OCR Text |
Show THE RED LOCK A Tale of the Flatwoods By DAVID ANDERSON Autkor of "TH Blua Moon" Copjright by The Bobba-Kerri'l Co. CHAPTER XVI Continued. 22 He crammed the letter Into the envelope, en-velope, thrust It Into the pocket of his blouse and turned back across the yard ; stopped, and glanced around at the woman. "She had t' go and look after some-business," some-business," he said. "I 'low I'll ride in and he'p 'er" he pondered a moment; went on "and I reckon you better stay at Aunt Liza's, as she said. I'll be back t'night sometime but it niay be late." The woodsman probably never covered cov-ered the distance to the barn as quickly quick-ly as he covered it that day. The words: "if she's there," that had so puzzled the pair In the old cabin as well as the man at the chink flared clear as the mid-day sun. Hopkins it was his last desperate move a move totally unforeseen. His intentions to ward the girl had been foul from the first. That he would make some attempt at-tempt to rob the safe was to be expected expect-ed had been expected. But this He buckled on his spurs; bridled and addled Graylock with a feverish haste that waked the mettle of the good horse. When he led him out, Mrs. Curry Cur-ry v, is waddling across the barn-lot. In the tense moment he had forgotten forgot-ten that his haste must be causing her no small wonder. "Yes, I 'low I'll ride in and find 'er," he ventured, "and bring 'er back t'night t'-night sometime but you better go on f Aunt Liza's anyhow, f r fear it'll be late, and we'll come and git y'u." He saw that the attempt at reassurance reassur-ance an attempt that cost him no little lit-tle had failed. The good housekeeper's housekeep-er's face twisted quite beyond her control con-trol ; her apron went up to her eyes. "Oh, Jack," she sobbed, "I'm plum' fiuster'd. Las' night Brother Hopkins left without leavin' no word, nnd now Texie's gone " The man turned and feigned to adjust ad-just the saddle girth. A woman's tears the big woodsman was utterly helpless. He glanced back at the heaving npron. "Now, Mis' Curry, don't be fiuster'd. She's all Mght." He hesitated. "Them two facts ain't no ways connected," he finally muttered, knowing only too well that they were. "The parson more'n likely went in after some mor books, 'pears like he must 'a' gone through all them 'e had, and Texie- I'll hunt 'er up this afternoon and ride home with "er." He gazed hard toward to-ward the village. "I don't b'lleve, if I was you, I'd leave the house till after .ark, and I wouldn't mention she's one only t' Aunt Liza and Uncie Alck." The apron cnme down'frdm the troubled trou-bled face and the housekeeper began to dry her eyes. The woodsman turned away; stopped; turned back. "One question did she take 'er revolver re-volver with 'er?" "Wy. no," was the wondering an-, an-, swer "why?" "I didn't 'low she would 'a'." The words came over his shoulder as he threw the bridle rein Into the hollow of his arm and strode away down the barn-lot. He flung the gate open, sprang to the saddle and Gray-lock Gray-lock was off like n bird on the wing-twenty wing-twenty miles of dust and flying sand toward the dim spired gateway that led out Into another world. CHAPTER XVII Brickbat Alley. There are men so big. physically and otherwise, that the world naturally expects ex-pects big things of them who seem to find big things always cut out for them. Jack Warhope was such a man a singular mixture of romantic Impulsiveness Im-pulsiveness and calm, cogent reason; n dreamer; a thinker; a man of hard deeds, whose heart sometimes ran away with his head ; a Sir Galahad strayed out into the Nineteenth century cen-tury a thousand years behind bis day. The afternoon was half spent, and Graylock was foul with dust nnd sweat, when he rode across the long covered bridge over the Wabash and Into the city. Brickbat alley had a reputation all Its own. He had heard that It was In the smith part of town near the river, though Its exact location he did not know. Riding down Into that end of the city, he stopped to Inquire of an old woman who hnpiwned to he standing stand-ing In the narrow yard In front of a shabby ramshackle house with a furnished fur-nished rooms sign In the window. At the name Doll Baker the old woman bent upon him a look out of her bleared eyes that was both deep and searching. "Tber' ain't many men runnin' around louse, like you 'pear t' be. hut what knows whar Doll Baker lives. But, come t' lonk at y'u olos't, you're someway dlffer'nt. F'om the country, hain't y'u?'' "Yes. ma'am." "I 'lowed y'u wus y'u look a dif-fer'nt dif-fer'nt stripe f'om (he likes o' them thnt bunts Poll Baker." She paused and seemed to be weighing weigh-ing some thought before letting It fall. "And this Poll Baker lives?" he questioned, hardly able to hold the spur from Graylock. "Brickbat alley that's next alley down fourth door on y'ur right. "Be koerful. lad." she called, hopping like some crippled old bird out to the fence anil Halting him, for he was already al-ready riding away, "be keerful. I dislike dis-like t' sen any harm fall on y'u tiem's bad people." t- It seemed to him that Graylock had never stepped so slowly. Hitching him In front of a small grocery on the street, he looked at all the other hitch-racks hitch-racks In sight for Brownie but Brownie was not to be seen. Buttoning Button-ing his hunting blouse about him so as to hide the six-gun, he walked into the alley. The fourth door down on the right proved to be a large, two-story, closely-shuttered wooden structure standing almost flush with the narrow side-street side-street known as Brickbat alley. There was another building on the same lot, a business edifice of brick, fronting on the street proper and apparently occupied occu-pied by a saloon, and the two were connected by a sort of covered porch. All these facts the woodsman noted In the second or two of his approach. He knocked at the weather-stained, unpainted door. Such a long time went by that he was just on the point of knocking again, when there was a shuffling shuf-fling inside and approaching steps. A key rattled in the lock, the bolt -clicked back, the knob turned, a woman appeared ap-peared at the very narrow slit the door was allowed to open and looked out at him. She was a large woman, in good flesh, and not bad-looking. "Is this where Doll Baker lives?" "Yes ; won't ye come in ?" He entered. She closed the door, turned the key In the lock a fact that he took due note of and led the way into another room slightly better lighted. light-ed. He noticed that both rooms were rather showily and expensively furnished. fur-nished. He took the chair pointed out to him. The woman, seating herself by a small table a few feet away, eyed bim covertly. cov-ertly. "And you are ?" he questioned, as if continuing the inquiry begun at .the door. "Miss Baker Doll Baker." "Well, Miss Baker," 'he had to watch his voice to keep it orderly and even, "I've got a friend that is, a lady-friend lady-friend that come t' the city t'day from the country. I come in t'day m'-self, m'-self, and I'd kinda like t' hunt 'er up and ride home with 'er. I was tol she's here." Regarding the obvious blind of the sick brother, he said nothing, knowing it was but a trick of the very resourceful resource-ful Hopkins. The terrible letter that "What Kind of a Looking Girl Was Your Friend?" She Questioned at Last. had prostrated the old banker seven days before was In Ken Colln's own band and absolutely genuine. There was no sick brother. The woman sat for near a minute, studying him out of the baffling slits of her eyes clothing; hands; face; feet In a way she did not think he saw. "What kind of a looking girl was your friend?" she questioned at last. "Medium size, fair, brown hair, brown eyes with smiles In 'em anti remarkably small and purty hands and feet." "Well, she Isn't here." The gray-green eyes of the woman watched him covertly through their narrowed lids. He caught the look, felt the caution. "Where Is she?" "Don't ask me." "I'm awful sorry," he replied. In tones he tried hard to make meek and doleful. "She ain't nothin' but Jist a raw country girl, nnd 1 ain't nothin' but Jist a raw country boy. but we're both from the same little town out here 11 ways and I wanted t' see 'er awful bad b'fure she left town." The woman still eyed him closely, though her look seemed gradually to become more curious than distrustful, until at last she appeared to throw off all suspicion. "Well. Mr. Country Boy." she said, with an air of frankness and a twist of her face between a grin nnd a smile. "I don't know one thins about your friend, and that's straight." "Do y'u know Prof. Caleb Hopkins?" The question caught the woman off guard. She started. "Never heard of him," she hesitated; hesi-tated; finally added "hut you might go on through and ask Bill." "Who's Bill?" "Oh, friend of mine bounces bar out front." The man studied her. In his eyes there waked a hardness that the I'lat woods had learned to know. "Miss Doll Baker" it cost him a- effort to hold bis voice even and calm "I'm right sorry t' say I'm doubtin' y'u." "Doubting me!" A tang of hardness slid into her well-moduiated tones; she flared up straight in her chair. "What do you mean?" "I mean t' search this house." The woman sprang up. "Search th' house!" "That's what I'm aimin' t' do," the woodsman went on evenly, rising and glancing about him. The woman caught a small cord that dangled behind the door in reach of her hand and gave It a vicious Jerk. It must have been a bell cord that led to somewhere outside, for Immediately heavy steps sounded along the porch that connected the house with the saloon sa-loon and a man dashed in at the door. "Bill, you'll haf t' 'ten' to Mm" she jerked a half clenched hand toward the woodsman "threatens f raid th' j'int f'r a gal he thinks is here." So this was Bill the "bouncer." He looked the part broad-backed, thick set, heavy jowled, little pig eyes and short cropped, reddish hair. He raised his arm, pointed a stubby forefinger to the door and uttered the one word: "Git." But had Bill only known what manner man-ner of man It was standing there and coolly measuring him through narrowed nar-rowed eyes, he probably would have studied a long time before making his next move. "The devil y'u won't," he snarled, crouching and beginning to creep and circl e. "Don't hurt 'em," the woman cautioned, cau-tioned, "he ain't nothin' but jist a raw country Jake." Almost with the word Bill sprang, aiming a blow that would have caved in the side of a house only it didn't land. The fact was Instantly apparent that he was not a resourceful fighter, but placed his main reliance in his ponderous strength even so, he was a dangerous man. In a flash he wheeled and struck again. This time Jack parried the blow, instead of side-stepping, and shot across one In return a light uppercut to the chin that jarred Bill's head back and drew from him a snarl and a curse. He came back with a whirlwind of jabs and swings. Jack stepped right Into the whirlwind, whirl-wind, well knowing that others of Bill's ilk might come any moment, and sparred for an opening with such bewildering be-wildering speed and cleverness that Bill raised his guard to cover his face. Jack shot across a vicious body blow. Bill dropped his left. Instantly Jack's tremendous right swung on the exposed ex-posed jaw. BUI grunted, tottered, looked dazed. The right swung again on the same spot clean from the hip and Bill pitched against the wall like a bundle of dirty rags. With a curse, horrible upon a woman's wom-an's lips, Doll Baker ran to where he lay and bent over him. She had hardly reached him before the woodsman was darting about the house and peeping into pantry and closets. There was no basement. He made sure of that, and rprang to the stairs. The woman tried to drag him back, he flung her off and dashed up the steps. Every place where a girl could have been concealed was explored, but Doll Baker had told the truth that much of it, at least. Texie was not there. When he hurried down, Bill and the woman were both gone. He was just stepping from the stair door, wary and alert for a surprise of some sort, when there came a clatter of feet running across the porch. He dashed through the house to the door bv which he had entered. Just as he wrenched it open they rushed into the room behind him four of them, Bill in the lead. But, his purpose accomplished, Jack sprang outside and, with tantalizing deliberation, took his way toward the street. Bill thrust his battered face out at the door, scowled and swore, but none of the four ventured to follow, fol-low, like the alley rats they were, not daring to chase their prey into the open. Through a number of streets and side-streets in the neighborhood of Brickbat alley. Jack Warhope searched for Brownie. He even made Inquiries at all the livery and feed stables in the vicinity, but failed to find any trace of her. A thought suddenly came to him he frowned hard; muttered some very uncomplimentary things about himself that It hadn't occurred to him before the old tollgate keeper ten miles out on the River road, he had been there more years than Jack had lived and knew everybody from the Flatwoods i He would know if Texie had passed. Next moment the fleet Graylock was racing toward the bridge. Ten miles out on the River road he drew rein and dismounted by the well in front of the diminutive house of tin tollgate keeper. "Jist a mouthful fr the boss. Uncle Asbury." "He'p y'urse'f." The old mun shuffled shuf-fled up out of bis rickety chair nnii limped toward the well. "Be'n Icttln' 'ini out. hain't y'u?" "Some yes." He loosened the saddle girth; with the squeaky windlass cranked up a bucketful of water; allowed the horse to have It sparingly, a sup a! a time. (TO RE CONTINUF.D.) |