Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1896-02-05
THE MISER'S HOARD,

Have you ever strolled in the quaint
old city of San Antonio to where the
river cuts, like steel knife blade
through the hills? 1t runs in the rift be-
tween the hills, as if nature had carved
its course IN the dark, and tangled it all
up, like silver-blue ribbon in the forest
of mesquite fringe.
Have you ever followed its winding
and looked upon the haunted house
standing high above the rivers brim.
and seen, dark upon its Wondering
walls, the print of a bloody hand?
No? Then l will tell you the story;
1T happened many years ago.
1t was New Years eve, and raw wind
swept through the cIefts between the
hills and dashed the spray Of the San
Antonio river in a monotonous swish
against the steep, overhanging bank.
What with the rush of the wind through
the trees and the beat of the turbulent
waves, minor sounds were swallowed up
in the general discord of nature.
On the bridge spanning the river stood
francesca Pitro and Juan Tasca, their
sombreros drawn low over their faces,
their throats muft1ed to keep off the cut
ting wind.
Pitro dashed his hand against the
bridge rail-
L tell you, JUAN he cried. ''if Ras-
.chal Quito were not the old misers only
heir, he should never marry my daugh-
ter. \ proud, lazy, trifing-''
Pitro caught his breath sharply as the
sound of a cry, shrill and far away,
foated down the river.
What is that?'' he said, grasping
oriaH in
death agony
Tasca drew his muffler down from one
ear.
L hear nothing" he said. 1T was
the cry of a jaguar you heard, no doubt.
You are excited enough to hear any
thing
Perhaps answered Pitro; ''yet it
seemed to me there was something in the
cry | recognized.
Tasca moved forward.
You were talking Of young Quito"
he reminded Yes. the boy is wild-ap-
of good about him. The way that old
uncle of his treats him is enough to
drive the energy out of any spirited
young fellow; ne has never had a chance
to show what is in him, good or bad.
Now, there was the time
L want TO hear no praise of Quito,
interrupted Pitro harshly. Here my
daughter might have made a fine match
with Senior ROcca; true, a little old for
so lovely a girl, but a man of standing
of wealth! Yet, what can l say. Who
knows what sums of gold that old man
Quito has hidden? One cannot over
look that. And when Monita throws her
arms about my neck and vows that she
will marry no one but Raschal, only
Raschal, what can l say. She is my
only one. my little Monita."
mo fairer, sweeter child ever blessed
fathers home" added Tasca. They
We're over the bridge now, and nearer
Pitro's home. From different direction
who may say just when? "a tall young
figure had left that home.
Good night, Monita, mia," he had
said folding his beautiful young fancee
III his arms; you will not have long to
wait. If my uncle will not support
me in decency. nor allow me to support
myself, we will marry anyhow. [ have
a plan and we will not tarry long in &C
complishing it,
Monita's soft, dusky eyes flashed a love
light up into his face: her red lips closed
like a rosebud for a kiss.
L will never marry anyone but you,"
she cried 1T is only you I love-
With these words ringing in his ears
Raschal drew his cloak about him and
disappeared in the gloom of the mesquite
shadows.
Some distance down the river Miser
Quito, as he was called, sat muttering
in his home The fire was bright that
warmed him; he did not have to spend
money for fuel; the room was comforta-
bic and his family had been well-to-do;
all that they left was his.
"Why does that wretched boy stay so
late"' he muttered. always anxious
to leave me, when anyone might come
IN this lonely place and rob me- Always
anxious TO work for his living-pah! AS
II | could trust hireling to protect me
as RaschaFs presence does. All, l will
make him suffer for this delay. wretch
that he is TO leave me thus alonev
\ heavy step sounded on the stair
outside; the door was pushed open as the
old man unbolted it. and a tall, cloaked
figure stepped into the room
What followed during bitter alterca.
ton belated passersby who heard the
raised voices could not say. Was not
Miser Quito forever ouarreling with
Raschal? And now that he had for
hidden Raschal to marry. was not the
Quarrellng likely to be worse than ever?
It was in the gray light of New Years
morning that Marco, the woodcutter,
looked up as he passed Miser Ouito's
house and saw the print of bloody
hand on the wall seside the door,
Marco grew pale through his swarthy
skin Bloody deeds were not uncommon
sights about San Antonio. Marco had
no horror of them. But whoever saw
q seal like that upon the wall of a mans
home? Marco turned with a sudden
weakness in his knees and hurried into
town.
Among the rush of people who has
tened past Marco on his return to the
Quito house were Tasca and Pitro. AS
If answering an unspoken accusation.
Tasca turned at the door, crying:
his IS not the mark Of RaschaPs
hand: the fingers are too short and broad
for his
No one noticed him as the crowd
pushed its way into the miser's living
room and looked down with a sort of
horror Jpn the battered remains of the
old miser lying in Il pool of blood
The Old mans nephew had many more
enemies than friends, and from them
burst cry-like the yelp of boodhounds
upon nlUrderer's track-"Raschalr'
They scattered IN every direction in n
seif-instituted search for the murderer.
lie was nowhere on the premises. and
thcir search here only revealed the fact