The Portland daily press., 1892-08-24

and the other in the quivering tones OF
age. Directly the slate colored man re-
appeared from above and said, ''The OIL
man is took bad for his supper"
I He hurriedly prepared mixture with
hot voter, salt and beef. Beef tea it
might be called. He disappeared again.
| Once more tho party below heard,
vaguely, talking over their heads. The
voice of age arose to shrek.
.sOpen the window, fooll Do you
think l can live in the smell of your
| soupr'
Mutterings by the slate colored man
| and the creaking of window were
heard.
The slate colored man stumbled down
the stairs, and said with intense gloom,
'sThe black dorg'n be along soon."
The little man started and the pudgy
man sneered at him. They ate supper
and then sat waiting. The pudgy man
listened SO palpably that the little man
| wished to kill him. The wood fire be-
came excited and sputtered frantically.
Without thousand spirits Of the winds
had become entangled in the pine
branches and were lowly pleading to be
loosened. The slate colored man tip
toed across the room and lit tlmld
candle. The men sat waiting.
The phantom dog lay cuddled to a
round bundle, asleep down the roadway
against the windward side Of an old
shanty. The specter's master had moved
to Pike county, but the dog fingered as
a friend might linger at the tomb of q
friend. His fur was like suit of old
clothes. His jowls hung and Topped,
exposing his teeth. Yellow famine was
in his eyes. The wind rocked shanty
groaned and muttered, but the dog
slept Suddenly, however, he got up
and shambled to the roadway. He cast
long glance from his hungry, despair
ing eyes in the direction of the venera-
BILE house. The breeze came full to his
nostrils. He threw back his head and
gave long, low howl and started in
tently up the road. Maybe he smelled
dead man.
The group around the fire in the ven
cradle house were listening and waiting.
The atmosphere of the room YVES tense.
The slate colored mans face was witch
ing and his Grabbed hands were gripped
together. The little man was contin-
ually looking behind his chair. Upon
the countenance of the pudgy man APP
peared conceit for an approaching tri-
umph over the little man, mingled with
apprehension for his own safety. Five
pipes glowed as rivals Of the ti1nid can
die. Profound silence dropped heavily
over them. Finally the slate colored
man spoke:
"My OIL uncle, Jim Croker, he's sick
ter DEATH"
The four men started and then shrank
back in their chairs.
damn it!' replied the little man
vaguely.
Again there was long silence. Sud-
denly it was broken by wild cry from
the room above. 1t was a shrek that
struck upon them with appalling swift
ness, like fash of lightning. The
walls whirled and the floor rumbled. 1t
brought the men together with rush.
They huddled In heap and stared at
the white terror in each others faces.
The slate colored man grasped the can
die and flared it above his head. ''The
black dorg," he howled, and plunged
at the stairway. The maddened four
men followed frantically, for it is better
to be in the presence of the awful than
only within hearing.
Their ears still quivering with the
shrek, they bounded through the hole
in the ceiling and into the sickroom.
With quilts drawn closely to his
shrunken breast for shield, his bony
hand gripping the cover, an old man
lay, with glazing eyes fixed on the open
window. His throat gurgled and q
froth appeared at his mouth.
From the outer darkness came
strange, unnatural wall, burdened with
weight of death, and each note filed
with foreboding. It was the song Of
the spectral dog.
"God" screamed the little man. He
ran to the open window. He could see
nothing at first save the pine trees, en-
gagged in furious combat tossing back
and forth and struggling. The moon
was peeping cautiously over the rims Of
SOHO U4Ch ClOuuSs 00G tuo Cutut VI
the phantom guided the little mans
eyes, and he at length perceived its
shadowy form on the ground under the
window. He fell away gssping at the
sight. The pudgy man crouched in a
corner. chattering insanely. The slate
colored man, in his fear, crooked his
legs and looked like a hideous Chinese
idol. The man upon the bed was turned
to stone, save the froth, which pulsated.
In the final struggle terror will fight
the inevitable. The little man roared
maniacal curses, and rushing again to
the window began to throw various ar
ticles at the specter.
A mug, plate, a knife, fork, all
crashed or changed on the ground, but
the song of the specter continued. The
bowl Of beef tea followed. AS it struck
the ground the phantom ceased its cry.
The men in the chamber sank Imply
against the walls, with the unearthly
wall still ringing in their ears and the
fear unfaded from their eyes. They
waited again.