And then he saw through the chinks and apertures in the half ruined wall of what had once been a hay barn the rosy flare of a genial light which appeared to announce in all but human terms that man, red blooded and hospitable, forgathered within.No growling dogs, no bulking bulls contested the short stretch of weed grown ground between the road and the disintegrat-ing structure; and presently two wide, brown eyes were peering through a crack in the wall of the abandoned building.What they saw was a small fire built upon the earth floor in the center of the building and around the warming blaze the figures of six men.Some reclined at length upon old straw; others squatted, Turk fash-ion.All were smoking either disreputable pipes or rolled cigarets.Blear-eyed and foxy-eyed, bearded and stub-bled cheeked, young and old, were the men the youth looked upon.All were more or less dishevelled and filthy; but they were human.They were not dogs, or bulls, or croaking frogs.The boy's heart went out to them.Something that was almost a sob rose in his throat, and then he turned the corner of the building and stood in the doorway, the light from the fire playing upon his lithe young figure clothed in its torn and ill-fitting suit and upon his oval face and his laughing brown eyes.For several seconds he stood there looking at the men around the fire.None of them had noticed him.
"Tramps!" thought the youth."Regular tramps." He wondered that they had not seen him, and then, clear-ing his throat, he said: "Hello, tramps!"Six heads snapped up or around.Six pairs of eyes, blear or foxy, were riveted upon the boyish figure of the housebreaker."Wotinel!" ejaculated a frowzy gentle-man in a frock coat and golf cap."Wheredju blow from?" inquired another."'Hello, tramps'!" mimicked a third.
The youth came slowly toward the fire."I saw your fire," he said, "and I thought I'd stop.I'm a tramp, too, you know.""Oh," sighed the elderly person in the frock coat.
"He's a tramp, he is.An' does he think gents like us has any time for tramps? An' where might he be trampin', sonny, without his maw?"The youth flushed."Oh say!" he cried; "you needn't kid me just because I'm new at it.You all had to start sometime.I've always longed for the free life of a tramp;and if you'll let me go along with you for a little while, and teach me, I'll not bother you; and I'll do whatever you say."The elderly person frowned."Beat it, kid!" he com-manded."We ain't runnin' no day nursery.These you see here is all the real thing.Maybe we asks fer a hand-out now and then; but that ain't our reg'lar lay.You ain't swift enough to travel with this bunch, kid, so you'd better duck.Why we gents, here, if we was added up is wanted in about twenty-seven cities fer about ev-erything from rollin' a souse to crackin' a box and croakin' a bull.You gotta do something before you can train wid gents like us, see?" The speaker projected a stubbled jaw, scowled horridly and swept a flattened palm downward and backward at a right angle to a hairy arm in eloquent gesture of finality.
The boy had stood with his straight, black eyebrows puckered into a studious frown, drinking in every word.
Now he straightened up."I guess I made a mistake," he said, apologetically."You ain't tramps at all.You're thieves and murderers and things like that." His eyes opened a bit wider and his voice sank to a whisper as the words passed his lips."But you haven't so much on me, at that," he went on, "for I'm a regular burglar, too," and from the bulging pockets of his coat he drew two handfuls of greenbacks and jewelry.The eyes of the six registered astonishment, mixed with craft and greed."I just robbed a house in Oakdale," explained the boy."I usually rob one every night."For a moment his auditors were too surprised to voice a single emotion; but presently one murmured, soulfully:
"Pipe de swag!" He of the frock coat, golf cap, and years waved a conciliatory hand.He tried to look at the boy's face; but for the life of him he couldn't raise his eyes above the dazzling wealth clutched in the fingers of those two small, slim hands.From one dangled a pearl necklace which alone might have ransomed, if not a king, at least a lesser member of a royal family, while diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds scintil-lated in the flaring light of the fire.Nor was the fistful of currency in the other hand to be sneezed at.There were greenbacks, it is true; but there were also yellowbacks with the reddish gold of large denominations.The Sky Pilot sighed a sigh that was more than half gasp.
"Can't yuh take a kid?" he inquired."I knew youse all along.Yuh can't fool an old bird like The Sky Pilot --eh, boys?" and he turned to his comrades for confirma-tion.
"He's The Oskaloosa Kid," exclaimed one of the com-pany."I'd know 'im anywheres."
"Pull up and set down," invited another.
The boy stuffed his loot back into his pockets and came closer to the fire.Its warmth felt most comfort-able, for the Spring night was growing chill.He looked about him at the motley company, some half-spruce in clothing that suggested a Kuppenmarx label and a not too far association with a tailor's goose, others in rags, all but one unshaven and all more or less dirty--for the open road is close to Nature, which is principally dirt.
"Shake hands with Dopey Charlie," said The Sky Pi-lot, whose age and corpulency appeared to stamp him with the hall mark of authority.The youth did as he was bid, smiling into the sullen, chalk-white face and taking the clammy hand extended toward him.Was it a shudder that passed through the lithe, young figure or was it merely a subconscious recognition of the final pass-ing of the bodily cold before the glowing warmth of the blaze? "And Soup Face," continued The Sky Pilot.Abattered wreck half rose and extended a pudgy hand.
Red whiskers, matted in little tangled wisps which sug-gested the dried ingredients of an infinite procession of semi-liquid refreshments, rioted promiscuously over a scarlet countenance.
