely, suggested the Oskaloosa kid, let's change back into our own clothes. This disguise makes me feel too conspicuous. Willie Case had heard enough. His query would remain where it was overnight, and a moment later Willie was racing toward Payson and a telephone as fast as his legs would carry him. In an old brick structure a hundred yards below the mill where the lighting machinery of Payson had been installed before the days of the great central power plant, a hundred miles away, four men were smoking as they lay stretched upon the floor. I'll tell you I've seen him, asserted one of the party. I followed this Bridge guy from town to the mill. He was got up like a jet, but I knew him all right, all right. This scenery of his made me think there was something phony doing, or I wouldn't have trailed him, and it's a good thing I'd done it, for he hadn't been there five minutes before long comes the kid and a skirt and pretty soon another chicken with a calf on her string, or maybe it was a sheep. It was pretty husky looking for a sheep, though, and I sticks around a minute until I hear this here Bridge guy call the first skirt Miss Prim. He ceased speaking to note the effect of his words on his hearers. They were electrical. The sky-pilot sat up straight and slapped his thigh. Soup-face opened his mouth, letting his pipe fall out onto his lap, setting fire to his ragged trousers. Dirty Eddie voiced a characteristic obscenity. So you sees, went on Columbus Blackie, we got a chance to get both the dame and the kid. Two of us can take her to Oakdale and claim the reward her old man's offering, and the other can frisk the kid and hand what, queried the sky-pilot. There's the swamp handy, suggested Soup-face. I was thinking of the swamp, said Columbus Blackie. Eddie and I will return Miss Prim to her bereaved parents, interrupted the sky-pilot. You, Blackie, and Soup-face can arrange matters with the Oskaloosa kid. I don't care for details. We will all meet in Toledo as soon as possible and split the swag. We ought to make a cleaning on this job, bulls. You split a mouthful, lad, said Columbus Blackie. They fell to discussing ways and means. We'd better wait until they're asleep, counseled the sky-pilot. Two of us can tackle this bridge and hand him the K.O. quick. Eddie and Soup-face had better attend to that. Blackie can nab the kid, and I'll annex Miss Abigail Prim, the lady with the calf we don't want. We'll tell her, we're officers of the law, and that she'd better duck with her livestock and keep her trap shut if she don't want to get mixed up with a murder trial. End of Section 13. Section 14 of the Oakdale Affair by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Detective Burton was at the County Jail in Oakdale, administering the third degree at Adobe Charlie and the General when there came a long-distance telephone call for him. Hello, said the voice at the other end of the line. I'm Willie Case, and I've found Miss Abigail Prim. Again, queried Burton. Really, asserted Willie. I know where she's going to be all night. I heard him say so. The Oskaloosie kids with her, and another guy, and the girl I seen with the dead man in in Squibbs Woods, and they got to bear. It was almost a shriek. You'd better come right away and bring Mr. Prim. I'll meet you on the old Toledo Road, right south of Payson, and say, Do I get the whole reward? You'll get whatever's coming to you, son, replied Burton. You say there are two men and two women? Are you sure that is all? And the bear, corrected Willie. All right, keep quiet and wait for me, caution Burton. You'll know me by the spotlight on my car. I'll have it pointed straight up into the air. When you see it coming, get into the middle of the road and wave your hands to stop us. Do you understand? Yes, said Willie, and don't talk to any one, Burton again cautioned him. A few minutes later Burton left Oakdale with his two lieutenants and a couple of the local policemen, the car turning south toward Payson and moving at ever-accelerating speed as it left the town streets behind it and swung smoothly onto the country road. It was after midnight when four men cautiously approached the old mill. There was no light or any sign of life within as they crept silently through the doorless doorway. Columbus Blackie was in the lead. He flashed a quick light around the interior, revealing four forms stretched upon the floor, deep and slumber. Into the blacker shadows of the far end of the room the man failed to shine his light for the first flash and shown him those whom he sought. Picking out their quarry the intruders made a sudden rush upon the sleepers. Bridge awoke to find two men attempting to rain murderous blows upon his head. Wiry, strong and full of the vigor of a clean life, he pitted against their greater numbers and cowardly attacked a defense which was infinitely more strenuous than they had expected. Columbus Blackie leaped for the oscaloosa kid, while the sky-pilot seized upon Abigail Prem. No one paid any attention to Jove, nor with the noise and confusion did the intruders note the sudden clanking of a chain from out the black depths of the room's further end or the splintering of a half decade studying. Soup-face entangling himself about Bridge's legs succeeded in throwing the ladder to the floor while Dirty Eddie kicked viciously at the prostrate man's head. The sky-pilot seized Abigail Prem about the waist and dragged her toward the doorway, and though the girl fought valiantly to free herself, her lesser muscles were unable to cope successfully with those of the man. Columbus Blackie found his hands full with the oscaloosa kid. Again and again the youth struck him in the face, but the man persisted, beating down the slim hands and striking viciously at body and head, until at last the boy, half stunned, though still struggling, was dragged from the room. Simultaneously a series of frightful growls reverberated through the deserted mill, a huge body catapulted into the midst of the fighters. Abigail Prem screamed, The Bear! She cried, The Bear is loose! Dirty Eddie was the first to feel the weight of Beppo's wrath. His foot drawn back to implant a vicious kick in Bridge's face, he paused at the girl's scream, and at the same moment a huge thing reared up before him. Just for an instant he sensed the terrifying presence of some frightful creature, caught the reflected gleam of two savage eyes, and felt the hot breath from distended jaws upon his cheek. Then Beppo swung a single terrific blow which caught the man upon the side of the head to spin him across the floor and drop him in a crumpled heap against the wall with a fractured skull. Dirty Eddie was out, soup face giving voice to a scream more beastial than human, rose to his feet and fled in the opposite direction. Beppo paused and looked about. He discovered Bridge lying upon the floor and sniffed at him. The man lay perfectly quiet. He had heard that oftentimes a bear will not molest a creature which it thinks dead. Be that as it may, Beppo chanced at that moment to glance toward the doorway. There, silhouetted against the lesser darkness without, he saw the figures of Columbus Blackie and the Oskaloosa Kid and with a growl he charged them. The two were but a few paces outside the doorway when the full weight of the great bear struck Columbus Blackie between the shoulders. Down went the man and as he fell he released his hold upon the youth who immediately turned and ran for the road. The momentum of the bear carried him past the body of his intended victim, who frightened but uninjured, scrambled to his feet, and dashed toward the rear of the mill in the direction of the woods and distant swamp. Beppo, recovering from his charge, wheeled in time to catch a glimpse of his quarry after whom he made with all the awkwardness that was his birthright and with the speed of a racehorse. Columbus Blackie, casting a terrified glance rearward, saw his nemesis flashing toward him and dodged around a large tree. Again Beppo shot past the man, while in the latter now shrieking for help, raced madly in a new direction. Bridge had arisen and come out of the mill. He called aloud for the Oskaloosa kid. Java answered him from a small tree. Climb! she cried. Climb a tree! Everyone climb a small tree! Beppo, he go mad! He kill everyone! Run! Climb! He kill me! Beppo, he got evil eye! Along the road from the north came a large touring car, swinging from side to side in its speed. Its brilliant headlights illuminated the road far ahead. They picked out the sky-pilot and Abigail Prim. They found the Oskaloosa kid climbing a barbed wire fence, and then with complaining breaks the car came to a sudden stop. Six men leaped from the machine and rounded up the three they had seen. Another came running toward them. It was soup-face, so thoroughly terrified that he would gladly have embraced a policeman in uniform could the latter have offered him protection. A boy accompanied the newcomers. There he is! he screamed, pointing at the Oskaloosa kid. There he is! And you've got Miss Prim, too, and when do I get the reward? Shut up! said one of the men. Watch this bunch! said Burton to one of his lieutenants, while we go after the rest of them. There are some over by the mill. I can hear them. From the woods came a fear-filled scream mingled with the savage grounds of a beast. It's the bear! shrilled willy-case, and ran toward the automobile. Bridge ran forward to meet Burton. Get that girl and the kid into your 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 willy-case from the fancied security of the tunnel. 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 oscalucic 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, Java warned them back. Come down, commanded Burton, and sent her back to the car. The driver turned his spotlight 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. Java covered her face with her hands and saw. He very 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 oscalucic 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 principles by Oakdale's outrage 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 oscalucic 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 oscalucic 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 this structure. The floor was littered with papers and a single electric light bulb relieved the gloom of the unsavory place. The oscalucic kid sank, trembling upon one of the hard benches. Bridge rolled a cigarette. 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 Bags, Reginald Painter, 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 oscalucic 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 Painter, 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 shattered. 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 breaks, 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's bags is dead. No one never had no use for him while he was alive, but the whole county's head up now over his death. They're bound to getcha, and while I didn't count them all, I seen about a score of 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'm going to stick to you. And there's 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 shruggy shoulders, it's up to you guys. If you want to hang, why hang and be damned? We'll do the best we can, because it's our duty to protect you. But I guess at that, hanging's too good for you, and we ain't going to get shot keeping you from getting 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 jailor 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 Oatdale. 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 drop 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.