The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1903-09-03
At the End
of the Trail
BY j. w. HU MT
Copyright, 1908. by Daily Story Pub. Coz
AnUICK, Uncle Amos, somebody 's
j killed Marjory!"

(Copyr18nts IVY Dy UasAIy ctoIy 1uOs NoJ
AnUICK, Uncle Amos, somebody's
j killed Marjory!"
The speed with which she had come
left scant breath to deliver her mes
sage. and she jerked it out in short
gasps to the old man sitting so peace
fully in a rocking chair on the little
porch. bringing him to his feet with
something of the vigor of 20 years be-
fore, while a motherly little old wom-
an hurried ort from her task in the
kitchen, her fiour-smeared hands
raised to Heaven in shocked surprise.
Horror was on the faces of her au-
ditors as the girl sobbed her tale. They
had been gathered about the piano,
she,s Marjory and two girl friends.
,Marjory was playing. The windows
! were open. In the midst of the music
there was shot and Marjory, clasp
ing her side, tumbled from her seat
and died, almost without a word. Who
had done it? They had not stopped to
inquire. While servant had run for
the nearest doctor she had hurried for
Uncle Amos.
As he listened there were reflected
in the old mans eyes the qualities
which had made him the recognized
power that he was in the little CON-
munity, the shrewd common sense, the
unfaltering resolution, the undaunted
courage of a born leader of men. A
few rapidly spoken orders set busy
Z hands at work on strap and buckle,
and almost before the messenger had
finished her tale buggy, drawn by a
fast-stepping horse, was brought
around from the stable and Uncle
Amos had taken his seat and turned
the animals head into the shady lane
that led toward the scene of the trag-
edy.
1t was a setting filter for pastoral
than a tale Of blood. that rambling
house, hiding its gable ends in clam
bering rose vines and crouched in the
shade of noble elms. Always one OF
the picturesque spots of the neighbor-
hood, it had lost nothing of its attrac-
tiveness in the hands of it's new ten
ant, Mrs. Dennison, who two years be.
fore had come into the community and
made her home at Rose Gable As she
made no secret of the fact that she was
unhappily married and had separated
from her husband, the good people re-
garded her rather askance, until, won
by the charming simplicity and blame
fssness of her life, they had recon
structed their code of ethics on q
broader scale and had ended by loving
her. And now she was dead, mur.
dered! Who could have done it? What
did it mean?
Uncle Amos asked himself these
questions time and time again while
his trotter drew him swiftly to the
scene of the tragedy, but he was far
from imagining an answer when he
drew rein in the drive before the house
and confronted the tear-stained faces
OF the household. Silently he listened
to their recital of the occurr ence,
which added nothing to what he had
already learned from Lucy.
The shot was fred through this
window; the position of the wound
proves as much, ana the assassin prob
ably fired from that clump of lilacs.
See, it is perfect line from there ia
the piano"
1t was the doctor who spoke.
And has search been made that
way?" asked Uncle Amos, waving his
hand in the direction of the .ilacs.
Every foot of the ground has been
gone over, clear to the road"
And you have found
Nothing. Absolutely nothing, ex.
cept broken stalk of the lilac bush. y
Broken. how?'
with the hand, apparently. 1t is at
about the height of man and looks
as though it might have been twisted
aside aPd broken by some one hicine
there who wished clearer view of the
house."
And has any one touched it since ~
Touched it? No."
"Then there is a way" Uncle Amos
exclaimed. "See to it that no one dis.
turbs the place until 1 return.''
But what are you going to do?'
Get the bloodhound from the peo.
pie at the old quarry and put him on
the scent; arouse the neighborhood
and run the scoundrel to EARTH"