The Hope pioneer. [volume] (Hope, N.D.) 1882-1964, 1906-10-18
cHAPTER b
The Dead CITY.

Inc city without life lay handsomely
along a river in the early sunlight of
a September morning. Death had
seemingly not been long upon it, o
had it made any scar. No breach Or
rent or disorder or sign of violence
could be seen. The long, shaded
streets breathed the still airs Of utter
peace and quiet. From the ha1f-circle
around which the broad river bent it's
moody current, the neat houses, set in
cool, green gardens, were terraced up
the high hill, and from the summit of
this a stately marble temple, glitter
ing of newness, lowered far above
them in placid benediction.
From a skiff in mid-river, a young
man rowing toward the dead city rest
ed On his oars and looked over his
shoulder to the temple on the hilltop.
Landing presently at the wharf, he
was stunned by the hush of the
streets. This was not like the city of
10000 people he had left three months
before. In blank bewilderment he
stood, turning to each quarter for some
solution of the mystery. Perceiving>a at
length that there was really no life
either way along the river, he started
wonderingly up a street that led from
the Waterside-a street which, when
he had last walked it, was quickening
with the rush of a mighty commerce..
Soon his expression of wonder was
darkened by a shade of anxiety. There
was al unnerving quality in the
trance-like stiffness; and the mystery
of it pricked him to forebodings. He
was now passing empty workshops,
hesitating at door after door with ever
mounting alarm. Then he began to.
call, but the sound of his voice served
only to aggravate the silence.
Growing holder, he tried some of
the doors and found them to yield, let
ting him into a kind of smothered,
troubled quietness even more op-
pressive than that outside. He passed
an empty ropewalk, the hemp strewn
untidily about, as if the workers had
left hurriedly. He peered c%uriously at
idle looms and deserted spinning
wheels-deserted apparently but the
instant before he came. 1t seemed as
if the people were fled maliciously just
in front, to leave him in this fearfullest
of all solitudes. He wondered if he
did not hear their quick, furtive steps,
and see the vanishing shadows of
them.
At last, halfway up the next block,
he thought his eyes caught for a short
half-second the mere thin shadow of
a skulking figure. 1t had seemed to
pass through a grape arbour that all
but shielded from the street a house
slightly more pretentious than it's
neighbors. He ran toward the spot,
calling as he went. But when he had
vaulted over the low fence, run across
the garden and around the end of the
arbor, dense with the green leaves and
clusters of purple grapes, the space in
front Of the house was bare. If more
than a trick-phantom Of his eye had
been there. 1t had vanished.
He stepped inside and called. There
was no answer, but above his head a
board creaked. He started up the
stairs in front of him, and, as he did
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across a bare floor above. He stopped
climbing; the steps ceased. He start.
ed up, and the steps came again. He
knew now they came from a room at
the head of the stairs. He bounded up
the remaining steps and pushed open
the door with a loud "Halloo!"
The was empty. Yet across it
there was the indefinable trail of a
presence-an odor, a vibration, he
knew not what-and where a bar of
sunlight cut the gloom under a half
raised curtain, he saw the notes in
the air all astir. Opposite the door
he had opened was another, leading,
apparently, to a room at the back of
the house.
Determined to be no longer eluded,
he crossed the room on tiptoe and
gently tried the opposite door. 1t was
locked. AS he leaned against it, al
most in a terror of suspense, he knew
he heard again those little seemings
Of a presence a doors thickness away.
He did not hesitate. Still holding the
turned knob in his hand, he quickly
crouched back and brought his fexed
shoulder heavily against the door. It
flew open with a breaking sound, and.
with a little gasp of triumph, he was
in the room to confront it's unknown
occupant.
Then, from behind the door he had
opened, a staggering blow was dealt
him, and, before he could recover, or
had done more than blindly crook one
arm protectingly before his face, he
was borne heavily to the floor, with
ing in a grasp that centered all its
crushing power about his throat.
CHAPTER II.
The Wild Ram of the Mountains.
Slight though his figure was, it was
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