Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1896-02-13

Tasca turned to the door, crying:
This is not the mark OF Raschal's
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 sort OF
horror upon the battered remains Of
the old miser lying In pool of blood.
The old mans nephew had many
more enemies than friends, and from
them burst a cry-like the yelp Of
bloodhounds upon IA murderer's track
"Raschal!"
They scattered In every direction In
a self-ihstituted search for the murder
err. He was nowhere on the premises,
and their search here only revealed the
fact that the old man had been robbed
as rxell as murdered.
Monita lay sleeping through the early
morning hours, the fringe Of her long
lashes lay on the rounded flush of her
cheeks, and bl0tted out that crimson
hued shadow that had fallen upon her
life
or all San Antonio she was the only
one who did not go to look at the print
of the crimson hand. or all San An
tonic Tasca was the only man who
could not see that the contour Of the
red palm and blood-dripping fingers
was that of Raschal Quito.
The next day Miser Quito was buried
In his own grounds, for no money could
he found for burial elsewhere, and
the expense that the town went to was
paid out Of the sale of some of his
handsome effects. They were sold at
mere trifie, for, the people said, "Ras-
chal will never come back to be
hanged" and they did not scruple to
make good such chance for acquiring
the heirlooms of the Quito family.
though Miser Quito's avarice had not
left any too many for sale.
The hunt for Raschal was savage
one. but fruitlessly, and finally 1t was
abandoned.
HE must have drowned himself"
the people said: perhaps when the
river is low in the fall we may find
his bones"
You remember that cry?" asked
Pitro of Tasca: lat first / thought 1t
was old man Quito's voice; now know
1t was that of Raschal as he plunged
into the river"
Perhaps" assented Tasci
The miser's house was locked, and
time wore on until the wild flowers
of Texas made q covering Of blue and
gold over Mlser Quito's grave, and the
mark of the crimson hand grew less
vivid I'm hue.
Monta clung to the belief that Ras-
chal was innocent; that he would send
for her some day when il was safe to
do SO, and she never questioned her in
tent To 20 when the time came. Tasca
alone learned her belief. and it was
wonderful how. after Tasca had as
Surcd her that il was also his own, she
bloOmed again into the lovely, merry
maiden she had been before this trag-
edy had swept across her life.
The roses came back To her cheeks
and she no longer refused to see her
friends. But she grew quiet and staid
rs year after year went by without a
sign from Raschal: and all San An
tonic was talking about the sound of
loud voices that We're heard after night
fall i'm the Quito house. and every New
Years eve along the course of the river
here rang Il muffied cry which chilled
the blood i'm the veins of the hearers
and fastened them away from the
dark. haunted stream.
Time never hushed these cries; years
never wiped away the imprint of that
scarlet hand beside the door, nor turned
the love of beautiful MOnita into an
other channel.
Ii was nearing Christmas one day,
and as they filed into the open door Of
San Fernando Il man waiting beside it
stepped forward ut the approach Of
Juan Tasca and said:
You are Sheriff Tasca?'
Tasca nodded.
'"rhen you are wanted ut once to take
the deposition of dying man"
THAT is not my business" began
Tasca.
mo natter" urged the latter: ''hc
says you are the only friend Raschal
Quito had. and"
II will come" cried Tasca, growing
white at the sudden thought Of Ras-
chal within reach. living-dying!
lie hurried the man on his way till
he paused mt the door of u ranchman's