The Great Oakdale Mystery Page 3

  CHAPTER II.

  THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.

  Roy was tremendously startled. The gun had an easy pull, and his bentfinger was gently touching the trigger, yet so astonished was he by theunexpected appearance of the man that for some moments he stood rigidwith the weapon leveled at the stranger’s head.

  On the other hand, the man was no less dismayed. Not more thantwenty-six or seven years of age, he was somewhat roughly dressed anddecidedly in need of a shave. His eyes opened wide at sight of thethreatening 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 gettingshot, 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 theyoung hunter keenly, he gave a short, nervous laugh.

  “It’s pretty serious,” he said, “when a chap can’t sit down by theroadside to rest without being in danger of getting himself pepperedfrom a shotgun. You should make sure of the kind of game you’re bangingat, before you fire.”

  “If I hadn’t done so,” returned Hooker, still feeling slightlyresentful, “I’d probably blown your head off. I was following apartridge. 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 fiveminutes—perhaps not that long.”

  The man had a pleasant, agreeable face, and Hooker thought that, were heshaved and better dressed, he would be a rather good-looking chap.Apparently he had not wholly recovered from the start which the sight ofthe 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 oldbird to this point. Perhaps she flew across the road before you camealong.”

  “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’tit?”

  “You must be a total stranger in these parts,” said Roy, as he steppedout into the road. “Oakdale is not more than three or four miles fromhere. It’s a country village.” He was wondering if the man could be atramp, but closer inspection made this seem quite improbable, despitethe 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 workif 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 areyour special qualifications?”

  “I haven’t any,” was the frank confession. “I’m ready to do any sort ofwork 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 toknow something about the workmen they engage, and they are apt to besuspicious of a total stranger who looks a bit rough and down in hisluck.”

  “Of course you’re ready to tell anyone about yourself and givereferences?”

  The young man shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t happen to have anyreferences,” he answered. “Of course I can answer questions aboutmyself, but who would know I wasn’t lying?”

  “If you stated your last place of employment, it would be a simplematter 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 formeremployer. Perhaps,” he went on hastily, “we quarreled over something forwhich I was not at all to blame, and that quarrel led to my leavingwithout giving due notice. You see, that would deprive me of referencesand would make it impossible for me to hope for any benefit by statingwhere and for whom I had worked.”

  “Yes, I see,” nodded Hooker slowly. “That would put you in bad. In sucha case, unless someone was in great need of a man, I doubt if you couldfind employment.”

  The stranger made a quick gesture with one hand.

  “There you are,” he said; “or rather, there I am. Until you get upagainst it yourself, you’ll not be able to understand such apredicament, and I hope you’ll never have the misfortune to face such asituation.”

  Now Hooker had been led to believe that the misfortunes which usuallybefall a person, barring ill health, were almost always the result ofincompetence, carelessness or dishonesty, and the fact that thisstranger was wholly indisposed to make known his past history led theboy to regard him with doubt and suspicion. Perhaps the man understoodsomething 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; theywant to pry into his private affairs. But I tell you,” he added, atrifle bitterly, “I feel that it’s none of their business, and I resenttheir impertinence. The man who gives me a job at which I can earn anhonest living will find me ready to do my work, and do it well. Whyshould he insist on probing private matters concerning me, any more thanI should demand to know about his personal history? In fact, in manycases it would be to the advantage of the laborer if his employer werecompelled to lay bare such secrets. A great many would be shown up asgrinders of the poor, bloodsuckers living and growing fat upon thelife-toll of others, unfeeling despots paying their workmen a merepittance while they piled up riches by what those workmen produced. Andsome would be branded as dishonest rascals from whom their neighborswould shrink in abhorrence.”

  “Jingoes!” exclaimed Hooker, fancying himself enlightened by thevehement words of the stranger. “I guess I know what’s the matter withyou. You must be a Socialist.”

  The man laughed. “That’s the usual term applied in these days to thosewho have courage enough to question the honesty and fair dealing of acertain greedy, selfish brand of employers. But I’m not claiming thatall employers are of that sort. If they were, conditions in this countrywould be desperate indeed. But what’s the use in talking to you of suchthings; you’re simply a boy, and at your age problems of that nature hadnever troubled me for a moment. At your age,” he continued, somethinglike a dreamy look of sadness creeping into his blue eyes, “I was ascarefree and thoughtless as you are to-day. I’d give a great deal if itwere possible for me to go back to that time.”

  This statement served to convince Hooker that the stranger was carryinga secret locked in his heart, and that the secret was one which gave himno small amount of regret and remorse. Otherwise, why should a man inthe very prime of his youth and vigor, a time to which Roy lookedforward with eager anticipation, desire to blot out a portion of hislife 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 bythe 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 YorkState. Why, Fred Sage is my chum.”

  “Oh, is he?” The stranger’s eyes were now bright with interest and hismanner eager.

  “You bet he is,” nodded Roy. “He’s a fine chap, too. We’re gunningtogether to-day. He’s the fellow I spoke of. I left him back yonder withhis dog. Do you know the Sages? If you do, perhaps they might give you arecommendation that would help you get work.”

  At this moment the report of a gun, only a short distance away, rangthrough the woods.

  “That’s Fred—that’s him now,” cried Hooker. “I’ll bet he bagged that oldbiddy.” Then he lifted his voice and shouted: “Hey, Fred! Here I am, outin the road. Did you get anything?”

  “I didn’t miss that time,” came back the triumphant answer. “It’s apartridge.”

  “The one I was after, I reckon,” said Roy, with a touch of chagrin. “Shemust have run on the ground so that I lost track of her. Here comes Frednow.”

  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 holdingaloft a dead partridge.

  “The other one fooled me and I lost her,” he said; “but I got a goodopen 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, butshe gave me the slip all right. I was so hot after her that I came nearshooting——”

  He stopped abruptly, his mouth open as he looked around for themysterious stranger. To his astonishment, the man had disappeared.