Pierre weekly free press. (Pierre, S.D.) 1889-19??, 1905-05-11
Having completed his preparations.

Having completed his preparations,
Clarence closed the partly perforated
door, and placed his back against it.
His face, smeared with flour from a
small sack Of that article in the litch-
en-, was hideously corpse-like and
ghostly; his jet-black hair, brows, eyes,
mustache and chin beard, in vivid con-
trast with this ghastliness, as was THO
hue of his sable garb also: and the
lamplight and Pickering light of the
fire on the hearth, reflected from his
keen and bright eyes, gave a weird
and awful look to his cavernous coun
tenance
He tossed from him pair of tongs.
which he had taken from the hearth,
with such good aim that they fell
squarely and with no little force. on
Bashfort's shaggy and mastiff-like
head; whence they fell upon the floor
with clang and clash that must have
aroused the sleeping ruffian even had
the blow failed to do so.
Bashfort sprang to sitting posture
with snarl and snort of rage and sur.
prise.
Sfames! What was that?" he ex.
claimed, clapping his hands to his
head and glazing about him, his eyes
almost blind for a moment from their
sudden opening upon bright light.
Neil Bashfort," said solemn voice
in most unearthly tone.
And at that instant the ruffian's eyes
first perceived the ghastly-looking fig
ure at the door.
"Ha! the phantom face again! An
accuTsed dream!" calculated Bashfort
hurting himself back upon his couch
and dragging blanket over his head
But it instantly occurred to him that
he had received a blow upon the head;
that something had FLASHED and clat
tered upon the floor, and that his name
had been spoken.
He ventured to draw the blanket
from his head and to look toward the
door.
The dread figure was still there, as
motionless as marble, and apparently
as dead, save in the eyes, which were
fixed upon Bashfort, in a glare most
terrible to him.
1t is a spirit, or a dream, or spec
tire of my brain, muttered Bashfort
shuddering, and unable to remove his
eyes from those which stared at him
Spirit, phantom, fantasy or devil,
will fire at it,
He seized one of his pistols from the
bench near him, and not rising to his
feet, but reaching forward in a sitting
posture, Sc that the muzzle of his
weapon was not more than ten feet
from Clarence's breast, took deliberate
aim and drew trigger.
Flame and smoke and loud report
answered his fingers pressure, but the
figure at the door did not move.
Instantly Bashfort seized, aimed and
fired his other pistol, and glared eager
| ly to see the effect of his shot.
AS the smoke rolled aside, Clarence
stepped to the right, half wheeled
about, and placed a forefnger of eacf
| hand just below the two balls he bat
inserted in the door. saying:
Were I mortal man, these would
| have slain me, for they passed through
where my heart used to be, Neil Fash
| fort
He spoke in his natural tone, in {
| clear, rich and manly voice, and t.
| Bashforts ear this voice sounded ex
| actly as the voice Of Claude de Lave
| had sounded to him twenty-five year:
| before, when, at the Boar inn at York
he had heard that unfortunate gentle
man say to the landlord:
See 20 it that my horse be vel
cared for, and that l be called up al
| sunrise"
"Whare your heart used to be-" re
peated Bashfort, perceiving the bullets
! in the door, and not doubling that they
had passed through the figure. "Wha
| are you?"
ga spirit!"
| "Whose?"
"You know, guilty man, as well as I
| I am the spirit of Claude de Lavet, the
man you murdered at York, in the Boar
inn, by zeno Sosia's command, TWEEN
| ty-two years ago.
"Ah!" calculated Bashfort, amazed
| and dizzy with horror.
Ito Be Continued.)