The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1889-02-19

together.
It was in this same perfumed foliage
that the daughter of Pharoah found the
holy Moses Graded mid his lily leaves.
He now started O little as he. saw by
the dim light of the fading moon that he
was standing at the foot of three carefully
trimmed graves. What earthly purpose
could this strange girlhave had in SO care
fully tending these three graves? / do not
know, nor viii I even attempt to answer
for her actions. I did not make her, nor
will I answer for her actions. I can
only record them and set things down as
they appeared.
Recovering his composure in a moment
the man stepped a pace forward, parted
the rank and most luxuriant lilies and
leaning far forward looked down with
eagerness into the mysterious deeps of
the wide, deep well. Nothingl Nothing?
He saw nothing but certainly there was a
bubbling, gurgling sound; asomething in
distinct and far away. He paused a mo-
ment and then making sure of his footing
leaned forward over the fragrant wall of
lilies, painting his bosom yellow with
their shafts of gold, and listened long and
eagerly.
This time there was no installing the
fact that there was some sort of disturb
ance or commotion in the deep, dark
stream below.
1t was almost dark now. The last ray
of moonlight was leaving the lilies. An
other moment and the man stood there by
the three graves by the haunted well IN
absolute darkness. No corner is darker
than a dense copse at midnight where the
rays of the moon point through no longer.
The stars make no impression in a place
like this. You had as well stand in a
cavern where light has never been born.
To go away now at this time was i'm
possible. To remain began to seem al
most in%tolerable.
A sound came up from the well nearer
and clearer than before. 1t was like the
humping Of a boat or light pontoon against
a bank. Then again, he could fancy he
heard it humping against the earth at his
feet. He dared not lean forward and
attempt to look down. Putting aside all
the peril of making a single step in this
profound darkness with this chasm at his
feet was clear. He stood still; leaning
back rather than forward, his hands folded
on his breast, breathing hard, holding his
lips tightly set and bravely, determinedly
daring to await the worst where he stood.
And now he could distinctly hear the
humping of a boat; al empty boat. He
was certain that it was a boat; he was
certain that it was a boat of leather or
canvas. And he was certain that the boat
was empty. It would be idle to explain
how he knew all this so certainly, but it
is enough to say that he knew. Nature,
when you leave off your cunning or art, is
very reliable. Your senses at such a time
as this are at their best. And the best
that your senses are capable of you will
never know till put to trial.
John Gray had lost his dread to some
extent now. Nothing supernatural vas
there at all in the humping and humping
of an empty boat against the sucking of
e rising am infowing well, and he begun
to speculate on this additional evidence in
support of his Buried River theory.
Here was a well, or air hole. The river
flowed on under this fume to the sea.
The mouth of this river was being closed
up by the filling in of the Sacramento
River from the long and continued wash
ing down of the Sierras by gold hunters.
The tide would turn this Buried River
back on itself daily. But back of that lay
the fact that the Buried River was badly
choked at the mouth as before explained
and when great rains filled it from the
plains it had hard work in finding express
sion and so flooded it's own banks.
Reasoning thus and almost forgetting
himself in following out this pleasant
solution of the mystery before him, John
Gray suddenly stood as stiff and cold as if
made of marble. He could not lift his
hands or even let them fall down to his
side from where they lay folded and COM
fortably doubled in with his arms across
his breast. The. boat was before him.
But such q boatl True, it was empty, as
he had guessed. True, it was a pontoon
boat built of hide stretched tightly over a
frame. But such a sight there in the
blackness of night by the three graves no
man ever saw before.
1t was the great, white Spanish bull;
and looking him right in the face across
the narrow rim of nodding lilies.
The eyes were brilliant little lamps
trimmed and burning so brightly that the
whole little heart of the copse was
lighted like a festal hall.
The wide and splendid horns were per-
fectly in place. The mighty neck had
lost none of it's noble strength and au-
dacity. The widened nostrils were in the
air. The ears were alert. Battle and
blood were in every fold of the sweeping
brisket.
It was a wonderful work Of art that the
strange girl had anchored here in the
breathing well by the neatly kept graves.
The skin had been opened at the back, the
legs drawn up and fastened from within.
The noble brute rode the waters on his
breast as bravely as when the adventures
Europa bestrope her milk white bull far
back beyond the dawn of history and
swan the Hellespont.
There were no oars or place for oars.
A paddle may have been hidden within;
but it was p%erilous making inquiry here
and the artist was too much lost in adj