"You won't let them get me?" he
pleaded, pressing closer to the man. The only response
was a pressure of the arm about the shoulders of The
Oskaloosa Kid.
Over a low hill they followed the muddy road and
down into a dark and gloomy ravine. In a little open
space to the right of the road a flash of lightning re-
vealed the outlines of a building a hundred yards from
the rickety and decaying fence which bordered the
Squibbs' farm and separated it from the road.
"Here we are!" cried Bridge, "and spooks or no spooks
we'll find a dry spot in that old ruin. There was a stove
there last year and it's doubtless there yet. A good fire
to dry our clothes and warm us up will fit us for a bully
good sleep, and I'll wager a silk hat that The Oskaloosa
Kid is a mighty sleepy kid, eh?"
The boy admitted the allegation and the two turned
in through the gateway, stepping over the fallen gate
and moving through knee high weeds toward the for-
bidding structure in the distance. A clump of trees sur-
rounded the house, their shade adding to the almost ut-
ter blackness of the night.
The two had reached the verandah when Bridge,
turning, saw a brilliant light flaring through the night
above the crest of the hill they had just topped in their
descent into the ravine, or, to be more explicit, the small
valley, where stood the crumbling house of Squibbs.
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