chagrin the man dropped the girland swung quickly toward the door. Halfway down the hall he could hearthe chain rattling over loose planking, the THING, whatever it mightbe, was close upon them. Bridge slammed-to the door and with a shoulderagainst it drew a match from his pocket and lighted it. Although hisclothing was soggy with rain he knew that his matches would stillbe dry, for this pocket and its flap he had ingeniously lined withwaterproof material from a discarded slicker he had found--years oftramping having taught him the discomforts of a fireless camp.
In the resultant light the man saw with a quick glance a large roomfurnished with an old walnut bed, dresser, and commode; two lightlesswindows opened at the far end toward the road, Bridge assumed; and therewas no door other than that against which he leaned. In the last flickerof the match the man scanned the door itself for a lock and, to hisrelief, discovered a bolt--old and rusty it was, but it still movedin its sleeve. An instant later it was shot--just as the sound of thedragging chain ceased outside. Near the door was the great bed, andthis Bridge dragged before it as an additional barricade; then, bearingnothing more from the hallway, he turned his attention to the twounconscious forms upon the floor. Unhesitatingly he went to the boyfirst though had he questioned himself he could not have told why; forthe youth, undoubtedly, had only swooned, while the girl had been thevictim of a murderous assault and might even be at the point of death.
What was the appeal to the man in the pseudo Oskaloosa Kid? He hadscarce seen the boy's face, yet the terrified figure had aroused withinhim, strongly, the protective instinct. Doubtless it was the call ofyouth and weakness which find, always, an answering assurance in thestrength of a strong man.
As Bridge groped toward the spot where the boy had fallen his eyes, nowbecome accustomed to the darkness of the room, saw that the youth wassitting up. "Well?" he asked. "Feeling better?"
"Where is it? Oh, God! Where is it?" cried the boy. "It will come inhere and kill us as it killed that--that--down stairs."
"It can't get in," Bridge assured him. "I've locked the door and pushedthe bed in front of it. Gad! I feel like an old maid looking under thebed for burglars."
From the hall came a sudden clanking of the chain accompanied by a loudpounding upon the bare floor. With a scream the youth leaped to hisfeet and almost threw himself upon Bridge. His arms were about the man'sneck, his face buried in his shoulder.
"Oh, don't--don't let it get me!" he cried.
"Brace up, son," Bridge admonished him. "Didn't I tell you that it can'tget in?"
"How do you know it can't get in?" whimpered the youth. "It's the thingthat murdered the man down stairs--it's the thing that murdered theSquibbs--right here in this room. It got in to them--what is to preventits getting in to us. What are doors to such a THING?"
"Come! come! now," Bridge tried to soothe him. "You have a case ofnerves. Lie down here on this bed and try to sleep. Nothing shall harmyou, and when you wake up it will be morning and you'll laugh at yourfears."
"Lie on THAT bed!" The voice was almost a shriek. "That is the bed theSquibbs were murdered in--the old man and his wife. No one would haveit, and so it has remained here all these years. I would rather die thantouch the thing. Their blood is still upon it."
"I wish," said Bridge a trifle sternly, "that you would try to controlyourself a bit. Hysteria won't help us any. Here we are, and we've tomake the best of it. Besides we must look after this young woman--shemay be dying, and we haven't done a thing to help her."
The boy, evidently shamed, released his hold upon Bridge and movedaway. "I am sorry," he said. "I'll try to do better; but, Oh! I was sofrightened. You cannot imagine how frightened I was."
"I had imagined," said Bridge, "from what I had heard of him that itwould be a rather difficult thing to frighten The Oskaloosa Kid--youhave, you know, rather a reputation for fearlessness."
The darkness hid the scarlet flush which mantled The Kid's face. Therewas a moment's silence as Bridge crossed to where the young woman stilllay upon the floor where he had deposited her. Then The Kid spoke. "I'msorry," he said, "that I made a fool of myself. You have been so brave,and I have not helped at all. I shall do better now."
"Good," said Bridge, and stooped to raise the young woman in his armsand deposit her upon the bed. Then he struck another match and leanedclose to examine her. The flare of the sulphur illuminated the roomand shot two rectangles of light against the outer blackness where theunglazed windows stared vacantly upon the road beyond, bringing to asudden halt a little company of muddy and bedraggled men who slipped,cursing, along the slimy way.
Bridge felt the youth close beside him as he bent above the girl uponthe bed.
"Is she dead?" the lad whispered.
"No," replied Bridge, "and I doubt if she's badly hurt." His hands ranquickly over her limbs, bending and twisting them gently; he unbuttonedher waist, getting the boy to strike and hold another match while heexamined the victim for signs of a bullet wound.
"I can't find a scratch on her," he said at last. "She's suffering fromshock alone, as far as I can judge. Say, she's pretty, isn't she?"
The youth drew himself rather stiffly erect. "Her features are rathercoarse, I think," he replied. There was a peculiar quality to the tonewhich caused Bridge to turn a quick look at the boy's face, just asthe match flickered and went out. The darkness hid the expressionupon Bridge's face, but his conviction that the girl was pretty wasunaltered. The light of the match had revealed an oval face surroundedby dark, dishevelled tresses, red, full lips, and large, dark eyes.
Further discussion of the young woman was discouraged by a repetition ofthe clanking of the chain without. Now it was receding along the hallwaytoward the stairs and presently, to the infinite relief of The OskaloosaKid, the two heard it descending to the lower floor.
"What was it, do you think?" asked the boy, his voice still tremblingupon the verge of hysteria.
"I don't know," replied Bridge. "I've never been a believer in ghostsand I'm not now; but I'll admit that it takes a whole lot of--"
He did not finish the sentence for a moan from the bed diverted hisattention to the injured girl, toward whom he now turned. As theylistened for a repetition of the sound there came another--that ofthe creaking of the old bed slats as the girl moved upon the mildewedmattress. Dimly, through the darkness, Bridge saw that the victim of therecent murderous assault was attempting to sit up. He moved closer andleaned above her.
"I wouldn't exert myself," he said. "You've just suffered an accident,and it's better that you remain quiet."
"Who are you?" asked the girl, a note of suppressed terror in her voice."You are not--?"
"I am no one you know," replied Bridge. "My friend and I chanced to benear when you fell from the car--" with that innate refinement whichalways belied his vocation and his rags Bridge chose not to embarrassthe girl by a too intimate knowledge of the thing which had befallenher, preferring to leave to her own volition the making of anyexplanation she saw fit, or of none--"and we carried you in here out ofthe storm."
The girl was silent for a moment. "Where is 'here'?" she askedpresently. "They drove so fast and it was so dark that I had no ideawhere we were, though I know that we left the turnpike."
"We are at the old Squibbs place," replied the man. He could see thatthe girl was running one hand gingerly over her head and face, so thather next question did not surprise him.
"Am I badly wounded?" she asked. "Do you think that I am going to die?"The tremor in her voice was pathetic--it was the voice of a frightenedand wondering child. Bridge heard the boy behind him move impulsivelyforward and saw him kneel on the bed beside the girl.
"You are not badly hurt," volunteered The Oskaloosa Kid. "Bridgecouldn't find a mark on you--the bullet must have missed you."
"He was holding me over the edge of the car when he fired." The girl'svoice reflected the physical shudder which ran through her frame at therecollection. "Then he threw me out almost simultaneously. I suppose hethought that he could not miss at suc
h close range." For a time she wassilent again, sitting stiffly erect. Bridge could feel rather than seewide, tense eyes staring out through the darkness upon scenes, horribleperhaps, that were invisible to him and the Kid.
Suddenly the girl turned and threw herself face downward upon the bed."O, God!" she moaned. "Father! Father! It will kill you--no one willbelieve me--they will think that I am bad. I didn't do it! I didn'tdo it! I've been a silly little fool; but I have
The Oakdale Affair Page 8
