Unkempt grass and weeds grew up to the high stoop; there was no porch. Behind the house and a little to the left, Skippy glimpsed a barn that was also in disrepair. Notwithstanding this, he supposed that Barker and Frost parked their car in it.
“No bulls’ll turn you kids up here,” Frost said, as if reading their thoughts. He turned a leathern-looking face toward Skippy, smiling out of shrewd eyes. “This house usta be in the center of a village till a fire burned the town out. Then the railroad decided to run twenty-five miles away so the folks left it flat. This bein’ the only house left they let the woods grow up ’round it and now, after seventy-five years, nobody knew about it, ’cept an old nit-wit hermit that put me and Barker wise. Last year he died so there ain’t nobody now’ll bother you kids, much less the bulls.”
Barker turned to them and in the half-light his long, grave face and staring light eyes contrasted strangely with the dark wisps of hair that straggled from under his hat and down on his forehead. But it was when he talked that Skippy was startled, for the man’s voice was so solemn and sonorous that it was eerie.
“Now boys,” he was saying, “you see how safe you are here. Keep it in mind and don’t get the idea that you can manage your own freedom better than I can. For one thing, it would get Frost and me into trouble if you were picked up and if you weren’t, you’d get in trouble yourselves, because this place is almost all surrounded by swamps and you might not find your way out. When I say the coast is clear to ship you west—all right. You’ll come out of this house then, and not before!”
There was a warning note in his voice that sent a chill up and down Skippy’s spine. He wished his Airedale, Mugs, had lived to be with him at a time like this. Shorty and Biff exchanged a few words in their native tongue and suddenly Nickie Fallon’s hand stole over and coming in contact with Skippy’s wrist, he grasped it tightly.
CHAPTER VIII
TIMMY
Even from the outside one could sense the desolation of the house. It took little imagination to visualize the large, sprawling rooms downstairs and the small, stuffy rooms upstairs weighted down to a point of suffocation by the flat tin roof. Cobwebs, slugs, every scurrying, every crawling thing that thrived in dampness and gloom must thrive in such a place, Skippy thought.
He was glad of Nickie Fallon’s friendly hand on his arm as they ascended the high stoop. And he was considerably cheered by the oily, smiling faces of Shorty and Biff as they all followed in the wake of the two men. He had somehow forgotten that these three lawless boys would have been repugnant to him under other conditions. Now he welcomed them as old companions, and their nearness was comforting in this chill, lonely moment.
“Metal doors ’n everythin’,” Nickie whispered in his ear. “Locks outside too, hah? What’s out is out an’ what’s in is in!”
They entered a stuffy vestibule and passed into a long, dark hall. At the far end of it beside the stairway was a lantern standing on a broken stool. It gave a feeble light at best, but now it sputtered and flickered like some dying thing and sent out weird shadows that stole up and down the dirty walls.