The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1898-01-05

ing back to add, "And don't any Of
you come creeping up behind me, for 1
don't like it,"
The other two looked anywhere but
at each other, without speaking. There
was no sound from above after the
stairs had ceased to creek under the
footpad's weight. Outside the dog
howled long, low baying that never
ceased.
The hostler fetched a billhook from
the lean to shed and employed the
time in taking off his boots. After a
lance at the other he sat down with
the bilhook hidden by his coat flap.
Both men started at he first creak of
the stair.
George stood at the stair foot, blink
ing in the sudden light.
"He's a-sleeping like the dead" he
whispered. "Can't even hear him
breathe. His candles is burning yet. l
see them through the keyhole. Come
on"
All three stood together for a moment
at the bottom of the stairway. There
was moments hesitation, while the
landlord and Mr.. Masters adjusted the
procession behind Bill, who had planted
bis foot on the bottom stair. AT this
inopportune instant the tall clock in the
corner struck one with a thrill, metallic
stroke, and Bill withdrew his foot sud-
denly, dropping the billhook. 1t fell to
the red tiles of the floor, which gave
back claDg on clang.
Aghast at this misbap, the host push
ed his clumsy fingered servant back
into his place in the corner, Mr.. Mas
tiers and himself reseated themselves
with hastily assumed appearance of
genial domesticity.
But no startled guest appearing on
the stairs after ten minutes of COM
plete silence, the procession reformed
ip its old order and went up.
Outside the bedroom door they held
their breath and listened-not a sound
but the ticking Of the clock below, the
rushing of the wind without and the
moaning plant of the dog.
A stealthier man than the hostler,
the landlord thrust sleek hand for
ward to grasp the latch of the door. 1t
was unsecured and opened a little way
under his gentle pressure. Through
the foot of opening they could see the
two waxen candles flame in the sock
cts as they burned by the sleeping man.
BY their light his legs modelled them
selves under the white counterpart.
His face and shoulders were in the
deep shadows of the faded green cur
tains of the half tester.
At the sight of the bed the heart of
the hostler became suddenly sick with
in him. With white lips and shaking
knees he vacated his place in the pro-
cession and pushing past the landlord,
who was still posing himself at the
stair head, he made his way to the
room below. At that moment, could
their limbs have borne them, his COM
panions would have followed him. They
huddled together in the corner of the
landing, holding their breath and lis
tening until the taproom door opened
and shut and they knew themselves
alone with the sleeper.
For the terror of those strained min.
utes it might have been the old man
behind the curtains who was the am
pushed watcher.
The landlord, with his shoulders
raised, had stolen on tiptoe into the
room. One of the candles was now gut.
tering and haring preparatory to going
out. The fragment of the other burn
ed on with long, red, smoking wick,
lighting up the bright point of the rusty
case knife clinched in his fingers.
He glanced upward at the brutal fea-
lures of the footpad. Their eyes met
with the same thought in each. 1t
was the recollection of that other night,
when they had stolen into that room to
rob another helpless, sleeping old man
of sleep and life.
The great silence was not to be
borne. The footpad put out his own
hand and thrust the landlord forward
by the shoulder. He drew back,
stumbling heavily. AS he recovered
himself they both sprung forward to-
ward the bed and tore back the old
green curtains.
Behind these, bis poor white face
thrown back over the pillows, lay the
old man, his thin hands rigidly graspipg
the edges Of the sheet drawn up under
his chin. They leaned over the bed
and half drew back.
"By God, tits very like him!" said
the landlord in a whisper.
George had his hands on the sheet
and pulled it back roughly.
cit is him, by Godl" he cried. For
as he pulled back the sheet the last
candle hared up and died down and
went out. Its last light shone on the
sleeper's throat, gashed across-horri-
bly, gaping-red and wet. This was no
stranger, but the man they had MUIR
dered year ago. They had left him
just so last Christmas morning.
There was heavy fall on the floor
in the dark, and some one rushed to the
stair, screaming loudly.
The dog in the yard whined with
pleasure to hear human voice, and
then once more there was the silence
of death at the Hare and Billet.
In the red haze of early Christmas
morning the hostler came up the sod