The Great Oakdale Mystery. Scott Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ sniffing around in search of the bird. In a few moments he brought the dead woodcock and placed it at his master’s feet.

      “A plump fellow,” laughed Sage, holding the kill up for the other lad to see. “That’s the first blood for you, Roy. Shall I put it in my bag?”

      “Sure; I haven’t any. There’s likely more of them near by.”

      There were more, and Sage evened things up by bringing down the next one. After this both boys missed a shot, and, though they had tried to “mark” their birds when they lighted, they beat back and forth for more than half an hour without getting another flush.

      “Come on,” said Roy at last; “I’m tired of this. There’s some good partridge timber near by, and I’d rather shoot one partridge than half a dozen woodcock.”

      “Every fellow to his taste,” laughed Sage. “I prefer the sport of woodcock shooting, and I certainly hate to leave without getting either of those two birds up again.”

      He yielded, however, to Hooker’s urging, and they left the low covers for the adjacent timber, in which partridges might be found.

      The partridges were there, too. Roy put one up almost beneath his feet, but the timber was so thick at that point that he could not get even a chance shot with the slightest hope of success. While he was grumbling over this, Spot made a point and the partridge rose with a booming of wings before Sage could give his companion warning.

      Fred fired.

      “Did you get her?” called Hooker.

      “I think I hit her,” was the answer. “I saw her go down. Come, Spot, we must dig that bird out.”

      Hooker started to follow, but had not advanced thirty feet before still another partridge rose and went sailing away in another direction. This time Roy fired, but he did so under such a disadvantage and with so much haste that he had little hope of bringing down the game.

      “Confound it!” he muttered. “Are all these birds going to get away?”

      For a full minute he stood still in his tracks, peering into the woods on all sides and listening keenly. Then he removed the empty shell from his gun and slipped a loaded one into place.

      “I’m going to follow that old bird I banged at,” he decided. “I don’t believe she went beyond the road that runs through these woods. If I can get her without the assistance of the dog, it will be a trick worth turning.”

      Having hurried after the partridge until he fancied he had reached a point where the bird might have alighted, he began creeping forward with the utmost caution, pausing every few yards to listen and use his eyes. Once an acorn, clipping down through the leaves and striking the ground, gave him a start, but it seemed that the partridge had flown farther than he thought, for presently, without again sighting the game, he approached the road. A short distance from the highway he stopped in his tracks and flung the gun to his shoulder, the barrel levelled toward some roadside bushes, near which he had heard a slight noise.

      Beyond the bushes a man rose into view from a stone on which he had been seated, and found himself looking straight into the muzzle of Hooker’s gun.

      CHAPTER II.

      THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER

      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.”

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