"Quick!" called Bridge."Straight down the hall and into the room at the end." The man was puzzled.He could not have been said to have been actually afraid, and yet the terror of the boy was so intense, so real, that it could scarce but have had its suggestive effect upon the other; and, too, there was an uncanny element of the supernatural in what they had seen and heard in the deserted house--the dead man on the floor below, the inexplicable clanking of a chain by some unseen THINGfrom the depth of the cellar upward toward them; and, to heighten the effect of these, there were the grim stor-ies of unsolved tragedy and crime.All in all Bridge could not have denied that he was glad of the room at the end of the hall with its suggestion of safety in the door which might be closed against the horrors of the hall and the Stygian gloom below stairs.
The Oskaloosa Kid was staggering ahead of him, scarce able to hold his body erect upon his shaking knees--his gait seemed pitifully slow to the unarmed man carrying the unconscious girl and listening to the chain dragging ever nearer and nearer behind; but at last they reached the doorway and passed through it into the room.
"Close the door," directed Bridge as he crossed toward the center of the room to lay his burden upon the floor, but there was no response to his instructions--only a gasp and the sound of a body slumping to the rotting boards.
With an exclamation of chagrin the man dropped the girl and swung quickly toward the door.Halfway down the hall he could hear the chain rattling over loose plank-ing, the THING, whatever it might be, was close upon them.Bridge slammed-to the door and with a shoulder against it drew a match from his pocket and lighted it.
Although his clothing was soggy with rain he knew that his matches would still be dry, for this pocket and its flap he had ingeniously lined with waterproof material from a discarded slicker he had found--years of tramp-ing having taught him the discomforts of a fireless camp.
In the resultant light the man saw with a quick glance a large room furnished with an old walnut bed, dresser, and commode; two lightless windows opened at the far end toward the road, Bridge assumed; and there was no door other than that against which he leaned.In the last flicker of the match the man scanned the door itself for a lock and, to his relief, discovered a bolt--old and rusty it was, but it still moved in its sleeve.An in-stant later it was shot--just as the sound of the dragging chain ceased outside.Near the door was the great bed, and this Bridge dragged before it as an additional bar-ricade; then, bearing nothing more from the hallway, he turned his attention to the two unconscious forms up-on the floor.Unhesitatingly he went to the boy first though had he questioned himself he could not have told why; for the youth, undoubtedly, had only swooned, while the girl had been the victim of a murderous assault and might even be at the point of death.
What was the appeal to the man in the pseudo Oska-loosa Kid? He had scarce seen the boy's face, yet the terrified figure had aroused within him, strongly, the protective instinct.Doubtless it was the call of youth and weakness which find, always, an answering assur-ance in the strength of a strong man.
As Bridge groped toward the spot where the boy had fallen his eyes, now become accustomed to the dark-ness of the room, saw that the youth was sitting up.
"Well?" he asked."Feeling better?"
"Where is it? Oh, God! Where is it?" cried the boy.
"It will come in here and kill us as it killed that--that--down stairs."
"It can't get in," Bridge assured him."I've locked the door and pushed the bed in front of it.Gad! I feel like an old maid looking under the bed for burglars."From the hall came a sudden clanking of the chain accompanied by a loud pounding upon the bare floor.
With a scream the youth leaped to his feet and almost threw himself upon Bridge.His arms were about the man's neck, 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 Itell you that it can't get in?"
"How do you know it can't get in?" whimpered the youth."It's the thing that murdered the man down stairs --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.Ishall do better now."
"Good," said Bridge, and stooped to raise the young woman in his arms and deposit her upon the bed.
