Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26)

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  “Durn ye!” he cried. “I’ll lam ye! Get offen here. I knows ye. Yer one o’ that gang o’ bums that come here last night, an’ now you got the gall to come back beggin’ for food, eh? I’ll lam ye!” and he raised the gun to his shoulder.

  The Oskaloosa 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 lowered his gun.

  “Wy didn’t ye say so in the first place then?” he growled. “How’d I know you wanted to buy it, eh? Where’d ye come from anyhow, this early in the mornin’? What’s yer name, eh? What’s yer business, that’s what Jeb Case’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 ye want to buy, eh? How much money ye got? Looks suspicious. That’s a sight o’ money yew got there, eh? Where’dje get it?”

  “It’s mine,” said The Oskaloosa 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 Case’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “You’re in the wrong pasture, bub,” he remarked feelingly. “What yer lookin’ fer is Sears, Roebuck & Company.”

  The Oskaloosa Kid flushed up to the tips of his ears. “But can’t you sell me something?” he begged.

  “I might let ye have some milk an’ eggs an’ butter an’ a leetle bacon an’ mebby my ol’ woman’s got a loaf left from her last bakin’; but we ain’t been figgerin’ on supplyin’ grub fer the United States army ef that’s what yew be buyin’ fer.”

  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 bank roll in the youth’s hand. “Or, leastwise,” she amended, “I ain’t got much more’n we need an’ the price o’ stuff’s gone up so lately that I’ll hev to ask ye more’n I would of last fall. ‘Bout what did ye figger on wantin’?”

  “Anything you can spare,” said the youth. “There are three of us and we’re awful hungry.”

  “Where yew stoppin’?” asked the woman.

  “We’re at the old Squibbs’ place,” replied The Kid. “We got caught by the storm last night and had to put up there.”

  “The Squibbs’ place!” ejaculated the woman. “Yew didn’t stop there over night?”

  “Yes we did,” replied the youth.

  “See anything funny?” asked Mrs. Case.

  “We didn’t SEE anything,” replied The Oskaloosa 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 and this morning he was gone.”

  The Cases shuddered. “A dead man!” ejaculated Jeb Case. “Yew seen him?”

  The Kid nodded.

  “I never tuk much stock in them stories,” said Jeb, with a shake of his head; “but ef you SEEN it! Gosh! Thet beats me. Come on M’randy, les 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 Oskaloosa Kid proceeded to stare at him. “Yew 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. “An’ what did yew 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.”

  “Whew,” whistled the Case boy. “Gosh!” Then he scratched his head and looked admiringly at the youth. “What mought yer name be?” he asked.

  “I’m The Oskaloosa Kid,” replied the youth, unable to resist the admiration of the other’s fond gaze. “Look here!” and he fished 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.”

  Case Jr. 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, tersely.

  “Gosh!” said the young Mr. Case, but there was that in his facial expression which brought to The Oskaloosa Kid a sudden regret that he had thus rashly confided in a stranger.

  “Say,” said The Kid, after a moment’s strained silence. “Don’t tell anyone, will you? If you’ll promise I’ll give you a dollar,” and he hunted through his roll of bills 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 bill 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 pere and mere emerged from the kitchen loaded with provender. “Here’s enough an’ more’n enough, I reckon,” said Jeb Case. “We got eggs, butter, bread, bacon, milk, an’ a mite o’ garden sass.”

  “But we ain’t goin’ to charge you nothin’ fer 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 bills and wondering just the limit he might raise to, “I reckon ‘bout four dollars an’ 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 pails and turned toward the road.

  “Yew gotta return them pails!” shouted Mrs. Case after him.

  “Oh, of course,” replied The Kid.

  “Gosh!” exclaimed Mr. Case, feelingly. “I wisht I’d asked six bits more — I mought jest as well o’ got it as not. Gosh, eh?”

  “Gosh!” murmured Willie Case, fervently.

  Back down the sticky road plodded 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 Squibbs’ gateway he saw the girl and Bridge standing upon the verandah 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 are the ne plus ultra, non est cumquidibus, in hoc signo vinces, only and original kind of hand-out compellers.”

  “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 away cut a generous portion of the bacon into long, thin strips.

  Shortly after, the water coming to the boil, Bridge lowered three eggs into it, glanced at his watch, greased one of the new cleaned stove lids 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 frying bacon.

  “M-m-m-m!” gloated The Oskaloosa Kid. “I wish I had bo — asked 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’ll 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 saved 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 an 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 burgling 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-mouthed Willie 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 guess.

  The breakfast, commenced so auspiciously, continued in gloomy silence. At least the girl and The Oskaloosa Kid were silent and gloom steeped. Bridge was thoughtful but far from morose. His spirits were unquenchable.

  “I am 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 wan 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,

  “‘Thinkin’ as how this old world joked

  “‘In callin’ only some men kings

  “‘While I sat there a-blowin’ rings.’”

  He paused to kindle a sliver of wood at the stove. “In these parlous times,” he spoke as though to himself, “one must economize. They are taking a quarter of an ounce out of each five cents worth of chewing, I am told; so doubtless each box must be five or six matches short of full count. Even these papers seem thinner than of yore 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,

  “‘Peggin’ away at nothing, hard.

  “‘Havin’ no pet, particular care;

  “‘Havin’ no trouble, or no pard;

  “‘“Just me,” filled up my callin’ card.’ “Say, do you know I’ve learned to love this Knibbs person. I used to think of him as a poor attic 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 Cajon pass who knew His Knibbs, and come to find out this Knibbs is a regular fellow. His attic covers all God’s country that is out of doors and he knows the road from La Bajada hill to Barstow a darned 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 trousers’ 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 in 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 winced. “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 Squibbs’ 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 mail box where Jeb and his son Willie were, as usual, waiting 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’, Jim!” returned Mr. Case. “Nice rain we had last night. What’s the news?”

  “Plenty! Plenty!” exclaimed the carrier. “Lived here nigh onto forty year, man an’ boy, an’ never seen such work before in all my life.”

  “How’s that?” questioned the farmer, scenting something interesting.

  “Ol’ man Baggs’s murdered last night,” announced the carrier, watching eagerly for the effect of his announcement.

  “Gosh!” gasped Willie Case. “Was he shot?” It was almost a scream.

  “I dunno,” replied Jim. “He’s up to the horspital now, an’ the doc says he haint one chance in a thousand.”

  “Gosh!” exclaimed Mr. Case.

  “But thet ain’t all,” continued Jim. “Reggie Paynter was murdered last night, too; right on the pike south of town. They threw his corpse outen a ottymobile.”

  “By gol!” cried Jeb Case; “I hearn them devils go by last night ‘bout midnight er after. ‘T woke me up. They must o’ ben goin’ sixty mile an hour. Er say,” he stopped to scratch his head. “Mebby it was tramps. They must a ben a score on ’em round here yesterday and las’ night an’ agin this mornin’. I never seed so dum many bums in my life.”

  “An’ thet ain’t all,” went on the carrier, ignoring the other’s comments. “Oakdale’s all tore up. Abbie Prim’s disappeared and Jonas Prim’s house was robbed jest about the same time Ol’ man Baggs ‘uz murdered, er most murdered — chances is he’s dead by this time anyhow. Doc said he hadn’t no chance.”

  “Gosh!” It was a pater-filius duet.

  “But thet ain’t all,” gloated Jim. “Two of the persons in the car with Reggie Paynter were recognized, an’ who do you think one of ’em was, eh? Why one of ’em was Abbie Prim an’ tother was a slick crook from Toledo er Noo York that’s called The Oskaloosie Kid. By gum, I’ll bet they get ’em in no time. Why already Jonas Prim’s got a regular dee-dectiff down from Chicago, an’ the board o’ select-men’s offered a re-ward o’ fifty dollars fer the arrest an’ 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 nothin’ more fer ye. So long! Giddap!” and he was gone.

  “I don’ see why he don’t carry a whip,” mused Jeb Case. “A-gidappin’ to that there tin lizzie,” he muttered disgustedly, “jes’ like it was as good as a hoss. But I mind
the time, the fust day he got the dinged thing, he gets out an’ tries to lead it by Lem Smith’s threshin’ machine.”

  Jeb Case preferred an audience worthy his mettle; but Willie was better than no one, yet when he turned to note the effect of his remarks on his son, Willie was no where to be seen. If Jeb 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 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 yeggmen 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 new found 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 wrong doing 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.

  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 through to the front room where he saw three men alighting 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.