The Press., 1892-05-12
THE RED RAVEN.

On the night of the Nativity bloody crime was committed at Caperno. Mas tro Lanza, a worthy man about fifty years old, who, two months before, had returned from America with goodly heap of gold, was killed by an unknown hand. Profound consternation, aggra- vated by fantastic fear. reigned through out the country. When would the as> sassin be discovered? country for week, grew weary of the useless labor-no trace, no clew.
 The grave where Mastro Lanza lay buried was covered with fall of snow, and the gravedigger, after planting over it rough cross, had chanted this lugu- brious antiphon, Frozen is thy bed, poor Mastro: but the ruffian who cut thy throat in order to possess himself of thy dollars will pass the winter joyously before a hearth crowned with bottles?
 As the gravedigger turned his back on the cross and went his way out of the inclosure, hoarse, guttural sound is- sued from the silent gloom of the twi- light.
 ''The devil is laughing" exclaimed the servant of the dead, closing the gate. s'The gendarmes will lose their time"
 From the peaks of Albenza to the val leys of Soma the earth was white-the streets were deserted. A few dimly lighted windows disclosed something of life in the human beings huddled to- gether in frosty huts. The whiteness of the snow seemed dark as twilight poured over it's luminous brightness.
 A man wrapped from nose to knees in thick cloak climbed the steep road that led from the valley of Soma to Caperno. He was going to Opreno. The distance that still lay before him was long-night threatened to overtake him on his way. And this man-young, healthy, vigorous was afraid of the night.
 Coming from Pontida on his way home to his own mountainous country, he had taken the shortest route, which, besides being the shortest, also enabled him to avoid inhabited places. He climed the steep hill with hurried steps, like a be- lated traveller who is in haste to reach his destination.
 On, on he went. The hill overcome he stopped an instant, as if at sight of an obstacle or at the sound of threat. What had he seen? What heard?
 He had seen the white wall of the cemetery-had heard the hoarse croak of the raven.
 Oh, it is yet to be seen that Nardo dei Brizzi, the intrepid hunter of the valley, is afraid of the dead.
 And the man in the cloak, shaking of his terror, took up his march with a quick step, that he might leave as quick ly as possible painful situation.
 Arrived before the cemetery, he turned his face from it and drew back, skirting the wall at the left. As soon as he seemed sufficiently removed from the abode of the dead he stopped. wiped away the perspiration which rolled down his face, and casting backward glance over the road already traversed saw on the white carpet of snow-hop ping after him, running directly toward nina small body. whose form, out lined on the deep snow, appeared that oi raven with red plumage Another ravenr' cried Brizzi, with chattering teeth. ''Mastro'swas black. Who ever saw one of these cursed birds with feath. CTS the color of blood?'
 The red raven had stopped in the mid. dle of the road and seemed to be waiting for the man to take mp his march again in order that he might resume his play of running after him. r.
 Il Brizzi threw aside his cloak, picked up a handful of snow from the ground made it in a ball and taking aim threw it with an oath straight at the bird.
 The bird jumped aside to avoid the projectile, croaked three times in mock ing tone, then, hopping along on it's two straight nodulous claws, advanced toward the hunter with the petulant manner of one who has received chal- lenge.
 "Why have 1 not iny good gun with me?' thought the mountaineer. grinding his teeth. And, burrowing his head deep in the folds of his cloak, he went hastily on his way up the hill like a frightened child. -@. ..s
 The raven followed him, beating his wings, and that noise of futtering feath- CTS, penetrating the big hood that en. veloped the head of the fleeing man, pierced his ears and froze his blood.
 In the dense obscurity of the night, damp with precipitation, Nardo Brizzi at last arrived at Opreno.
 With convulsive haste he opened the door of an old hut, entered, closed it, then, having lighted lantern, threw it's rays through the little yard to make sure that the other had not entered.