Waterbury evening Democrat., 1890-10-11

feeling created under ordinary circum' stance and in paths of life where such sights are not uncommon. The violent contrast chills and paralyses the senses and for the moment we know not how to act or what to do. We stand and gaze in horror. as if struck dumb, until the actual truth which has burst sud denly upon us is made clear and indis' putable, when we begin to use our reasoning powers, and look for cause.
 Such an experience was that of Anton Reyman on a bright July morning, as far back as 1875.
 Anton was the foreman of the Posada wine cellars. Three years before he had left his home on the Rhine. and had come to tempt fortune in the land of the setting sun For months he had wandered around earning what little he could, doing odd jobs in various large towns of Middle California, but poor success. or rather entire lack of success, at last made him so disgnsted with city life that he turned his back upon bricks and mortar and set his face and feet to- ward the free, fresh country.
 Tn his old home he had learned enough to make him a very useful hand in a vineyard or a wine cellar, and after wearying in his useless efforts to reap a fortune from the sidewalks of San Fran cisco, he had found his way to the be&uti- full and fertile Sonoma valley. His advent here was as devoid of good results as his roaming through San Francisco had been until he finally had the good fort une to meet friend in the person of Mario Delaro, a prosperous vintager, who had need at that time of such a man as Anton.
 From that day until the one in the early morning of which we find him vending his way to work he had given his master faithful service and had been rewarded accordingly.
 Anton was in a gay mood this morn ing. He had breakfasted well and had kissed his young wife and year-old babe when he parted from them with such bright smiles as he had not worn for many day His thoughts were tinged with gayest hues, and as he walked along he sang Justify an old German hunting song in Q manner which would have dono credit to a Saxon Jager Meister.
 Anton had been born in the midst of beautiful rural scenery, but nature had not lost its charm for him. He was never weary of gazing admiringly at the beautiful landscape which lay stretched before him. For him the brown, vine- clad hill possessed a never-failing, ir- resistible charm and he loved to revel in the grandeur of the sight while he compared 1t with the enchanting coun- try he had left beyond the sea. In this manner was he engaged when he casu- ally withdrew his glance from the hills and vineyards and cast 1t on the ground. As he did so he halted suddenly and stopped to make certain that 1t was a thick line of blood which he had beheld in the dust of the road. No, he had not mistaken. Blood indeed it was-but what could 1t meanP Blood was one of the last things he would be apt to as- sociate with his surroundings here, and curiosity was now rampant in his mind. He followed the trail few feet and found that it turned towards the vines. A few steps further and he saw the body of a large, f1nely-formed man, lying flat on his back. In almost single bound he was beside 1t, and then with an ejaculation which none but German throats can possibly utter, he throw up his arms with mixed feelings of horror