In the youth Bridge found an intellectual equal with the added charm of a physical dependent. The man did not attempt to fathom the evident appeal of the other's tacitly acknowledged cowardice; he merely knew that he would not have had the youth otherwise if he could have changed him. Ordinarily he accepted male cowardice with the resignation of surfeited disgust; but in the case of The Oskaloosa Kid he realized a certain artless charm which but tended to strengthen his liking for the youth, so brazen and unaffected was the boy's admission of his terror of both the real and the unreal menaces of this night of horror. That the girl also was well bred was quite evident to Bridge, while both the girl and the youth realized the refinement of the strange companion and protector which Fate had ordered for them, while they also saw in one another social counterparts of themselves. Thus, as the night dragged its slow course, the three came to trust each other more entirely and to speculate upon the strange train of circumstances which had brought them thus remarkably together--the thief, the murderer's accomplice, and the vagabond. It was during a period of thoughtful silence when the night was darkest just before the dawn and the rain had settled to a dismal drizzle unrelieved by lightning or by thunder that the five occupants of the room were suddenly startled by a strange pattering sound from the floor below. It was as the questioning fall of a child's feet upon the uncarpeted boards in the room beneath them. Frozen to silent rigidity, the five sat straining every faculty to catch the minutest sound from the black void where the dead man lay, and as they listened there came up to them, mingled with the inexplicable footsteps, the hollow reverberation from the dank cellar--the hideous dragging of the chain behind the nameless horror which had haunted them through the interminable eons of the ghastly night. Up, up, up it came toward the first floor. The pattering of the feet ceased. The clanking rose until the five heard the scraping of the chain against the door frame at the head of the cellar stairs. They heard it pass across the floor toward the center of the room and then, loud and piercing, there rang out against the silence of the awful night a woman's shriek. Instantly Bridge leaped to his feet. Without a word he tore the bed from before the door. “What are you doing?” cried the girl in a muffled scream. “I am going down to that woman,” said Bridge, and he drew the bolt, rusty and complaining, from its corroded seat. “No!” screamed the girl, and seconding her the youth sprang to his feet and threw his arms about Bridge. “Please! Please!” he cried. “Oh, please don't leave me.” The girl also ran to the man's side and clutched him by the sleeve. “Don't go!” she begged. “Oh, for God's sake, don't leave us here alone!”