Fairview Republican. (Fairview, Okla.), Vol. 5, No. 19, Ed. 1 Friday, February 3, 1905 Page: 2 of 8
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THE FORLORN HOPE.
One saw the coming doom and was
And said’: "My friends, the cause for
which you dare
la just and worthy, and It has my
prayer—
Ujr time and money are engaged else-
where.”
Another said: " 'Twas a good cause t.nd
true.
Not until men condemned it did I doubt,
‘Vox populi, vox Del’ and all that—
I think ’twere wise and prudent to step
out!”
And still another mused: “All hope is
lost,
It was a righteous cause, but then, you
see
I’m older than I was. In fact I feel
Too much excitement is not good for
me.”
Another saw the cloud against the sky,
Gave health and wealth and all hl$
manhood’s might
To light for the lost cause and prove it
true,
His battle cry, "Let God defend the
right!”
Alone, against a serried world he stood,
His lew companions melted from his
side,
Yet all his life he ceased not In the
strife—
Nor had he won the battle when he
died.
When he was dead some said: “Was not
this man
A little higher than the common run?
This cause he fought for, surely it was
good!"
And so, above his. grave, the fight was
won.
—Isabel E. Mackay, in Canadian Maga-
zine.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
HALLOWE’EN.
!David Curtis never recovered from
'the awful shock occasioned by that
;midsummer night specter, stalking out
from behind the mill. What it was he
never learned, for Nezer kept bis se-
■cret well, old Cy and Martin had never
.lisped their .suspicions, and the spook
of Scar Face remained a mystery in
■Greenvale.
Its effect on the ghost-tainted mind
of David, combined with the gnawing
■conscience, the daily fear that legal
■proceedings would be taken against
Ihim, and nightly dread of another
■spectral visitation, became more and
more apparent. He had—thanks to
Aunt Comfort’s nursing—recovered
from the first shock and brain fever.
Aunt Lorey and the wife of one of his
workmen now kept house for him, for
'.he was willing to pay any price for
■company, but for all that he failed
irapidly. Old age was also against him.
IHe could not eat' or sleep, and long
ihours of each night were passed in
nervous dread of something. The
Igrl8t-mill was closed and had remained
■bo since that fatal night, for every-
one considered it haunted; but the
lorce of long habit kept David pot-
tering about the sawmill each day, and
■would as long as sufficient strength
lasted.
Nezer also renewed his persecutions
after recovering from the fright occa-
sioned by his ghostly Indian masquq-
srade, and though intermittent, they
•aided in the merciless retribution now
■pursuing David. These acts were ail
■peculiar and mysterious, and quite like
:Nezer. With a strain of Indian blood
in him, perhaps, he had never forgot-
ten or forgiven that moment of agony
when he leaped into a network ot
barbed wire, and, with diabolical cun-
ning, meant to obtain ample revenge.
Once or twice a week he visited David’s
premises by night and added one more
mite to it. Tools were- again taken
(from the sawmill and thrown into the
flume or transferred to the unused
(grist-mill. Pieces of belts, bags, meas-
ures, and other fittings from there
were hung on trees about the house.
*On two occasions the grist-mill gate
was raised and millstones set rumbling,
while David listened with fearsome
■dread, and then, to crown all, Nezer
.rigged a tick-tack over the house. He
used a long fish-line for that, one end
.-secured to a bush back of the house,
with a lead sinker tied on at suitable
llocatlon, another larger one fastened
'to the other end of the line, enabling
INezer to throw it over the house and
tsecure it again, hide himself behind
■ a fence, and dangle the mid-line plum-
met against the roof.
What the effect of such a regular
•tick-tack sound heard by one in David's
state of mind at the midnight hour
would be, can hardly be imagined.
For the first two or three timeB he
aroused and sent his hired man out
wlfh a lantern, but naturally that
availed not except to stimulate Nezer
to a longer enjoyment of his trick
when the foolish search ended. Time
and again did Nezer perpetrate this
weird trick, always on dark nights, and
after an hour of fun, secure his rigging
for use again and sneak away. He was
like an Indian in his methods, select-
ing nights just right and not too
dark, stealing on to David's premises
behind bush-choked fences and keeping
out of possible sight, listening with
keen ears and eyes until sure no one
was watching, and making his visits
with foxlike cunning.
David Curtis had lived his life of
miserly pinching and sharp scheming,
forgetting every law of Justice and
honor In his grasping greed, had come
to be despised by even his fellow
church members and hated by many
others, and now, pursued by an un-
canny fear, growing weaker day by
day, was fast nearing insanity. What
it was that haunted his premises he
knew not. He crept to his work, a
physical and mental wreck, dared not
go into his own cellar or the dark base-
ment of his mill, even in the day-time,
and required his hired man to sleep in
his room at night.
When the last of October and Hal-
lowe'en came, he was little better than
a doddering idiot from fear, and, sit-
ting in his mill all day, watched his
man at work, too weak to aid him.
And now came the climax of his
punishment.
Hallowe’en had always been observed
by the young folks of Greenvale with
the usual and time-honored ceremo-
nies. Several parties were usually
held, where apples, floating in tubs
of water and secured if possible with
teeth and lips of maid or swain, formed
one amusement. If one was thus fished
for and obtained, it was carefully pared
by its proud owner, and its perfect
peel, twirled three times around the
head and dropped, must inevitably
form the first initial of his or her fu-
ture mate. Kissing games to accel-
erate these results usually followed,
and later the parties broke up for other
and more ghostly amusements.
Small boys carried jack-o’-lanterns
through the village,- or held them in
front of windows; older couples or
small parties made a late tour, hang-
ing cabbages or paper bags contain-
ing onions or potatoes on door-knobs,
and then, clanging the iron knockers,
scampered away. Now and then some
bolder lad, wrapped in a sheet, stalked
through the quiet streets that night,
and all manner of spookish pranks
were indulged in. Nezer, as might be
expected, had always been an active
participant in these observances, and
now, when the famous night drew
near, he resolved to outdo himself.
He had kept his “Scar Face” disguise
in safe hiding, and had in some way
obtained a bit of phosphorus to rub
on the mask around eyes and mouth.
His plan, well matured, was first, and
most important of all, to try his
hideous disguise on his arch-enemy,
David, and later on visit each house
on the street. He knew the room
David slept in, where a light was al-
ways kept dimly burning, and, as he
had learned that the wretched man
was too feeble to be again lured out,
his only chance was to show himself
at David’s window.
It was late that spook-infested even-
ing when Nezer crept, barefoot, out of
Aunt Comfort’s kitchen door. The
night was starlit only, and, taking his
mask, head-dress and much-soiled old
night-shirt out of hiding, and with
the priceless bit of phosphorus he had
kept in a 3piee-box full of watfer safe-
ly in his pocket, he scampered across
lots to the grist-mill. Here out of
sight or, possible detection Nezer ar-
rayed himself as Scar Face once more,
and emerged ready for his star act,
little realizing its outcome.
There were no occupied houses in
sight of David’s. The Hallowe’en ob-
servers had confined their observance
to the lower part, of the village, the
unceasing rumble of the falls, where
they leaped into a deep pool, the only
sound heard there; and David, with his
sorely troubled mind, knew not, nor
recalled what date it was. He only
lived a wretched, aimless, hopeless life,
an imbecile almost by day, and dread-
ing each night. There was none to
pity him or lift a finger unless paid.
He would sit for hours with bowed
head in the mill, uttering no word,
lie sleepless on his bed, dreading lest
he hear ghostly footsteps, or if he
slept, wake in the dead of night, ex-
pecting to find Amzi standing near.
This last dread was the most potent
of all, and the one he never escaped.
He had on this Hallowe’en sat up
late as usual (since sleep was fear-
some), and had been in bed but a few
moments. The. light was turned low,
the steady breathing of his hired man
in another bed was the only sound,
and as David lay there in the dead si-
lence of a still night, suddenly he
heard stealthy footsteps outside among
the fallen leaves.
Wide apart they were and slow, like
a panther creeping up, yet each one
nearer—nearer-—nearer. Once they
ceased, and then again he heard that
faint crushing of dried leaves, almost
up to the window close to his bed.
He sat up, his eyes wide open, while
the sweat of deathly fear gathered
on his pallid face.
And now, slowly rising above the
window-sill, came first a group of
feathers, all awry, then two email cir-
cles of glowing light, two hideous,
ghastly eyes!
An Instant he saw them, the next
a more horrible mouth, with teeth
alight, arose in view.
Only a moment did his fear-taxed
brain withstand the awful strain—the
next, reason gave way, and, with an
agonized scream, he leaped from his
bed and out of the house.
And Nezer was almost as badly
scared. ^
CHAPTER XXXIV.
NO MOURNERS.
* How Aunt Lorey and the hired man’s
wife were awakened by the latter's
spouse that Hallowe'en night, how the
two women, wrapped in quilts, sat in
fear and trembling while the hired
man vainly searched the premises with
a lantern and later related how he
was scared almost out of his wits by
the delirious conduct of David, and
how, when daylight came, the story
spread over the village like wild-fire,
was perhaps the most exciting incident
Greenvale ever knew. For over two
months now it had been known that
David was in a precarious condition;
his premises were by some considered
haunted; the old scandal of Amzi's
disappearance was revived and dis-
cussed, also what the outcome would
be in case Martin married Angie and
"took the law” on David. And so in-
terested was the entire village now in
the latest development—the midnight
and supposed insane flight of David—
that the sun was scarcely up an hour
ere his premises were almost black
A TIN DEED BOX.
with people. Angle only remained
away, but Aunt Comfort was in the
crowd and Dr. Sol led the searchers.
Nezer, a good deal .scared, but holding
his peace, was with the rest, but search
where they would, no trace of David
was found. Both mills were examined
time and again, and every outhouse;
small parties probed the mill flumes
with long sticks; the pool below the
falls was examined with poles and
grappling hooks, while others scoured
the woods, but without avail.
David had vanished like his brother,
and the mystery grew deeper.
Suicide, of course, was his fate, or
else death from exposure, for at his
age and in his condition, no man could
live long wandering demented and al-
most nude in the woods and swamps.
This was the general verdict, and when
noon came and the crowd dispersed,
a few men and boys organized and be-
gan a more extended search.
It was three days before they found
David, and then his body was discov-
ered in the middle of Mizzy swamp,
miles away And as if providential
retribution led those searchers, it was
Nezer who first received the shock of
discovery.
• • * • • • *
“I s’pose we’d orter wear mournin'
fer a spell jist fer t,he looks on ’t,”
Aunt Comfort said the night after the
funeral to Angie, "he was your father’s
brother, arter all, ’n’ you’re like to
cum in fer suthin’. I wonder if'he left
a will?”
This combination of interest not
only expressed Aunt Comfort’s broad
charity, but reflected all that Green-
vale now cared for David Curtis.
No will was found, however, except
Ihe original one that had separated
two brothers for life. Bank books
there were and bonds, and certificates
of valuable stock as well, a total that
fairly took Aunt Comfort’s breath
away. She and Dr. Sol and wife, with
Phinney, were - only ones present
when David’’ ./• "ttu was searched, and
a tin deed box containing these valu-
ables was opened.
In this box was an envelope also,
and in it a scrap of paper upon which
was scrawled, “If ever you sell one
foot of land, I will return to you in
body or spirit.” With this was a copy
of a bargain signed by Martin Frls-
bie, and agreeing to pay David $28,-
000 for mill, land and power, therein
specified, within one year from date,
or forfeit the $2,000 already paid, and
in David’s bed was also found that
amount in bills.
Dr. Sol was appointed administrator
by Squire Phinney, the hired man and
wife were paid and dismissed, and the
house locked. This, the business end
of David’s life, like his tearless funeral
was a mere matter of routine, and yet
there were other and far-reaching out-
comes of public interest. First and
foremost was the question of inherit-
ance. Angie, of course, the sole heir,
would inherit In due time, and after
legal preliminaries had been adjusted,
and provided no other claimant ap-
peared. Upon this, however, there was
a divergence of opinion. Many still
believed Amzi yet alive, some insisted
that he must be (and that it was known
to David), and a few were positive that
his ghostly presence had been the
cause of David’s first case of "fits,” as
a return on Hallowe’en had been of the
final scare.
It was but justice, as all agreed, and
yet it was a mystery as dark and un-
canny as the hackmatack swamp where
David was found. For three months
many had considered his premises
haunted, now this number was in-
creased; and out of those who still
scouted the idea of any ghostly connec-
tion, there were few who would have
visited either mill or the big empty
bouse after dark.
But the Mizzy falls kept on rumbling,
the autumn winds swept the dead
leaves into every nook and cranny of
the premises, the leafless elms moaned,
the loose boards of the old house
creaked by night, and if Amzi’s ghost
came not, it seemed that David would
be like to come.
A foolish will had wrought its worse
than finite woe, a mean and miserly
hypocrite had continued it, and dead,
had—like a serpent—left his trail and
impress upon Greenvale.
When the outcome of David’s death,
scarcely realized as yet by Aunt Com-
fort, was conveyed by her to Angie,
it was told with bated breath and as
if a ghost might be listening. It was
all so sudden, and so quite overwhelm-
ing also, Angie was stunned. All her
life long she had felt a grievous wrong
had been done her father, and she had
been left to suffer for it. At times
she had felt such bitter hatred of her
uncle that his very name and sight of
his pinched face was obnoxious. At his
funeral she would not look upon him,
and when the “earth to earth and dust
to dust” finale came, only its solemnity
impressed her.
We do not even admit some thoughts
and feelings, and when those who have
wronged us most pass down into their
final resting-place, our lips must also
remain sealed, and when Angle turned
away from her uncle’s grave, she would
not say, “I am glad,” and could not
say, “I am sorry.”
Neither did the fact that she was to
inherit his estate UDdo the sense of
wrong. It was not his will and wish
that this was to be, he had not thought
of her, or justice to her in life, and
only the law’s mandate now said so,
and that left a taint on the heritage.
He had wronged her father in the long
ago, and had driven him from home,
had kept what was hers by right, and.
in spite of public opinion, willingly saw
her dependent upon charity and her
own effort to earn a trifle, and now, in
passing, had left her to stifle her natu-
ral feelings as best she could. But there
was one spot of silver beneath the
cloud, and that, the face of Aunt Com-
fort and the chance to reward her, was
some compensation for all her self-
denials. It was the first and about
the only impulse that came to Angie
when the tragic shock had passed
away, and that night when the two sat
beside their little round table recount-
ing all that had been said,and done in
the past few days, this chance was
Angie’s only sense of gratitude. She
had weeks before come to realize that
any change in her own life would and
must be impossible while Aunt Com-
fort lived, and Martin’s self-evident
hopes seemed doomed to fail. To care
for the good old soul, who had been
home and mother since childhood, she
must, or forever despise herself, and al-
though this legacy would remove the
narrow and cramping poverty that had
been theirs always, the obligation re-
mained, and with Angie such a debt
was sacred.
With Aunt Comfort it was other-
wise, as might be expected, and when
the evening had grown late and the
fire had burned low, her ree ’me of the
situation may well be quoted.
“I’ve allers b’lieved the Lord ud see
justice done us all,” she said, “and I
b’lieve He lias. He ain’t like to bring
Ar.-.zf back to life, but maybe He’s gin
David his just desarts. I don’t exact-
ly believe in sperits, yet it looks ez if
the hantin’ o’ conscience had made
David see one the night he was took
with a fit last summer ’n’ again now
when he run off in the night. He’s
wronged your father ’n’ you all his
life long, ’n’ if his sufferin’ from con-
science ain't a dispensation o’ Provi-
dence ’n’ his just desarts, I dunno
what would be. Thar is one thing 1
can’t quite figger out, ’n’ that is, whal
made Martin Frlsbie pay him $2,000
fer an agreement o’ a deed o’ the mills
’n’ Mizzy lands, ’n’ what he wanted
on ’em. It looks curus, but I s’pose
he’ll explain when he gits back. It’s
most time he did, too; he’s bon gone
now ’most two months.” Then she
paused, looking at Angle and smiling
benevolently. “It’ll all be in the fam-
ily, I s'pose,” she continued, still smil-
ing, “when you ’n' Martin git married,
ez 1 spect you will in time. Thar ain’t
no reason why you shouldn't, ’n’ you
will be middlin’ well off in your own
right now, if anything happens, ’n’
fer that you ought to be thankful.”
To Aunt Comfort this consummation
seemed most natural and to be expect-
ed. More than that no thought of how
that event would affect her own hap-
piness came to her.
[To Be Continued.]
TOO THIN.
(1) “ ’Ere y’are, sir, the very thing
you wants for restin’ arter you been
skatin’. It opens with a spring
jest so—
(2) "And then all y’as to do is to
stick inter the ice, like this, and—
(3) “Sit down. Oh, lor!
EMPEROR FRANCIS JOSEfafcx*
Probably the Most Unfortunate and
Best Beloved Monarch of
History.
Emperor Francis Joseph is probably
as thoroughly beloved by his subjects
as any sovereign in history has ever
been, writes Andrew D. White, in
“Chapters from My Diplomatic Life,”
in Century. His great misfortunes—
fearful defeats in the wars with France
and Germany, the suicide of his only
son, the assassination of his wife, and
family troubles in more recent times,
have thrown about him an atmosphere
of romantic sympathy; while liking
for his kindly qualities is mingled with
respect for his plain common sense.
During his stay in Berlin I met him
a second time. At my first presenta-
tion at Dresden, two years before, there
was little opportunity for extended
conversation; but he now spoke at
length, and in a manner which showed
him to be observant of the world’s af-
fairs even in remote regions. He dis-
cussed the recent increase of our army,
the progress of our war in the Philip-
pines, and the extension of American
enterprise in various parts of the world,
in a way which was not at all perfunc-
tory, but evidently the result of large
information and careful observation.
His empire, which is a seething caldron
of hates, racial, religious, political and
local, is held together by love and re-
spect for him; but when he dies this
personal tie which unites all these dif-
ferent races, parties and localities will
disappear, and in place of it will come
the man who by force of untoward cir-
cumstances is to be his successor, and
this is anything but a pleasing prospect
to an Austro-Hungarian, or indeed to
iny thoughtful observer of human af-
fairs.
Shoes for Show Only.
A most curious trade has spfning up
lately which illustrates quaintly the
pet vanity of woman. It appears that
‘women when staying at hotels or the
like do not care to exhibit to the pass-
ers along the corridors the exact size
of their feet, so they carefully carry
with them a couple of pairs of tiny,
delicate shoes, which, Instead of the
ones they are wearing, they place out-
side their doors for the servants to take
down and clean. All the big boot
shops in Paris now make a specialty
of this tiny footgear, and a pair or two
form a portion of the trousseau of
every up-to-date bride. Madrid women
are said to have the smallest feet,
Peruvian women come next and the
American girls are a "ood third.—N.
Y. Sun.
Unsoldierly.
From a British war office order late-
ly Issued it appears that the most fre-
quent of Tommy Atkins’ minor of-
fenses are wearing his cap on the back
of his head, “so as to display effemin-
ate and unsoldierlike curls on the fore-
head,” and carrying a cigarette behind
his ear.
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Clark, A. W. Fairview Republican. (Fairview, Okla.), Vol. 5, No. 19, Ed. 1 Friday, February 3, 1905, newspaper, February 3, 1905; Fairview, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc848319/m1/2/: accessed April 25, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.