The darkness hid the expression
upon Bridge's face, but his conviction that the girl was
pretty was unaltered. The light of the match had re-
vealed an oval face surrounded by dark, dishevelled
tresses, red, full lips, and large, dark eyes.
Further discussion of the young woman was discour-
aged by a repetition of the clanking of the chain with-
out. Now it was receding along the hallway toward
the stairs and presently, to the infinite relief of The Os-
kaloosa Kid, the two heard it descending to the lower
floor.
"What was it, do you think?" asked the boy, his voice
still trembling upon the verge of hysteria.
"I don't know," replied Bridge. "I've never been a be-
liever in ghosts and I'm not now; but I'll admit that it
takes a whole lot of--"
He did not finish the sentence for a moan from the
bed diverted his attention to the injured girl, toward
whom he now turned. As they listened for a repetition
of the sound there came another--that of the creaking of
the old bed slats as the girl moved upon the mildewed
mattress. Dimly, through the darkness, Bridge saw that
the victim of the recent murderous assault was attempt-
ing to sit up. He moved closer and leaned above her.
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