The New Boys at Oakdale Part 26

"Oh, I don't care if he does now," a.s.serted Shultz. "If we'd only told in the first place, it would have been better. Piper was right; I should have owned up like a man. That was the thing for me to do. I refused to see it then, but what I've been through since has opened my eyes."

"It seems to me," said Ned gently, "that we've both had our eyes opened.

Come, old fellow, let me help you to your feet. You've got to get back to the village somehow, if I have to pack you on my back."

"I can hobble. If you'll give me an arm, I'll manage to cripple along.

But I'm afraid to go back to Oakdale."

"It's the only thing you can do. There's no other way, old man. We've both of us got to face the worst, whatever it may be."

Shultz, indeed very lame, hung heavily on Osgood's arm, gritting his teeth and groaning at times with the pain his injured ankle gave him. In this manner they moved along slowly enough, keeping to the westward of Turkey Hill and making for the Barville road, as this was now the shortest and most direct course back to the village.

At intervals, as they went along, Shultz persisted in talking of the terrible experiences he had pa.s.sed through that night, repeating over and over that he was intensely thankful because in all probability Roy Hooker was still living.

"If he had died without telling a word, I'd never had a minute's peace in the world," he a.s.serted. "I'd always felt like a murderer. I hope they find him all right. I don't care if he does tell."

"I didn't urge you to confess, did I, Shultz?"

"No, no, but I should have done it. I was afraid, that was the trouble.

I was a coward. I didn't think it was fear at the time, but it was, just the same. I tried to make myself believe I was keeping still on your account. Well, really, I did think about what it would mean to you, Ned.

You're different from me. You're a gentleman, and I'm just a plain rotter, I guess."

"Oh, I don't know as there's so much difference between us, after all."

"Yes, there is. You've got some family behind you, and you're naturally proud of it. I've never had any particular reason to be proud of my people. Why, my father is a saloonkeeper. I never told you that, did I?

I didn't tell you, for I thought you might be disgusted and turn against me if you knew. I've always growled about my old man, because he didn't give me a lot of spending money. The reason why he didn't was because I raised merry blazes when I had money. He used to let me have enough-too much. When I blew it right and left, like an idiot, and kept getting into sc.r.a.pes, he cut my allowance down. You see the kind of a fellow you've been friendly with, Osgood, old man. You can see he's a rotter-just a plain rotter. Oh, you'll help me back to town. You'll do the right thing, because you're the right sort. But, now that you know what I am, we never could be friends any more, even if this Hooker business hadn't come up."

Osgood had permitted him to talk on in this fashion, although again and again Shultz's words made Ned cringe inwardly. At this point the listener interrupted.

"You're wrong, old man, if you believe anything you've said will make me think any the less of you. On the contrary, it will have precisely the opposite effect. You've told me all this about yourself, but there are a lot of things about myself that I've never told you. This is hardly the time for it, but you shall know, and then you'll understand that we're practically on a common level. I'm no better than you are."

"You say that because you _are_ better-because you're a natural gentleman, with blood and breeding. I don't think I ever before understood what makes a true gentleman. Oh, I've got my eyes open to heaps of things to-night."

"It's not impossible for a man to be a gentleman, even if he doesn't know who his own father and mother were," returned Osgood. "Breeding is all right, but there's a lot of rot in this talk about blood and ancestry."

"You never seemed specially proud of the fact that you had such fine ancestors behind you. I guess you're true American in your ideas, Osgood. For all of your family, you've always sort of pooh-poohed ancestry; and you with a perfect right to use a crest!"

Shultz was startled by the short, contemptuous laugh that burst from his companion's lips.

"The world is full of faking and fraud," said Ned. "It seems that half the people in it, at least, are trying to make other people believe they're something which they are not. Does the ankle hurt bad, old chap?"

"Like blazes," answered Charley through his teeth.

"Let me see if I can't get you on to my back and carry you."

"Not on your life! I'm going to walk back to town on that pin if I never step on it again. I'll just take it as part of the punishment I deserve."

They came presently to the path which the boys had taken on their way to the island in the swamp, and at last they issued from the woods and reached the Barville road. Rounding the base at Turkey Hill, they saw the village lying before them in the valley, and to the right, over the tops of trees, they beheld the shimmering waters of Lake Woodrim. The sweet and peaceful scene seemed to hold no hint of the exciting events of that remarkable night.

Some distance down the road Shultz perceived a few dark, moving objects, and suddenly he halted in alarm.

"Some one coming, Ned!" he palpitated. "Look! you can see them. It's a party of searchers after Hooker! I can't face them! They'll ask questions. Come on, let's cut across into the pines yonder."

Not far away to the right was a growth of pine timber, which reached to the very sh.o.r.e of Lake Woodrim. Releasing Osgood's arm, Shultz made suddenly for the side of the road, scrambled over a low stone wall and started at a hobbling run toward the pines.

Osgood followed, quickly overtaking him. They were running side by side, Shultz's breath whistling through his teeth with a sound like hissing steam, when up before them from a little hollow, as if rising out of the very ground itself, came a human being, head bare, and all in white to its waist. One look he gave them, and then like a frightened deer he went bounding straight for the woods.

"Merciful wonders!" burst from Osgood. "It's Roy Hooker!"

CHAPTER XXV

INTO THE OLD QUARRY.

For a double reason they did not call to Hooker; not only was it unlikely that he would heed them, but the men on the Barville road would doubtless hear their cries. So Osgood, who had been gauging his speed by that of the crippled Shultz, immediately shot forward, leaving Charley limping behind, but doing his utmost.

Realizing how difficult it would be to run down the deranged lad in the dark depths of the heavy pines, Ned strained every nerve to reach him before he could plunge into the woods. To his dismay, he quickly perceived that this would be impossible, Hooker being very fleet of foot. At the last moment Osgood ventured to call, suppressing his voice in a measure, and hoping against hope that the unreasoning fugitive might give heed.

"Roy-Roy Hooker!" he cried. "We're friends. We won't hurt you. Stop, Roy-stop! Wait for us!"

Had Hooker been stone deaf, the words would have had no more effect. Not a particle did he relax in his flight, and Ned was some rods away when Roy was swallowed by the black shadows of the timbers.

Into the woods Osgood dashed, still hoping that through some chance he might overtake the fleeing lad. There was not much undergrowth amid the pines, yet for a time the persistent pursuer was guided by the sounds of the other boy, who turned and twisted and zigzagged here and there in a most baffling way.

"We're friends, Roy-we're friends!" Osgood called again and again.

"Don't be afraid of us! Wait a minute!"

It was useless. The guiding sounds grew fainter, and at last, unable to hear them, Osgood stopped to listen. Then he realized that behind him Shultz was calling, begging not to be abandoned.

"We were so close, so close!" muttered Ned, in deep disappointment. "If we'd only got a little nearer before he started, I could have run him down."

He answered Shultz, and presently Charley came hobbling and panting through the darkness.

"Did you catch him?" was his first question.

"No, he got away; but he's somewhere in these woods, and, knowing that much, we may be able to find him yet. If we could only take him safely back to Oakdale, it might seem to square up a little for what we've done."

"I was afraid you'd leave me," Shultz almost whimpered. "I was afraid to be left alone again. Don't do it, Ned-please don't. If you hear him or see him, don't run away from me."

Only yesterday Osgood could never have dreamed it possible for anything so completely to break the nerve of his companion. There was little left of the old stubborn, defiant, bulldozing Shultz; in his abject terror of being left alone, he was more like a timid child.

"We ought to get searchers, a whole lot of them, and bring them here,"

said Ned. "That would be the right thing to do."

"But if we could only find him ourselves without other aid," argued Charley, "it would give us a better show with the people who'll be ready enough to jump on us when they know the truth. We might find him, you know. He can't be far away. Which way was he going the last you knew?"

"Toward the lake, I think, but he kept dodging about, so that there is no real certainty of it. Probably he hasn't any objective point in his mind. He just ran in any direction that happened to be the easiest."