The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1879-02-13
in the right road?

in the right road?
Hold on! was that q light, or are my
eyes playing me false?
I stopped. holding on to the low resin
Gus boughs of hemlock that grew on
the edge Of the bank, for it actually
seemed..tnat the wind would seize me
bodily and hurl me down the precipitous
descent.
It was 4 light-thank providence-it
was light, and no ignis .fat,os to lure
ne on to destruction and death.
"Halloo-o-o,"
Ny voice ran through the woods like q
clarion. Iplunged on through tangled
vines, dense briers and rocky banks, IN
til, gradually nearing, [ could perceive a
figure wrapped III an oil-cloth cape, or
cloak, carrying lantern. As the dim
light fell upon his face / almost recoiled.
Would not solitude in the woods be pre-
ferable to the companionship of this
withered, wrinkled old man? But it
was too late to recadc now.
whats wanting!" he snarled, with a
peculiar motion of the lips that seemed
to leave his yellow teeth all bare.
81 I'm lost in the woods; can you di-
rect me to R station 2"
Eyes, R station is twelve miles
from here.
"Twelye miles"
I stood aghast.
"Yes.
"Can you tell me Of any shelter I
could obtain for the night @
"No."
''Where are You going ?"
''To Drew's, down 10y the maple
swamp"
SIS it a tavern?"
''No."
"Would they take me for the night {!
I could pay them we'll"
His eyes cleaned; the yellow stumps
stood revealed once more
4 guess SO; folks DO stop there. .
'It is not far from here ?'
''Sot very; about half a mile"
"Thon make haste and let rs reach it.
l am drenched to the skin"
We plodded on, my companion more
than keeping pace with me. Presently
we left the edge Of the rayine, entered
what seemed like trackless woods, and
keeping straight on until the lights
cleaned iitfully through the wet foliage.
1t was ruinoGs old place, with the
windows all drawn to one side, as if the
foundation had settled, and the pillars
of rude porch nearly rottod away.
Awoman answered my fellow travellers
knock. Ny companion whispered 3
word or two to her, and she turned to
me with smooth words of welcome.
She regretted the poverty of their nc
but I was welcome to
them, such as they were.
"Where is Isaac p demanded my
guide.
"He has not come il yet"
| sat down on wooden bench beside
the fire, and ate Il few mouthfuls of
bread.
81 should like to retire as soon as
possible" " for my WEAKNESS was exces-
sive
Certainly" The woman started up
with alacrity.
Where are you going to put him q
asked my guide.
Cup chamber"
"Put him il Isaacs room"
"No,'
'It's the most comfortable. "
II tell you no"
But here interrupted The whispered
colloquy.
II am not particnlar-I don't care
where you lodge me, only make haste"
So was conducted up steep ladder
that stood in the corner of the room, in
TO an apartment, ceiled with sloping
beams and ventilated by one small win
dow, where cot bedstead, crowded close
against the board partition, and a pine
table, with two or three chairs, formed
the sole attempts at furniture.
The woman set the light-an old oil
lamp-on the table.
ANY thing more L can get you, sir?"
"Nothing, thank you."
81 hope you'll sleep well, sir When
shall | call you?"
"At four o'clock in the morning, if
you please. must walk over to R
station in time for the seven o'clock ex-
press.
on be sure to call you, sir.
She Withdrew, leaving me alone in the
gloomy little apartment. sat down
and looked around me with no very
agreeable sensation.
81 will sit down and write to Alice" I
thought, ''that viii soothe my nerves
and quiet me, perhaps
l descended the ladder. the fire still
glowing redly on the hearth beneath !;
my companion and the woman sat beside
it, talking in low tone, and third per-
son sat at the table eatlng-a short, stout,
Misunderstanding man, in red flannel
shirt and muddy trousers.
l asked for writing materials and re-
turned to my room to write to my wife.
My darling Alice
/ paused and laid down my pen as l
concluded the words, half smiling to
think what she would say could she
know of my strange quarters.
Not till both sheets were covered did
I lay aside my pen and prepare for slum-
l., A., 81