The Oakdale Affair [17]
--it's the thing that murdered the Squibbs--right here in this room. It got in to them--what is to prevent its get- ting in to us. What are doors to such a THING?"
"Come! come! now," Bridge tried to soothe him. "You have a case of nerves. Lie down here on this bed and try to sleep. Nothing shall harm you, and when you wake up it will be morning and you'll laugh at your fears."
"Lie on THAT bed!" The voice was almost a shriek. "That is the bed the Squibbs were murdered in--the old man and his wife. No one would have it, and so it has remained here all these years. I would rather die than touch the thing. Their blood is still upon it."
"I wish," said Bridge a trifle sternly, "that you would try to control yourself a bit. Hysteria won't help us any. Here we are, and we've to make the best of it. Besides we must look after this young woman--she may be dy- ing, and we haven't done a thing to help her."
The boy, evidently shamed, released his hold upon Bridge and moved away. "I am sorry," he said. "I'll try to do better; but, Oh! I was so frightened. You can- not imagine how frightened I was."
"I had imagined," said Bridge, "from what I had heard of him that it would be a rather difficult thing to frighten The Oskaloosa Kid--you have, you know, rather a reputation for fearlessness."
The darkness hid the scarlet flush which mantled The Kid's face. There was a moment's silence as Bridge crossed to where the young woman still lay upon the floor where he had deposited her. Then The Kid spoke. "I'm sorry," 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 arms and deposit her upon the bed. Then he struck another match and leaned close to ex- amine her. The flare of the sulphur illuminated the room and shot two rectangles of light against the outer black- ness where the unglazed windows stared vacantly upon the road beyond, bringing to a sudden halt a little com- pany of muddy and bedraggled men who slipped, curs- ing, along the slimy way.
Bridge felt the youth close beside him as he bent above the girl upon the bed.
"Is she dead?" the lad whispered.
"No," replied Bridge, "and I doubt if she's badly hurt." His hands ran quickly over her limbs, bending and twisting them gently; be unbuttoned her waist, getting the boy to strike and hold another match while he ex- amined the victim for signs of a bullet wound.
"I can't find a scratch on her," be said at last. "She's suffering from shock alone, as far as I can judge. Say, she's pretty, isn't she?"
The youth drew himself rather stiffly erect. "Her fea- tures are rather coarse, I think," he replied. There was a peculiar quality to the tone which caused Bridge to turn a quick look at the boy's face, just as the match flick- ered and went out. The darkness hid the expression upon Bridge's face, but his conviction that the girl was pretty was unaltered. The light of the match had re- vealed an oval face surrounded by dark, dishevelled tresses, red, full lips, and large, dark eyes.
Further discussion of the young woman was discour- aged by a repetition of the clanking of the chain with- out. Now it was receding along the hallway toward the stairs and presently, to the infinite relief of The Os- kaloosa Kid, the two heard it descending to the lower floor.
"What was it, do you think?" asked the boy, his voice still trembling upon the verge of hysteria.
"I don't know," replied Bridge. "I've never been a be- liever in ghosts and 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 his attention to the injured girl, toward whom he now turned. As they listened for a repetition of the sound there came another--that of the creaking of the old bed slats as the girl moved upon the mildewed mattress. Dimly, through the darkness, Bridge saw that the victim of the recent murderous assault was attempt- ing to sit up. He moved
"Come! come! now," Bridge tried to soothe him. "You have a case of nerves. Lie down here on this bed and try to sleep. Nothing shall harm you, and when you wake up it will be morning and you'll laugh at your fears."
"Lie on THAT bed!" The voice was almost a shriek. "That is the bed the Squibbs were murdered in--the old man and his wife. No one would have it, and so it has remained here all these years. I would rather die than touch the thing. Their blood is still upon it."
"I wish," said Bridge a trifle sternly, "that you would try to control yourself a bit. Hysteria won't help us any. Here we are, and we've to make the best of it. Besides we must look after this young woman--she may be dy- ing, and we haven't done a thing to help her."
The boy, evidently shamed, released his hold upon Bridge and moved away. "I am sorry," he said. "I'll try to do better; but, Oh! I was so frightened. You can- not imagine how frightened I was."
"I had imagined," said Bridge, "from what I had heard of him that it would be a rather difficult thing to frighten The Oskaloosa Kid--you have, you know, rather a reputation for fearlessness."
The darkness hid the scarlet flush which mantled The Kid's face. There was a moment's silence as Bridge crossed to where the young woman still lay upon the floor where he had deposited her. Then The Kid spoke. "I'm sorry," 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 arms and deposit her upon the bed. Then he struck another match and leaned close to ex- amine her. The flare of the sulphur illuminated the room and shot two rectangles of light against the outer black- ness where the unglazed windows stared vacantly upon the road beyond, bringing to a sudden halt a little com- pany of muddy and bedraggled men who slipped, curs- ing, along the slimy way.
Bridge felt the youth close beside him as he bent above the girl upon the bed.
"Is she dead?" the lad whispered.
"No," replied Bridge, "and I doubt if she's badly hurt." His hands ran quickly over her limbs, bending and twisting them gently; be unbuttoned her waist, getting the boy to strike and hold another match while he ex- amined the victim for signs of a bullet wound.
"I can't find a scratch on her," be said at last. "She's suffering from shock alone, as far as I can judge. Say, she's pretty, isn't she?"
The youth drew himself rather stiffly erect. "Her fea- tures are rather coarse, I think," he replied. There was a peculiar quality to the tone which caused Bridge to turn a quick look at the boy's face, just as the match flick- ered and went out. The darkness hid the expression upon Bridge's face, but his conviction that the girl was pretty was unaltered. The light of the match had re- vealed an oval face surrounded by dark, dishevelled tresses, red, full lips, and large, dark eyes.
Further discussion of the young woman was discour- aged by a repetition of the clanking of the chain with- out. Now it was receding along the hallway toward the stairs and presently, to the infinite relief of The Os- kaloosa Kid, the two heard it descending to the lower floor.
"What was it, do you think?" asked the boy, his voice still trembling upon the verge of hysteria.
"I don't know," replied Bridge. "I've never been a be- liever in ghosts and 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 his attention to the injured girl, toward whom he now turned. As they listened for a repetition of the sound there came another--that of the creaking of the old bed slats as the girl moved upon the mildewed mattress. Dimly, through the darkness, Bridge saw that the victim of the recent murderous assault was attempt- ing to sit up. He moved