Hoofbeats on the Turnpike Part 3

CHAPTER 3 _INTO THE VALLEY_

The slow train crept around a bend and puffed to a standstill at the drowsing little station of Hobostein. Louise and Penny, their linen suits mussed from many weary hours of sitting, were the only pa.s.sengers to alight.

"Yesterday it seemed like a good idea," sighed Louise. "But now, I'm not so sure."

Penny stepped aside to avoid a dolly-truck which was being pushed down the deserted platform by a station attendant. She too felt ill at ease in this strange town and the task she had set for herself suddenly seemed a silly one. But not for anything in the world would she make such an admission.

"First we'll find the newspaper office," she said briskly. "This town is so small it can't be far away."

They carried their over-night bags into the stuffy little station. The agent, in shirt sleeves and green eye shade, speared a train order on the spindle and then glanced curiously at the girls.

"Anything I can do for you?"

"Yes," replied Penny. "Please tell us how to find the offices of the Hobostein Weekly."

"It's just a piece down the street," directed the agent. "Go past the old town pump, and the livery stable. A red brick building. Best one in town.

You can't miss it."

Penny and Louise took their bags and crossed to the shady side of the street. A horse and carriage had been tied to a hitching post and by contrast an expensive, new automobile was parked beside it. The unpaved road was thick with dust; the broken sidewalk was coated with it, as were the little plots of struggling gra.s.s.

In the entire town few persons were abroad. An old lady in a sunbonnet busily loaded boxes of groceries into a farm wagon. The only other sign of activity was at the livery stable where a group of men slouched on the street benches.

"Must we pa.s.s there?" Louise murmured. "Those men are staring as if they never saw a girl before."

"Let them," said Penny, undisturbed.

Two doors beyond the livery stable stood a newly built red brick building. In gold paint on the expanse of unwashed plate gla.s.s window were the words: "Hobostein Weekly."

With heads high the girls ran the gantlet of loungers and reached the newspaper office. Through the plate gla.s.s they glimpsed a large, cluttered room where desks, bins of type, table forms and a ma.s.sive flat-bed press all seemed jammed together. A rotund man they took to be the editor was talking to a customer in a loud voice. Neither took the slightest notice of the girls as they pushed open the door.

"I don't care who you are or how much money you have," the editor was saying heatedly. "I run my paper as I please--see! If you don't like my editorials you don't have to read them."

"You're a pin-headed, stubborn Dutchman!" the other man retorted. "It makes no difference to me what you run in your stupid old weekly, providing you don't deliberately try to stir up the people of this valley."

"Worrying about your pocketbook?"

"I'm the largest tax payer in the valley. If there's an a.s.sessment for repairs on the Huntley Lake Dam it will cost me thousands of dollars."

"And if you had an ounce of sense, you'd see that without the repairs your property may not be worth a nickel! If these rains keep up, the dam's apt to give way, and your property would go in the twinkling of an eye. Not that I'm worried about your property. But I am concerned about the folks who are still living in the valley."

"Schultz, you're a calamity-howler!" the other accused. "There's no danger of the dam giving way and you know it. By writing these hot editorials you're just trying to stir up public feeling--you're hoping to shake me down so I'll underwrite a costly and unnecessary repair bill."

The editor pushed back his chair and arose. His voice remained controlled but his eyes snapped like fire brands.

"Get out of this office!" he ordered. "The Hobostein Weekly can do without your subscription. You've been a pain to this community ever since you came. Good afternoon!"

"You can't talk like that to me, Byron Schultz!" the other man began hotly. Then his gaze fell upon Louise and Penny who stood just inside the door. Jamming on his hat, he went angrily from the building.

The editor crumpled a sheet of paper and hurled it into a waste basket.

The act seemed to restore his good humor, for with a wry grin he then turned toward the girls.

"Yes?" he inquired.

Penny scarcely knew how to begin. Sliding into a chair beside the editor's desk, she fumbled in her purse for the advertis.e.m.e.nt clipped from the Hobostein Weekly. To her confusion she could not find it.

"Lose something?" the editor inquired kindly. "That's my trouble too.

Last week we misplaced the copy for Gregg's Grocery Store and was Jake hoppin' mad! Found it again just before the Weekly went to press."

"Here it is!" said Penny triumphantly. She placed the clipping on Mr.

Schultz' desk.

"Haven't I had enough of that man in one day!" the editor snorted. "The old skinflint never paid me for the ad either!"

"Who is J. Burmaster?" Penny inquired eagerly.

"Who is he?" The editor's gray-blue eyes sent out little flashes of fire.

"He's the most egotistical, thick-headed, muddle-brained property owner in this community."

"Not the man who was just here?"

"Yes, that was John Burmaster."

"Then he lives in Hobostein?"

"He does not," said the editor with emphasis. "It's bad enough having him seven miles away. You don't mean to tell me you haven't seen Sleepy Hollow estate?"

Penny shook her head. She explained that as strangers to the town, she and Louise had made no trips or inquiries.

"Sleepy Hollow is quite a show place," the editor went on grudgingly.

"Old Burmaster built it about a year ago. Imported an architect and workmen from the city. The house has a long bridge leading up to it, and is supposed to be like the Sleepy Hollow of legend. Only the legend kinda backfired."

"You're speaking about the Headless Horseman?" Penny leaned forward in her chair.

"When Burmaster built his house, the old skinflint didn't calculate on getting a haunt to go with it," the editor chuckled. "Served him right for being so muleish."

"But what is the story of the Headless Horseman?" Penny asked. "Has Mr.

Burmaster actually offered a five hundred dollar reward for its capture?"

"He'd give double the amount to get that Horseman off his neck!" chuckled the editor. "But folks up Delta way aren't so dumb. The reward never will be collected."

"Is Delta the name of a town?"

"Yes, it's up the valley a piece," explained Mr. Schultz. "You don't seem very familiar with our layout here."