the darkness hid his smile of amusement. He knew
The Oskaloosa Kid well, and he knew him as an ex-pug with a pock marked
face, a bullet head, and a tin ear. The flash of lightning had revealed,
upon the contrary, a slender boy with smooth skin, an oval face, and
large dark eyes.

"Ah," he said, "so you are The Oskaloosa Kid! I am delighted, sir,
to make your acquaintance. Permit me to introduce myself: my name is
Bridge. If James were here I should ask him to mix one of his famous
cocktails that we might drink to our mutual happiness and the longevity
of our friendship."

"I am glad to know you, Mr. Bridge," said the youth. "Oh, I can't tell
you how glad I am to know you. I was so lonely and so afraid," and he
pressed closer to the older man whose arm still encircled his shoulder,
though at first he had been inclined to draw away in some confusion.

Talking together the two moved on along the dark road. The storm had
settled now into a steady rain with infrequent flashes of lightning and
peals of thunder. There had been no further indications of pursuit; but
Bridge argued that The Sky Pilot, being wise with the wisdom of the owl
and cunning with the cunning of the fox, would doubtless surmise that a
fugitive would take to the first road leading away from the main artery,
and that even though they heard nothing it would be safe to assume that
the gang was still upon the boy's trail. "And it's a bad bunch, too,"
he continued. "I've known them all for years. The Sky Pilot has the
reputation of never countenancing a murder; but that is because he is a
sly one. His gang kills; but when they kill under The Sky Pilot they
do it so cleverly that no trace of the crime remains. Their victim
disappears--that is all."

The boy trembled. "You won't let them get me?" he pleaded, pressing
closer to the man. The only response was a pressure of the arm about the
shoulders of The Oskaloosa Kid.

Over a low hill they followed the muddy road and down into a dark and
gloomy ravine. In a little open space to the right of the road a flash
of lightning revealed the outlines of a building a hundred yards from
the rickety and decaying fence which bordered the Squibbs' farm and
separated it from the road.

"Here we are!" cried Bridge, "and spooks or no spooks we'll find a
dry spot in that old ruin. There was a stove there last year and it's
doubtless there yet. A good fire to dry our clothes and warm us up
will fit us for a bully good slee