The Atlanta constitution. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1885-19??, 1888-07-03
''0[D MAN HUNT. =
For The Constitution.

DroWS; his long tnIn halr as Wnlte as snow
that was Hunt.
There was an obsequious, oringing stoop
about the shoulders, and weak, nervous ac-
cent about his voice that were anything but
prepossessing-they were repulsive; but, in
spite of all that, Hunt was sexton at B,
and had been for forty years
Hunt was, to all practical intents and pur-
poses, a curosity-a many-sided curiosity-and
next to the little old man himself, the s0Xton's
den was the greatest curiosity in all 3.
1t was a small affair." very shabby affair,
in fact-and people used to wonder sometimes
why it was that thriving town like B. did
not build a better house for the sexton. But
the old man never complained. He had lived
there for forty years, and it suited him.
There was only one room to the house.
Three sides of that room were lined from
floor to ceiling with long, dusty shelves, and
these covered from end to end with bottles OF
all kinds and sizes, packages, bundles of dried
herbs and roots, and chemical apparatus.
On the rickety table were piled worn and
age-brown books-iust such ponderous volumes
as the old alchemists used, and one of tie vol
umes was lying open. Near twas a small vial
filled with a reddish colored, heavy fluid. The
vial had been carefully eorked and sealed, and
there was no label on it,
Beside the table was rude stool, and on
this was retort such as chemists used in 81,
about half filed with an inky fluid. A single
lamp, a small alcohol lamp, surmounted the
pile of books upon the table.
The walls of the little room were smoke
stained and cob webbed, and the dust lay
blanket-like over shelf, and bottles, and books
The atmosphere was musty, and sitting and
dead.
Hunt was chemist as we'll as sexton.
He was more than q chemist-he was ma
niac, but the secret of that was kept long and
well. So to all appearance he was simply an
old man, not progressing OLD man by any
few people saw him often enough to make
much difference anyway.
He was simply sexton and maniac.
To be sure there were the medical students,
or some of them, who would say that Hunt
was villain Nest people would have$aid
the same thing if they had only known what
the students knew, but that was out of the
question. But he was grave robber, not be-
cause he was villain, but because he was a
chemist and maniac.
So he was simply sexton and maniac.
There was one thing about Hunt that not
even the medical STUDENTS knew, and that was
why he was a chemist. They all knew that
his formula for "pickling" was better than
that in the book, and that his treatment Of
decaying stiffs was something marvellous
They knew too, that many a dollar came to
the old man in this way, but that isn't why
Hunt was a chemist
The secret was his own.
In the darkness of that little den, lighted
only by the dim and pickering light OF the
alcohol lamp, the old man would pore for hours
over the worn pages of the open book. He
would read, read until the throbbing head fell
heavily in his hands. Then he would rouse
himself once more in q daZed and misty con-
seriousness. He would look despairingly,
wildly, at the wrinkles on the thin and
trembling hands. He would see in his broken
bit of glass an old, old mana gray and
wrinkled old mainland then, with spasmodic
energy, he would turn again to his book.
"On! Ont" he would mutter fercely. "My
time is growing short. On! On, while there's
life, and hope, and reason. The secret mine
and shall be young again. But l am old, and
I must work quickly. On! On. No rest yeti
No rest!'
The lean forefnger would move quickly over
the lines, the gray head bent lower and lower,
and the eyes cleaned with the light of wild
hope-on, and on, and on
The finger would stop suddenly, and lifting
his eyes from the book the old man would gaze
fondly and reverently at the little red vial.
"One half is done-the work of forty years.
AL mine, and the science of this world cannot
produce it over. Minel Mine That black
vial will be finished, and then-there is no
DEATH"
Once more into the mysteries of that mys-
ferrous book-page after page-until the over
taxed senses gave way, the gray head fell pill
lowed on the open book and he slept the sleep
of utter exhaustion.
The money for it all?
We'll, he robbed the graves. Hunt wasn't
villain, though; he was maniac.
The students knew Hunt.
1t was one dark, rainy night in December,
"a, that four graves were robbed. The wagon
was seen as the robbers started off in it, going
toward town. The road crosses the railroad
track, and on either side of it as it nearS the
track is a deep gully.
The alarm was given and the wagon was
seen as it crossed the track-seen by the light
from the engine not one hundred feet away.
AS the rear end of the wagon was across the
tracMthe wagon was halted suddenly and four
men, each wearing dark, cowl-like veil over
the head and shoulders, stopped and threw
from the wagon four corpses directly across
the track.
Then they dashed on again.
The pursuingpa had barely time to take
the bodies from the track before the engine
rolled past and pursuit was blocked for few
precious seconds by the passage of the train.
When the train had passed the robbers were
lost in the darl1ness-and they were never
found afterward.
His face was hard and fixed with an express
sion of sullen and utter despair. He was
Wringing his hands.
"My God" he moaned. "The work of a
lifetime gone. All to do over again, and am
old so old. Gone All gone, and l am OLD"
His spare frame shook with the intensity OF
his emotion, the tears flowed down his fur
rowed cheeks, and the old man rocked himself
Then he stopped suddenly. His eyes cleaned
with the light of q new hope, and with feyerish
energy he threw open the book--threw ii open
at the first page.
Within few inches Of the track was found
small vial filed with reddish colored, heavy
fluid. There was no label Oh the bottle, and
1t was corked and sealed.
The Waterman kept the bottle as a sort Of
memento.
No one ever knew what was in the bottle.
For that matter, nobody know why it came
there, though il was thought that ono Of the
robbers had dropped 1t rs he stopped to throw
a corpse across the track.
The night after the robbery an old man sat
with an open book before him.
Hope! Hopel" he said. "Hope. 1 have
on! My time is almost up!"
Page after page. Hour after hour, and still
the old man read.
"onl onl" he would murmur. "Death may