Cheyenne record., August 05, 1915, Image 3

About Cheyenne record. (Cheyenne Wells, Cheyenne County, Colo.) 1913-19??

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Dark Hollow
By Anna Katharine Green
Illstrations by C. D. Rhodes
COPYRIGHT 1914- OS' DODD./AE/V? 9} CXSMPAMI/
SYNOPSIS.
A curious crowd of neighbors Invade
the mysterious home of Judge Ostrander,
■county Judge and eccentric recluse, fol
lowing a veiled woman who proves to be
the widow of a man tried before the Judge
and electrocuted for murder years before.
Her daughter Is engaged to the Judge’s
son. from whom he Is estranged, but the
murder Is between the lovers. She plans
to clear her husband’s memory and asks
the Judge's aid. Deborah Scoville reads
the newspaper clippings telling the story
of the murder of Algernon Etheridge by
John Scoville In Dark Hollow, twelve
years before. The Judge and Mrs. Sco
ville meet at Spencer’s Folly and she
shows him how, on the day of the mur
der, she saw the shadow of a man, whit
tling a stick and wearing a long peaked
cap. The Judge engages her and her
daughter Reuther to live with him in his
mysterious home. Deborah and her law
yer, Black, go to the police station and
see the stick used to murder Etheridge.
She discovers a broken knife-blade point
embedded In it. Deborah and Reuther go
to live with the Judge. Deborah sees a
Eortrait of Oliver, the Judge’s son. with a
lack band painted across the eyes. That
night she finds, in Oliver’s room, a cap
with a peak like the shadowed one, and
a knife with a broken blade-point. Anon
ymous letters and a talk with Miss
Weeks increase her suspicions and fears.
She finds that Oliver was in the ravine
on the murder night. Black warns her
and shows her other anonymous letiers
hinting at Oliver's guilt. In the court
room the judge is handed an anonymous
note. The note Is picked up and read
aloud. A mob follows the Judge to his
home. Deborah tells hint why suspicion
has been aroused against Oliver.
CHAPTER Xlll—Continued.
Once within the room, he became his
courteous self once more. “Be seat
ed,’’ he begged. Indicating a chair in
the half gloom. As she took it, the
room sprang into sudden light. He
-had pulled the string which regulated
the curtains over the glazed panes in
the ceiling. Then as quickly all was
gloom again; he had let the string es
cape from his hand.
“Half light is better,” he muttered
in vague apology.
It was a weird beginning to .an in
terview whose object was as yet in
comprehensible to her. One minute a
blinding glimpse of the room whose
details were so varied that many of
them still remained unknown to her —
the next, everything swept again into
shadow through which the tall form of
the genius of the place loomed with
melancholy suggestion!
She was relieved when he spoke.
"Mrs. Scoville (not Deborah now)
have you any confidence in Oliver’s
word? Has there ever been anything
lir his conversation as you knew it in
Detroit to make you hesitate to re
ply?” the judge persisted, as she con
tinued speechless.
“No; nothing. I have every con
fidence in his assertions. I should have
yet, if it were not for this horror.”
"Forget it for a moment. Recall his
effect upon you as a man, a prospec
tive son-in-law —for you meant him to
marry Reuther.”
“I trusted him. I would trust him In
many ways yet.”
“Would you trust him enough to be
lieve that he would tell you the truth
if you asked him point-blank whether
his hands were clean of crime?”
“Yes.” The word came in a whis
per; but there was no wavering in it.
She had felt the conviction dart like
an arrow through her mind that Oli
ver might slay a man in his hate —
might even conceal his guilt for years
—but that he could not lie about it
when brought face to face with an ac
cuser like herself.
“Then I will let you read something
ne wrote at mg request these many
years ago; An experience—the tale
of one awful night, the horrors of
which, locked within his mind and
mine, have never been revealed to a
third person. That you should share
our secret now, is not only necessary,
but fitting. It becomes the widow of
John Scoville to know what sort of a
pian she persists in regarding inno
cent. Wait for me.”
With a quick step he wound his
way among the various encumbering
pieces of furniture to his bedroom.
Here he lingered so long that, without
any conscious volition of her own she
found herself on her feet, but she
had not had time to reseat herself
when Bhe beheld him approaching with
the bundle of loose sheets clutched in
his hand.
“I want you sit here and rqad,” said
he, laying the manuscript down on a
small table near the wall under a gas
let which he immediately lighted. “I
am going back to my own desk. If you
want to speak, you may; I shall not
be working.” And she heard his foot
steps retreating again in and out
among the furniture till he reached his
own chair and sat before his own
table.
This r-ded all sound in the room ex-
ceptlng the beating of her own heart,
which had become tumultuous.
Thank God! the manuscript was
legible. Oliver’s handwriting pos
sessed the clearness of print She
had begun to read before she knew It,
and having begun, she never paused
till she reached the end.
I was fifteen. It was my birthday
and I had my own ideas of how I want
ed to spend It. My hobby was model
ling. My father had no sympathy
with this hobby. To him It was a
waste of time better spent In study
or such Bports as would fit me for
study. When on the day I mention
I had a few hours of freedom, I de
cided to begin the remodeling in clay
of an exquisite statue which had great
ly aroused my admiration.
This statue stood In a forbidden
place. It was one of the art treasures
of the great house on the bluff com
monly called Spencer’s Folly. I had
seen this marble once, when dining
there with father, and was so im
pressed by Its beauty that it haunted
me night and day. The boy of fifteen
would attempt the Impossible. I pro
cured nry clay and then awaited my
opportunity. It came, as I have said,
on my birthday.
There was no one living in the lyjhse
at this time. Mr. Spencer had gone
West for the winter. The servants
had been dismissed, and the place
closed.
What to every other person in town
would have seemed an Insuperable ob
stacle to this undertaking, was no ob
stacle to me. I knew how to get in.
“I Want You to Sit Here and Read,”
Said He.
One day In my restless wanderings
about a place which had something of
the nature of a shrine to me, I bad
noticed that one of the windows (a
swinging one) overlooking the ravine
moved as the wind took It. Either the
lock had given way or It had not been
properly fastened. If I could only
bring myself to disregard the narrow
ness of the ledge separating the house
from the precipice beneath I felt that
I could reach this window and sever
the vines sufficiently for my body to
press in; and this I did that night. I
let myself go —I had to —an(f imme
diately found myself standing upright
in a space so narrow I could touch the
walls on either side. It was a closet
1 had entered, opening into the huge
dining hall, where I had once sat be
side my father at the one formal meal
of my life.
I remembered that room; It had
made a great Impression upon me,
and some light finding its way through
the panes of uncurtained glass which
topped each of the three windows over
looking the ravine, I soon was able to
find the door leading Into the drawing
room.
I had brought a small lantern in the
bag slung to my shoulders, but I had
not hitherto dared to use It on ac
count of the transparency of the panes
I hare mentioned; but once In the per
fectly dark recesses of the room be
yond. I drew It out, and without the
least fear of detection boldly turned
It upon the small alcove where stood
the object of my adoration. 1 knelt
THE CHKTBNNH RECORD.
before the glimmering marble and un
rolled my bundle of wet clay.
I began my work, then I began te
realize a little the nature of the task
I bad undertaken and to ask myself
whether if I stayed all night I could
finish it to my mind. It was during
one of these moments of hesitation
that I beard the first growl of distant
thunder.
But the thunder growled again and
my head rose, this time In real alarm
A man—two men were entering by
the great front door. I heard a loud
laugh, and the tipsy exclamation of a
voice I knew:
“There! shut the door, can't you,
before It's blown from Its hinges?
You’ll find iverything jolly 1 ere. Wine,
lights, solitude In which to finish our
game and a roaring good opportunity
to sleep afterwards.”
The answer I failed to catch. I was
simply paralyzed by terror. As the
door of the room opened to admit
them, I succeeded in shutting that of
the closet into which I had flung my
self—or almost so. I did not dare to
latch it, for they were already in the
room and might hear me.
“This is the spot for us," came
in Spencer's most jovial tones. “Big
table, whisky handy, cards right here
in my pocket. Wait, till I strike a
light!”
A gas jet shot up, then two, then all
that the room contained. “How's that?
What’s a flash more or less now!”
1 heard no answer, only the slap of
the cards as they were flung onto the
table; then the clatter of a key as it
turned in some distant lock.
The bottles were brought forward
and they sat down one on each side
of the dusty mahogany table. The
man facing me was Spencer, the other
sat with his back my way.
"We'll play till the hands point to
three,” announced Spencer, taking out
his watch and laying it down where
both could see It. “Do you agree to
that? —unless I win and your funds
go a-begging before that hour.”
“I agree.” The tone was harsh; it
was almost smothered. The man was
staring at the watch; there was a
strange set look to his figure; a paus
ing as of thought—of sinister thought,
I should now say; then I never
stopped to characterize it; it was fol
lowed too quickly by a loud laugh and
a sudden grab at the cards.
“You'll win! I feel it In my bones,"
came in encouraging tones from the
rich man. “If you do” —here the storm
lulled and his voice sank to an en
couraging whisper—“you can buy the
old tavern up the road. It's going for
a song; and then we'll be neighbors
and can play—play—” . . .
The bills had all gone one way.
They fell within Spencer’s grasp. Sud
denly hard upon a rattling peal which
seemed to unite heaven and earth, I
heard shouted out:
“Half-past two! The game stops at
three.”
"Damn your greedy eyes!” came
back in a growl. Then all was still,
fearfully still, both in the atmosphere
outside and in that within, during
which I caught sight of the stranger’s
hand moving slowly around to his
back and returning as slowly forward,
all under cover of the table-top and a
stack of half-empty bottles.
“I can buy the Claymore tavern,
can I? Well, I'm going to,” rang out
into the air as tbe speaker leaped to
his feet. “Take that, you cheat! And
that! And that!” And the shots rang
out —one, two, three!
Spencer was dead in his Folly. I
had seen him rise, throw up his hands
and then fall in a heap among the
cards and glasses.
Then the man who stood there
alone turned slightly and I saw his
face. I have seen it many times
since; 1 have seen it at Claymore tav
ern. He put the weapon back in his
pocket and began gathering up the
money. When every bill was in his
pockets he reached out his hand for
the watch. Then I saw him smile. He
smiled as he shut the case, he Bmlled
as he plunged It in after the bills.
Next moment I woke to a realiza
tion of myself and all the danger of
my own position. I had the Instinct
to make a 'leap for the window over
my head and clutch at its narrow sill
in a wild attempt at escape.
But the effort ended precipitately.
He was coming toward me—a strain
ing, panting figure—half carrying, half
dragging, the dead man who flopped
aside from his arms. My senses
blurred and I knew nothing till on a
sudden they cleared again, and I woke
to the blessed realization that tbe
door had been pushed against my slen
der figure, hiding it completely from
his sight, and that this door was now
closed again and this time tightly,
and I was safe —safe!
The relief sent the perspiration in
a reek from every pore; but the Icy
revulsion came quickly. As I drew up
knees to get a better purchase on tbe
sill, heaven’s torch was suddenly lit
up. the closet became a pit of dazzling
whiteness amid which I saw the blot
of that dead body, with head propped
against the wall and eyes—
Remember, I was but fifteen. The
legs were hunched up and almost
touched mine. The door—the door—
there was my way—the only way
which would rIJ me instantly of any
proximity to this hideous object I
flung myself at It —found the knob—
turned it and yelled aloud —my foot
had brushed against him. I knew the
difference and it sent me palpitating
over the threshold; but no farther.
Love of life had returned With my es
cape from that awful prison house,
and I halted in the semidarkness into
which I had plunged, thanking heaven
for the thunder peal which had
drowned my loud cry
For 1 was not yet safe. He was
still there. He had turned out all
lights but one. He had not seen me
and was going. 1 could hear the
sound of his feet as he went stum
bling in his zigzag course towards the
door. Then every sound both on his
part and on mine was lost in a swoop
of down-falling rain and 1 remember
nothing more till out of the blackness
before me, he started again Into view,
within the open doorway where in the
glare of wliat he called heaven’s can
dles he stood, poising himself to meet
the gale which seemed ready to catch
him up and whirl him with other in
consequent things into the void of
nothingness. Then darkness settled
again and I was left alone with Mur
der —all the innocence of my youth
He Had Not Seen Me and Was Going.
gone, and my soul a very charnel
house.
I had to re-enter that closet; had to
take the only means of escape prof
fered. But I went through It as we go
through the horrors of nightmare.
1 simply did It and escaped all —
lightning flash and falling limb, and
the lasso of swirling winds —to And
myself at last lying my full length
along the bridge amid a shock of ele
ments such as nature seldom sports
with. Here I clung, for I was breath
less, waiting with head buried in my
arm for the rain to abate before 1 at
tempted a further escape from the
place which held such horror for me!
But no abatement came, and feeling
the bridge shaking under me almost to
cracking, I began to crawl. Inch by
inch, along its gaping boards till 1
reached its middle.
There God stopped me.
For, with a clangor as of rending
worlds, a bolt hot from the zenith,
sped down upon the bluff behind me,
throwing me down again upon my fac«
and engulfing sense and understand
ing for one wild moment. Then 1
sprang upright and with a yell oi
terror sped across the rocking boardi
beneath me to the road, no longei
battling with my desire to look back;
no longer asking myself when and how
that dead man would be found; nc
longer even asking my own duty in
the case; for Spencer's Folly was on
Are and the crime I had Just seen per
petrated there would soon be a crime
stricken from the sight of men for
ever.
In the flare of its tremendous burn
ing I found my way up through the
forest road to my home and into my
father’s presence. He like everybody
else was up that night, and already
alarmed at my continued absence.
“Spencer's Folly is on Are,” I cried,
as he cast dismayed eyes at 'my pallid
and dripping figure. "If you go to the
door, you can see it!”
But I told him nothing more.
Perhaps other boys of my age can
understand my silence.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Skunks Enemies of Caterpillars.
A new Held of usefulness has been
found for the much-rldlculed skunk In
the fact that It la a vigorous enemy of
the full-grown range caterpillars. Blrda
are of no service whatever In destroy
ing these large caterpillars, but skunks
devour quantities of them, and this Is
another reason why these little crea
tures should receive more considers
tion than they now do
Your Liver v
Is Clogged Up
That's Why YooVe Tired-Out mi Sorts
—Hit* No Appetite,
CARTER’S
LIVER PILLS
will put you
in a few days. MITTLE
They WIVER
their ■ PILLS.
W .
stipation, AS^‘ ===== !*
Biliousness, Indigestion and Sick Headache
SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE. SMALL PRICE.
Genuine must bear Signature
DAISY FLY KILLER Kg "rtST. ft
Um. clean, or
namontnl, conroniant.
chop. Lasts all
season. uad*ot
I metal, can’t spill or tip
OTer; aril) not soil or
1 nlars anythin*.
§m*f-}^ Ouaranteed offoctlra.
aii
oxpreaa paid for DJI.
■▲SOLD SOMERS, ISO Da Kalb A**.. Brooklyn, U. T .•
Joan Sawyer, an actress, has left
New York to motor to San Francisco
in six weeks on a w^ger.
Be happy. Use Red Cross Bag Blue;'
much better than liquid blue. Delight*
the laundress. All grocers. Adv.
How Experts Are Made.
• ‘ - I
In every generation there Is apt to
spring up a body of men who, add
ing- to natural abilities and an uncom
mon stock of assurance a certain
amount of specialized knowledge, ter
rorize the rest of the world under the
guise of “experts."
Thinking that they find something
rotten in the state of Denmark, in
capable of calm reflection, and eager
for notoriety, they hit upon a speciflo
for what is amiss, compared with
which all others are spurious Imita
tions.
Their field of interest may range
from solar mythology to eugenics,
but the threefold badge of the tribe
Is an overweening belief in their own
infallibility coupled with a proportion
ate contempt for ordinary human be
ings, the command of a barbarous Jar
gon and an irrepressible desire to
badger and bully their unfortunate fel
low-creatures.
HAIR OR NO HAIR?
It Is Certainly Up to You and Cutl
cura. Trial Free.
Hot shampoos with Cutlcura Soap,
followed by light dressings of Cutl
cura Ointment rubbed into the scalp
skin tend to clear the scalp of dan
druff, soothe Itching and Irritation and
promote healthy hair-growing condi
tions. Npthlng better, cleaner, purer.
Sample each free by mall with Book.
Address postcard, Cutlcura, Dept. XT,
Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv.
_ Light Drinks.
Patience—It Is said to attract atten
tion a new electric drink mixer for
soda fountains is equipped with a tiny
light which illuminates the liquid In
which it is working.
Patrice —Wonder If the electric
light In the drink makes It any more
expensive than the old-fashioned gas.
1
The Limit.
“I shall never speak to her again
as long as I live.”
"But you’ve said that often before.”
"I know, but what else Is there to
say when a person becomes as angry
as she makes me?”—Detroit Free
PresB.
HOWARD E. BURTON
Specimen prices: Gold, Silver, Lead, fl; Gold,
Hirer, 75c; Gold, 50c; Zinc or Copper, f 1. Mailing
inreiopes and full price list sent on application.
Lead villa. Colo. B»f. crbouaw Ka Bene,
Denver Directory
3iTSKYCLES
"\PIERCE and COLUMBIA
I 1 N 1 W rite for prices.
Tfco Retteo Cydi Co., Denier, Cel
The Lyman Millinery Co.
Manufacturers and Wholesalers
<020-1031 ARAPAHOE STREET, DENVER
Wholesale only. Orders shipped samadai as received.
Holcomb,
j M FURNITURE, LINOLEUM
B tSt AND RUR BUSINESS
u WA, of Denver. Who pars the freight,
or quotes wholesale prices to
everybody. Send for ol reals*.
References, any bank in Denvec.
I WILL RENT I
MY PIANO
to out-of-town private party and
give privilege of baying later If
■sited and applying rent on price,
or will eell now to responsible party
at special price on easy monthly or
quarterly terms. If interested write
me at once, address “PIUNO” car*
Bex fell, WESTERN NEWS
PAPER UNION, Denver, Cato,
W. N. U„ DENVER, NO. 32-191S, ‘