Читать книгу The Great Oakdale Mystery - Scott Morgan - Страница 2

Roy was tremendously startled. The gun had an easy pull, and his bent finger was gently touching the trigger, yet so astonished was he by the unexpected appearance of the man that for some moments he stood rigid with the weapon leveled at the stranger’s head.

On the other hand, the man was no less dismayed. Not more than twenty-six or seven years of age, he was somewhat roughly dressed and decidedly in need of a shave. His eyes opened wide at sight of the threatening weapon, and a wave of pallor swept over his bronzed face. Not a word escaped his parted lips.

Presently, with a catch of his breath, Hooker lowered the gun.

“By Jove!” he cried, with a touch of resentment. “You came near getting shot, bobbing up that fashion from behind those bushes.”

No longer menaced by the gun, the stranger seemed greatly relieved. Gradually the color returned to his face, and, his eyes searching the young hunter keenly, he gave a short, nervous laugh.

“It’s pretty serious,” he said, “when a chap can’t sit down by the roadside to rest without being in danger of getting himself peppered from a shotgun. You should make sure of the kind of game you’re banging at, before you fire.”

“If I hadn’t done so,” returned Hooker, still feeling slightly resentful, “I’d probably blown your head off. I was following a partridge. Did you see one fly across the road a short time ago?”

“No, I didn’t; but I haven’t been here more than four or five minutes – perhaps not that long.”

The man had a pleasant, agreeable face, and Hooker thought that, were he shaved and better dressed, he would be a rather good-looking chap. Apparently he had not wholly recovered from the start which the sight of the armed boy had given him, for he was still a bit nervous and uneasy.

“Maybe,” said Roy, “it took me longer than I thought to follow that old bird to this point. Perhaps she flew across the road before you came along.”

“Are you alone?” asked the man.

“I’m with a friend. He’s back in the woods somewhere with his dog.”

“Of course you live near here?”

“Yes, in Oakdale.”

The man seemed interested. “Oakdale; that’s a small town near by, isn’t it?”

“You must be a total stranger in these parts,” said Roy, as he stepped out into the road. “Oakdale is not more than three or four miles from here. It’s a country village.” He was wondering if the man could be a tramp, but closer inspection made this seem quite improbable, despite the stranger’s rough clothes and somewhat shabby appearance.

“No, I don’t belong around here,” said the man. “I’m looking for work. Anything a fellow can do in Oakdale?”

“I don’t know about that, but I presume one could find some sort of work if he wasn’t too particular. There are two mills and some lime quarries, but the men who work in the quarries are mostly foreigners. What are your special qualifications?”

“I haven’t any,” was the frank confession. “I’m ready to do any sort of work to earn an honest living.”

“In that case, it shouldn’t be hard for you to find something.”

“It’s not as easy as you might think. You see, employers usually like to know something about the workmen they engage, and they are apt to be suspicious of a total stranger who looks a bit rough and down in his luck.”

“Of course you’re ready to tell anyone about yourself and give references?”

The young man shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t happen to have any references,” he answered. “Of course I can answer questions about myself, but who would know I wasn’t lying?”

“If you stated your last place of employment, it would be a simple matter to investigate your story.”

Again that quick shrugging of the shoulders. “Yes, but supposing that, for reasons of my own, I didn’t care to tell where I’ve been employed?”

“Reasons? What sort of reasons could you have, unless – ”

“It might be the case, you know, that I had had trouble with my former employer. Perhaps,” he went on hastily, “we quarreled over something for which I was not at all to blame, and that quarrel led to my leaving without giving due notice. You see, that would deprive me of references and would make it impossible for me to hope for any benefit by stating where and for whom I had worked.”

“Yes, I see,” nodded Hooker slowly. “That would put you in bad. In such a case, unless someone was in great need of a man, I doubt if you could find employment.”

The stranger made a quick gesture with one hand.

“There you are,” he said; “or rather, there I am. Until you get up against it yourself, you’ll not be able to understand such a predicament, and I hope you’ll never have the misfortune to face such a situation.”

Now Hooker had been led to believe that the misfortunes which usually befall a person, barring ill health, were almost always the result of incompetence, carelessness or dishonesty, and the fact that this stranger was wholly indisposed to make known his past history led the boy to regard him with doubt and suspicion. Perhaps the man understood something of what was passing in Roy’s mind, for suddenly he said:

“You can see how it is; even you would hesitate about giving me work. That’s the way with everybody. They demand to know a person’s past; they want to pry into his private affairs. But I tell you,” he added, a trifle bitterly, “I feel that it’s none of their business, and I resent their impertinence. The man who gives me a job at which I can earn an honest living will find me ready to do my work, and do it well. Why should he insist on probing private matters concerning me, any more than I should demand to know about his personal history? In fact, in many cases it would be to the advantage of the laborer if his employer were compelled to lay bare such secrets. A great many would be shown up as grinders of the poor, bloodsuckers living and growing fat upon the life-toll of others, unfeeling despots paying their workmen a mere pittance while they piled up riches by what those workmen produced. And some would be branded as dishonest rascals from whom their neighbors would shrink in abhorrence.”

“Jingoes!” exclaimed Hooker, fancying himself enlightened by the vehement words of the stranger. “I guess I know what’s the matter with you. You must be a Socialist.”

The man laughed. “That’s the usual term applied in these days to those who have courage enough to question the honesty and fair dealing of a certain greedy, selfish brand of employers. But I’m not claiming that all employers are of that sort. If they were, conditions in this country would be desperate indeed. But what’s the use in talking to you of such things; you’re simply a boy, and at your age problems of that nature had never troubled me for a moment. At your age,” he continued, something like a dreamy look of sadness creeping into his blue eyes, “I was as carefree and thoughtless as you are to-day. I’d give a great deal if it were possible for me to go back to that time.”

This statement served to convince Hooker that the stranger was carrying a secret locked in his heart, and that the secret was one which gave him no small amount of regret and remorse. Otherwise, why should a man in the very prime of his youth and vigor, a time to which Roy looked forward with eager anticipation, desire to blot out a portion of his life that he might return to the days of his boyhood?

The sad and dreamy look was gone in a moment, and the stranger asked:

“Have you lived long in Oakdale?”

“Brought up there,” answered Hooker.

“Then I presume you know nearly everyone in town?”

“Sure. In a little place like that everybody knows everybody else.”

The man’s next question gave the lad a start: “Do you know any people by the name of Sage?”

“What? Sage? I should say so!”

“Ah!” breathed the man. “There is a family by that name in Oakdale?”

“Yes.”

“How long have they been there?”

“Let me see. About three years, I think.”

“Where did they come from? Do you know?”

“Not exactly, though I believe they came from somewhere in New York State. Why, Fred Sage is my chum.”

“Oh, is he?” The stranger’s eyes were now bright with interest and his manner eager.

“You bet he is,” nodded Roy. “He’s a fine chap, too. We’re gunning together to-day. He’s the fellow I spoke of. I left him back yonder with his dog. Do you know the Sages? If you do, perhaps they might give you a recommendation that would help you get work.”

At this moment the report of a gun, only a short distance away, rang through the woods.

“That’s Fred – that’s him now,” cried Hooker. “I’ll bet he bagged that old biddy.” Then he lifted his voice and shouted: “Hey, Fred! Here I am, out in the road. Did you get anything?”

“I didn’t miss that time,” came back the triumphant answer. “It’s a partridge.”

“The one I was after, I reckon,” said Roy, with a touch of chagrin. “She must have run on the ground so that I lost track of her. Here comes Fred now.”

There was a sound of someone pushing through the underbrush, and Roy, facing the woods, waited for his chum to appear. In a few moments, followed by the dog, Sage came out of the woods, triumphantly holding aloft a dead partridge.

“The other one fooled me and I lost her,” he said; “but I got a good open chance at this old biddy. She didn’t get away.”

“She got away from me,” said Roy. “I’m sure that’s the one I chased, but she gave me the slip all right. I was so hot after her that I came near shooting – ”

He stopped abruptly, his mouth open as he looked around for the mysterious stranger. To his astonishment, the man had disappeared.