Part 20

Nothing more formidable than knives, dope, and a needle were found upon them.

“Say,” drawled Dopey Charlie. “We knows wot we knows; but hones' to gawd we didn't have nothin' to do wid it. We knows the guy that pulled it off--we spent las' night wid him an' his pal an' a skoit. He creased me, here,” and Charlie unbuttoned his clothing and exposed to view the bloody scratch of The Oskaloosa Kid's bullet. “On de level, Burton, we wern't in on it. Dis guy was at dat Squibbs' place wen we pulls in dere outen de rain. He has a pocket full o' kale an' sparklers an' tings, and he goes fer to shoot me up wen I tries to get away.”

“Who was he?” asked Burton.

“He called hisself de Oskaloosa Kid,” replied Charlie. “A guy called Bridge was wid him. You know him?”

“I've heard of him; but he's straight,” replied Burton. “Who was the skirt?”

“I dunno,” said Charlie; “but she was gassin' 'bout her pals croakin' a guy an' turnin' 'im outten a gas wagon, an' dis Oskaloosa Kid he croaks some old guy in Oakdale las' night. Mebby he ain't a bad 'un though!”

“Where are they now?” asked Burton.

“We got away from 'em at the Squibbs' place this mornin',” said Charlie.

“Well,” said Burton, “you boes come along with me. If you ain't 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 note book,” replied Burton; “it must have dropped out of my pocket when I jumped the fence. Just wait a minute while I go look for it,” and he returned to the fence, vaulted it and disappeared 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.

“Yep,” 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 log shack, mud plastered; but it was not the hovel which held their mute attention--it was rather the figure of a girl, bare headed and bare footed, 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 watched her 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 hall mark of crafty ignorance.

And as they watched, their over-wrought nerves suddenly shuddered to the grewsome 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 labors, 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 youth's.

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 stalked 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 there watching me for?” she demanded. “Tell me the truth, or I kill you,” and she half raised the knife that he might profit in his decision by this most potent of arguments.