Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 111: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MYSTERY FARM. The farmer jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the direction from which he had come. “Over yonder,” he replied. “I’m Cyrus Bradley. I was just a hitchin’ up to go to town, but them shots sounded kinder like a signal, so I sort o’ calculated I’d stop over. Anything wrong?” Dick hesitated. ‘‘ The shots were a sig- nal,” he said slowly, “ but—well, to tell the truth, Mr. Bradley, I don’t know whether anything is wrong or not. By the way, | am Dick Graham, Warren Graham’s brother, you know.” Bradley dropped the lines on the dash, and held out a huge horny hand. “Glad to know yer,” he said, a slight smile lighting his humorous gray eyes. “Mis’ Graham told my Ruth they was ex- pectin’ of yer. Where’s the folks?” “T’d been hoping they were at your place,” replied Dick umeasily. ‘“‘ There is no one here. I’ve been here nearly two hours and I’ve searched everywhere.” In a few words he acquainted Bradley with the situation, and as he spoke the hu- morous gleam left the old man’s eyes and he shook his gray head slowly. “ Anything missin’?” he asked. “ Not a thing, so far as I can see, except the folks,’ returned Dick. ‘ What live stock is there, do you know?” “Pair o’ drivin’ horses and th’ boy’s pony in the stable there. Team o’ work horses in the barn, four cows, an’ a yoke o’ oxen. I guess that’s all ’ceptin’ chickens and th’ pigs. The cattle oughter be in the pasture t’other side o’ th’ house.” “ They are,” replied Graham dejectedly. “Was there more than one car?” “ Automobile? No. Just th’ one tow- ering car you see there.” ward the open door of the garage, and shook his head gloomily. ‘“‘ All I can say is it’s mighty blamed strange, but then, I ain’t such a terrible lot surprised neither; and I kin tell yer, young man, there’s folks around here that won’t be surprised a mite —not a mite.” “What the dickens do you mean by that?” asked Dick sharply. The old farm- er’s solemn tone startled him, and he re- membered suddenly the words of his TA He nodded to-_ ABT brother’s letter. ‘Not haunted exactly, but not just ‘ canny.’ ” Certainly this sudden and utter disap- pearance of five healthy human beings was decidedly uncanny. Bradley straightened his lank form and gathered up the lines. ‘““T can’t tell yer nothin’,” he drawled slowly, “ because for a fact I don’ know nothin’, ’cept that there’s been some darn queer things happened here since ol’ Jake Dennet died, forty odd years ago. But if I was you, Mr. Graham, I’d lock things up here—in case o’ tramps; no one from these parts ’d bother the house—and go along over to my place, just a piece down th’ road here. My girl Ruth ‘ll take care 0’ yer, and welcome. You kin board with us if you’ve a mind to, ’til your folks turn up—or they don’t.” “Thank you,” replied Dick absently. He had followed Bradley’s words mechani- cally, but his thoughts had been focused on the problem that confronted him. “ By the way,” he added, “ how about the—the coachman, or whatever he was. Who was he?” “You mean th’ hired man,” returned Bradley. “I don’t know. He seemed a decent enough young fellow. Stranger hereabouts. I calculate your brother got him from Boston. None of th’ boys around here would live in th’ Dennet place—not for thirty dollars a month. You ain’t thinkin’ de had anything to do with it, be yer? Not considerin’ th’ way th’ house is all in order and nothin’ missin’, and no sign of a fight nor anything? ’Tain’t reason- able.” ““ No, I suppose it’s not,” admitted Dick; “but what in blazes has become of them?” he added vehemently, his nerves getting a little the best of him for a moment. “ And what is all this hocus pocus about the house?” Bradley only shook his head mysterious- ly. “TI ain’t so derned sure it is hocus pocus,” he replied phlegmatically. “Td know one way or t’other; but this ain’t the first queer thing that’s happened at the Dennet place, young man, nor th’ first dis- appearance, if it turns out to be a disap- pearance. Well, I got to get long to town.” (COMMIE MOOKS