"
"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.
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