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CHAPTER V. ONE TURN DESERVES ANOTHER

WHEN the two tramps approached the farmhouse at which Billy had purchased

food a few hours before the farmer's wife called the dog that was asleep in the

summer kitchen and took a shotgun down from its hook beside the door.

From long experience the lady was a reader of character--of hobo character at

least--and she saw nothing in the appearance of either of these two that inspired

even a modicum of confidence. Now the young fellow who had been there earlier

in the day and who, wonder of wonders, had actually paid for the food she gave

him, had been of a different stamp. His clothing had proclaimed him a tramp,

but, thanks to the razor Bridge always carried, he was clean shaven. His year of

total abstinence had given him clear eyes and a healthy skin. There was a

freshness and vigor in his appearance and carriage that inspired confidence

rather than suspicion.

She had not mistrusted him; but these others she did mistrust. When they asked

to use the telephone she refused and ordered them away, thinking it but an

excuse to enter the house; but they argued the matter, explaining that they had

discovered an escaped murderer hiding near-by--in fact in her own meadow--and

that they wished only to call up the Kansas City police.

Finally she yielded, but kept the dog by her side and the shotgun in her hand

while the two entered the room and crossed to the telephone upon the opposite

side.

From the conversation which she overheard the woman concluded that, after all,

she had been mistaken, not only about these two, but about the young man who

had come earlier in the day and purchased food from her, for the description the

tramp gave of the fugitive tallied exactly with that of the young man.

It seemed incredible that so honest looking a man could be a murderer. The good

woman was shocked, and not a little unstrung by the thought that she had been

in the house alone when he had come and that if he had wished to he could

easily have murdered her.

"I hope they get him," she said, when the tramp had concluded his talk with

Kansas City. "It's awful the carryings on they is nowadays. Why a body can't

never tell who to trust, and I thought him such a nice young man. And he paid

me for what he got, too."

The dog, bored by the inaction, had wandered back into the summer kitchen and

resumed his broken slumber. One of the tramps was leaning against the wall

181

The Mucker