The Oakdale Affair

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 attack a defense which was infinitely more strenuous than they had expected.

Columbus Blackie leaped for The Oskaloosa Kid, while The Sky Pilot seized upon Abigail Prim.  No one paid any attention to Giova, nor, with the noise and con-fusion, 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 decayed studding.

Soup Face entangling himself about Bridge’s legs suc-ceeded in throwing the latter to the floor while Dirty Eddie kicked viciously at the prostrate man’s head.  The Sky Pilot seized Abigail Prim 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.  Co-lumbus Blackie found his hands full with The Oskaloosa 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 reverber-ated through the deserted mill.  A huge body cata-pulted into the midst of the fighters.  Abigail Prim 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 bestial than human, rose to his feet and fled in the oppo-site 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 often times 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 Co-lumbus 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 race horse.

Columbus Blackie, casting a terrified glance rear-ward, saw his Nemesis flashing toward him, and dodged around a large tree.  Again Beppo shot past the man while 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.  Giova answered him from a small tree.  “Climb!” she cried.  “Climb a tree!  Ever’one climb a small tree.  Beppo he go mad.  He keel ever’one.  Run!  Climb!  He keel 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 brakes 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 lieuten-ants, “while we go after the rest of them.  There are some over by the mill.  I can hear them.”

From the woods came a fearfilled scream mingled with the savage growls of a beast.

“It’s the bear,” shrilled Willie 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 Willie Case from the fancied security of the tonneau.  “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 Oskaloosa 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 Giova warned them back.

“Come down!” commanded Burton, and sent her back to the car.

The driver turned his spot light upon the wood be-yond 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 Bur-ton.  The two men raised their rifles.  There were two re-ports in close succession.  Beppo fell forward without a sound and then rolled over on his side.  Giova covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

“He ver’ 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 Oskaloosa Kid there glistened some-thing 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 Oak-dale.  He was also partially influenced in this decision by the fear that mob violence would be done the principals by Oakdale’s outraged 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 tele-phoned Jonas Prim that his daughter was safe and would be returned to him in less than an hour.

By the time Bridge and The Oskaloosa 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 Oak-dale; so that before Burton arrived there a dozen auto-mobile loads of indignant citizens were racing south to-ward Payson.

Bridge and The Oskaloosa 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 the structure.  The floor was littered with papers, and a single electric light bulb relieved the gloom of the unsavory place.

The Oskaloosa Kid sank, trembling, upon one of the hard benches.  Bridge rolled a cigaret.  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 Baggs, Reginald Paynter, Abigail Prim, Jonas Prim, and his wife, with a large cut of the Prim mansion, a star marking the bou-doir of the missing daughter of the house.  As Bridge examined the various pictures an odd expression en-tered his eyes—­it was a mixture of puzzlement, incredu-lity, and relief.  Tossing the paper aside he turned to-ward The Oskaloosa 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 Paynter 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 shuddered.

“Will you tell the truth?” asked the man.

“I will go with you,” replied the boy, “and take what-ever you get.”

“Why?” asked Bridge.

The youth flushed; but did not reply, for there came from without a sudden augmentation of the murmur-ings of the mob.  Automobile horns screamed out upon the night.  The two heard the chugging of motors, the sound of brakes 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 Baggs is dead.  No one never had no use for him while he was alive, but the whole county’s het up now over his death.  They’re bound to get you, an’ while I didn’t count ’em all I seen about a score o’ 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 am go-ing to stick to you, and there is some excuse for me be-cause 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 shrug of his shoulders, “it’s up to you guys.  If you want to hang, why hang and be damned.  We’ll do the best we can ’cause it’s our duty to protect you; but I guess at that hangin’s too good fer you, an’ we ain’t a-goin’ to get shot keepin’ you from get-tin’ 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 jailer 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 Oakdale.  The great detective alighted and handed down the missing Abigail.  Then be 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 draw up 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.

They heard the closing of an automobile door and the sound of foot steps coming up the concrete walk.  The Prim butler was already waiting at the doorway with the doors swung wide to receive the prodigal daughter of the house of Prim.  A slender figure with bowed head ascended the steps, guided and assisted by the detective.  She did not look up at the expectant but-ler waiting for the greeting he was sure Abigail would have for him; but passed on into the reception hall.

“Your father and Mrs. Prim are in the living room,” announced the butler, stepping forward to draw aside the heavy hangings.

The girl, followed by Burton, entered the brightly lighted room.

“I am very glad, Mr. Prim,” said the latter, “to be able to return Miss Prim to you so quickly and un-harmed.”

The girl looked up into the face of Jonas Prim.  The man voiced an exclamation of surprise and annoyance.  Mrs. Prim gasped and sank upon a sofa.  The girl stood motionless, her eyes once again bent upon the floor.

“What’s the matter?” asked Burton.  “What’s wrong?”

“Everything is wrong, Mr. Burton,” Jonas Prim’s voice was crisp and cold.  “This is not my daughter.”

Burton looked his surprise and discomfiture.  He turned upon the girl.

“What do you mean—­” he started; but she interrupted him.

“You are going to ask what I mean by posing as Miss Prim,” she said.  “I have never said that I was Miss Prim.  You took the word of an ignorant little farmer’s boy and I did not deny it when I found that you intended bring-ing me to Mr. Prim, for I wanted to see him.  I wanted to ask him to help me.  I have never met him, or his daughter either; but my father and Mr. Prim have been friends for many years.

“I am Hettie Penning,” she continued, addressing Jonas Prim.  “My father has always admired you and from what he has told me I knew that you would listen to me and do what you could for me.  I could not bear to think of going to the jail in Payson, for Payson is my home.  Everybody would have known me.  It would have killed my father.  Then I wanted to come myself and tell you, after reading the reports and insinuations in the paper, that your daughter was not with Reginald Payn-ter when he was killed.  She had no knowledge of the crime and as far as I know may not have yet.  I have not seen her and do not know where she is; but I was present when Mr. Paynter was killed.  I have known him for years and have often driven with him.  He stopped me yesterday afternoon on the street in Payson and talked with me.  He was sitting in a car in front of the bank.  After we had talked a few minutes two men came out of the bank.  Mr. Paynter introduced them to me.  He said they were driving out into the country to look at a piece of property—­a farm somewhere north of Oakdale —­and that on the way back they were going to stop at The Crossroads Inn for dinner.  He asked me if I wouldn’t like to come along—­he kind of dared me to, because, as you know, The Crossroads has rather a bad reputation.

“Father had gone to Toledo on business, and very foolishly I took his dare.  Everything went all right un-til after we left The Inn, although one of the men—­his companion referred to him once or twice as The Oska-loosa Kid—­attempted to be too familiar with me.  Mr. Paynter prevented him on each occasion, and they had words over me; but after we left the inn, where they had all drunk a great deal, this man renewed his atten-tions and Mr. Paynter struck him.  Both of them were drunk.  After that it all happened so quickly that I could scarcely follow it.  The man called Oskaloosa Kid drew a revolver but did not fire, instead he seized Mr. Paynter by the coat and whirled him around and then he struck him an awful blow behind the ear with the butt of the weapon.

“After that the other two men seemed quite sobered.  They discussed what would be the best thing to do and at last decided to throw Mr. Paynter’s body out of the machine, for it was quite evident that he was dead.  First they rifled his pockets, and joked as they did it, one of them saying that they weren’t getting as much as they had planned on; but that a little was better than noth-ing.  They took his watch, jewelry, and a large roll of bills.  We passed around the east side of Oakdale and came back into the Toledo road.  A little way out of town they turned the machine around and ran back for about half a mile; then they turned about a second time.  I don’t know why they did this.  They threw the body out while the machine was moving rapidly; but I was so frightened that I can’t say whether it was before or after they turned about the second time.

“In front of the old Squibbs place they shot at me and threw me out; but the bullet missed me.  I have not seen them since and do not know where they went.  I am ready and willing to aid in their conviction; but, please Mr. Prim, won’t you keep me from being sent back to Payson or to jail.  I have done nothing criminal and I won’t run away.”

“How about the robbery of Miss Prim’s room and the murder of Old Man Baggs?” asked Burton.  “Did they pull both of those off before they killed Paynter or af-ter?”

“They had nothing to do with either unless they did them after they threw me out of the car, which must have been long after midnight,” replied the girl.

“And the rest of the gang, those that were arrested with you,” continued the detective, “how about them?  All angels, I suppose.”

“There was only Bridge and the boy they called The Oskaloosa Kid, though he isn’t the same one that mur-dered poor Mr. Paynter, and the Gypsy girl, Giova, that were with me.  The others were tramps who came into the old mill and attacked us while we were asleep.  I don’t know who they were.  The girl could have had nothing to do with any of the crimes.  We came upon her this morning burying her father in the woods back of the Squibbs’ place.  The man died of epilepsy last night.  Bridge and the boy were taking refuge from the storm at the Squibbs place when I was thrown from the car.  They heard the shot and came to my rescue.  I am sure they had nothing to do with—­with—­” she hesi-tated.