The Great Oakdale Mystery

CHAPTER I.

THE HUNTERS

Two boys, each carrying a gun, came out of a strip of woods and paused. They were followed by a short-haired pointer dog. One of the boys, whose gun was a single-barreled repeater, bore a game-bag suspended from his shoulder by a strap, and he spoke to the dog with an air of authority that proclaimed him the animal’s master. He was a pleasant-faced, blue-eyed chap, and his name was Fred Sage.

The gun of the other boy was a double-barreled hammerless. The boy had a slightly undershot jaw, and his eyes were a trifle too small. This was Roy Hooker. During the months of the past summer these two fellows had become exceedingly friendly.

“There are the Hopkins woodcock covers down yonder, Fred,” said Roy, pointing across the open strip of pasture land. “Old Hopkins doesn’t like to have anyone gun there, but I’m for giving those covers a try, as long as he will probably never know it.”

“Has he posted ‘No Trespass’ signs?” asked Sage.

“Guess not; I haven’t seen any. He doesn’t do any shooting himself, but being a cranky old bear, he doesn’t like to have anyone else gun on his property.”

“Well, as long as there are no warnings posted and he hasn’t personally notified us to keep off, we’ll see if we can find any birds there. The covers look attractive to me. Here, Spot; heel, sir.”

With the first indication that the boys intended to proceed, the eager dog had started forward, but he turned at the command of his master and once more fell in behind.

The forenoon of this clear, sunny autumn day was not far advanced, the young hunters having set forth shortly after breakfast. Although the air was clear and almost warm, there was a certain suggestion of crispness in it, which, together with the flaming leaves of the deciduous trees, plainly betokened that the early autumn frosts had been at work. The stubble of the open pasture land was brown and dry. Behind the boys, in the woods they had just left, squirrels were chattering and bluejays screaming, but Fred and Roy were after bigger and more legitimate game. Thus far their hunt had proved disappointing.

“If we don’t find anything down yonder,” said Hooker, “I’ll get mad and shoot the next squirrel that barks at me. I was tempted to pop over one big gray fellow that leered at me from a limb.”

“You don’t eat squirrels, do you?”

“Oh, no.”

“What would you do with them if you should shoot ’em?”

“Nothing; just throw them away.”

“Then don’t shoot them, Roy. It’s not good sport to kill practically harmless creatures simply for the sake of killing something. I’d rather never shoot anything at all than do that.”

“Oh, you’re deucedly finicky about some things, old fellow. You won’t have many chances to gun this fall, for football is going to keep you busy. When I proposed it last night I hardly thought I’d get you out to-day.”

“And I came out with the understanding that we are to get back in time for practice this afternoon. Next Saturday, a week from to-day, the team plays its first game.”

“And will be beautifully beaten,” prophesied Hooker.

“What makes you think so?”

“Why shouldn’t I think so? The eleven is going to be weak this year. With Roger Eliot for captain, it made an unexpected success last fall; but Eliot is gone, and Stone, who was chosen to follow him as captain, never can be such a crafty, far-sighted general. The team was weakened fifty per cent by the loss of Eliot.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” admitted Sage; “but you seem to forget that we ought to receive some strength from the development of new players. For instance, there’s that fellow from Texas, Rodney Grant – ”

“Oh, yes,” nodded Roy quickly, “I suppose he’ll help some, but it takes time to make a football player, and Grant has had little experience at the game. Stone realizes he’s going to be shy of material, and he’s coaxing everybody to come out for practice. He’s been at me.”

“You’re going to come out, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. Never did care a great deal about football. You know it’s my ambition to be a baseball pitcher, and a fellow can’t do everything.”

“Baseball is over now, and there’ll be no more until next spring. For the good of the team you ought to take hold and do your best to become a player and fill one of the weak spots.”

“And maybe get a broken leg or arm or collar-bone to set me back. A baseball player is taking chances when he goes in for football.”

“But if none of our ball players went in for football,” reminded Sage, “we’d have no eleven. Our school isn’t big enough for the two teams to be made up of distinct and independent bodies of players. You’re quick, active and strong, Roy, and, if you choose to take hold and work hard, it seems to me you might become one of the valuable members of the eleven.”

“Oh, possibly,” admitted Hooker, attempting to conceal the fact that he was somewhat flattered. “I fancy I could do as well as some other fellows, Piper, Cooper or Tuttle, for instance. In a way they are mere makeshifts; none of them is a bang-up good football man.”

By this time they had crossed the pasture land and reached the edge of the covers, the dog betraying a restless desire to get to work. Sage permitted the animal to go forward, directing his movements now and then by a word of command, and, with the guns held ready for quick use, the young hunters advanced slowly, keeping their eyes on the pointer the most of the time. They separated somewhat and went forward with the dog at the apex of an imaginary triangle. Nearly all the time the boys could see each other through the scrub growth, which made it unlikely that either would place his friend in danger by careless shooting.

Moving hither and thither, sniffing, pausing, advancing, every hunting instinct alert, the dog did his work beautifully. Suddenly, with one foot uplifted, tail horizontal and rigid and muzzle thrust forward, the pointer became a statue of stone. Directly ahead of him, a few feet away, was a thick cluster of low bushes.

“Point, Roy – point!” called Sage softly, his repeater held in both hands and half lifted, ready for a quick shot.

Immediately Hooker swerved toward the dog and advanced as swiftly and noiselessly as possible, in order to obtain a position for a shot when the bird should flush. Reaching a favorable spot, he placed himself in position to shoot and waited for the rise.

The seconds passed slowly – so slowly that to the anxious boys they seemed more like minutes. A chickadee flitted through the bushes, lighted on a branch within five feet of Roy, performed some surprising horizontal bar evolutions and applauded himself in a ludicrously hoarse voice. Something rustled at a distance, like a creature running swiftly along the ground. Far away, so far that it was but faintly heard, the gun of some other hunter spoke.

With a sudden whirr of wings a woodcock rose straight up from the further side of the cluster of bushes. The butt of Sage’s gun came to his shoulder, his eye caught the sights, and he fired.

Hooker was a trifle slower, but ere Sage, realizing that he had shot too quickly and therefore made a miss, could fire again, Roy’s weapon spoke.

Down came the bird into the midst of the thicket.

“Good work, old man,” cried Fred approvingly. “You got him. I shot under; didn’t wait for him to make his full rise. Go fetch, Spot.”

The dog, released from the spell that had chained him motionless, plunged forward, 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.”

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.

CHAPTER III.

THE HOME OF THE SAGES

“Well, what do you know about that?” muttered Hooker wonderingly. “He’s gone.”

“Who?” questioned Fred, reaching the road.

“The man – the man I was talking with. He was sitting right here on this stone when I came sneaking down through the woods, and I almost shot his head off. He rose up into view just in time. Where the dickens has he gone?”

In both directions a strip of road lay in plain view, but, save themselves, there was no human being to be seen upon it.

“When did he go?” questioned Sage.

“After you fired; while I was watching for you to come out of the woods. He was right here within five feet of me. I can’t understand how he got away so quickly without my knowing it. He must have put off into the woods on the other side.”

“What made him do that?”

“You’ve got me. He was a stranger around these parts, and said he was looking for work. There was something queer about him, too. He was a good, healthy looking specimen, and he didn’t seem like a hobo, though his clothes were rather rough. He talked like an educated man. Say, Fred, he asked about you.”

“About me?” exclaimed Sage in surprise. “Why, how was that?”

“Don’t know. He asked if there was a family by the name of Sage in Oakdale and how long they had been there. He must be someone who knows you, Fred.”

“Describe him.”

Roy did so as well as he was able, but his friend did not seem at all enlightened.

“I can’t imagine who he was,” said Fred. “The description doesn’t seem to fit anyone I know. Did he give his name?”

“No; I forgot to ask it. He talked like a Socialist or an Anarchist, although he didn’t look to be a very desperate character. And he seemed nervous and troubled about something or other, but perhaps that was because he fancied he had come so near getting himself shot. When he saw me, with the gun leveled straight at him, he turned pale.”

“I don’t wonder,” said Fred, with a laugh. “It was enough to give anyone a start. I don’t see what made him run away, and I wish he’d waited until I could have taken a look at him.”

“Perhaps he was somebody who knew you before you came to Oakdale.”

Sage frowned a bit. “It doesn’t seem likely, and yet, of course, it may be so. Well, we can’t fret ourselves about him. Let’s go on with the hunt. Spot is getting restless.”

For some time the pointer had been running back and forth in the road, turning at intervals to gaze inquiringly at his master and whine beseechingly. Apparently the dog was wondering why the boys should linger there, with the woods all about them and their success thus far giving ample evidence that there was plenty of game to be had for the hunting.

Absorbed once more in the search for birds, both lads seemingly dismissed all thoughts of the stranger and his puzzling behavior; but, had he possessed the faculty of reading his companion’s mind, Hooker would have been surprised to discover that, far from dismissing such thoughts, Sage was not a little troubled by them. Indeed, so deeply plunged was he in mental speculations that he failed to note when the dog next made a point, and he flushed the bird unexpectedly by the careless manner in which he stumbled forward through the underbrush. Taken thus unawares, he could not recover his self-possession in time to shoot, and, Hooker being in no position to fire, the game got away untouched, not a little to the disgust of Spot.

“What’s the matter with you, Fred?” called Roy sharply. “You almost stepped on that one. Didn’t you see Spot point?”

“No,” was the regretful confession, “I didn’t notice it.”

“I started to call to you, but I thought you knew your business and were ready to pepper away when the bird flushed.”

Later, when they ran into a covey of woodcock, Fred was astonishingly slow about shooting, and Hooker brought down two birds to his one, which seemed rather remarkable, as Sage was much the better wing shot. It was Fred, too, who, seeming the first to tire of the sport, finally proposed that they should go home.

“There’s time enough,” objected Roy. “Practice doesn’t begin until three o’clock, and it’s not yet noon.”