Troy weekly news. (Troy, Idaho) 1897-1933, 1907-01-04

the road like a book, but l should like
our fellow to see where he's going in
the Berguner Stein"
us it dangerousY'
"A ledge for carriage way, and a
precipice for a ditch on the near side, is
not particularly pleasant for the nerves
when you can't see your hand before
YOU"
you have been here before, thenY
"Oh, yes!" he said, and so we fell into
silence.
1t was past six clock when we left
Filisur, a tiny group of deep-eaved
houses, and dropped down the hillside to
the stream. AS we rose the further slope
through a wood of scattered pines, the
moon came peering out from behind two
bare and lofty peaks that lowered above
us into the southern night, lighting their
icy submits so that they glittered like
blades of polished steel. 1t was a scene
of such melancholy desolation that as our
horses halted on the crest of the hill,
lowered the window, thrusting out my
head for better view.
In front Of us the white road curled
down into gorge. an ink-black wedge
of shadow that drove into the distance
between silver cliffs bright with the
moonlight.
as this the place you spoke OFF, l
asked.
Its the Berguner Stein, If it's that
you want to know" growled my cousin
from amongst his wraps. 'Also, wish
you would have the goodness to shut
that window"
Rut tba ramauhronca of What ha bod
told me about the dangers of the place
sent my eyes to the drivers box. AS l
was leaning from the left-hand window,
| did not expect to see more than the
fellows hat; but to my surprise, there
he was well in view, his coat huddled
about his ears. As we moved forward,
the mystery explained itself. The man
| saw was not driving
We've taken up a passenger, Cousin
Graden," said l, pulling in my head.
whats that?" he asked sharply, for
my voice had been lost in the loud COM
planning of the brakes as we trotted
down the decline.
'The drivers giving a friend lift" l
cried, leaning towards him. II suppose
he picked him up at the last village,
where"
1 reached no further, for at that ins
slant there rose from without a cry of
such utter terror that l sank back into
my place as if struck in the face by a
crushing blow. | saw a falling body
flash by the right-hand window, the out
cry of the brakes ceased with grating
clang. And then, with a bound ike that
Of a leaping horse, the great post-car-
riage rushed roaring down the hill.
l thrust out my head, clinging to the
sills of the open window.
The man upon the box seat was lash
ing the horses so that they sprang for
ward in furious bounds. Even as l
watched, he cast away his whip with a
peal of wild laughter that sounded high
above the turmoil of the flying hoofs and
the heavy wheels. He turned his head.
bending sideways, the reins held loosely
in his right hand. 1t was the face of
Marnac that stared down upon me.
His hat had gone, his white hair
streamed backward in the wind. And
he was mad-mad with an open insanity
Of which l had observed no trace be-
fore. He shrieked at me in triumph.
waving his hand now to the horses, now
to the chasm beyond the four-foot wall
that guarded the road. He cursed me
with furious gesticulations. Even as |
write, | seem to see those eyes staring
at me out of the white paper-eyes Cog
Cling with the lust of murder. Heaven
send that time will wipe that remem-
brance from my brainl
l shrank back into the carriage, that
rocked and swung and danced beneath
me. Graden's huge shoulders almost
blocked the other window; but l caught
sight of the CLINT of his revolver in the
moonlight. Was it to be man or horse?
One or the other, if we were not to leap
the precipice at the first sharp turn Sud
denly he shouted, and again l struggled
to my post. In the darkness down the
road was the glimmer of lights. Nearer
and nearer they drew, and l, too, raised
my voice in a scream of warning. The
last fifty yards we took in one bound
or so 1t seemed. l saw a carriage grow
out of the shadow that the cliffs above us
drew across the road; | saw our ieadiu.
horse swing to the left and leap blindly
at the low wall that hid heaven knew
what frightful depths below; and then,
with a lettering slide that seemed to
wrench the heart out of me, we curled,
as a motor skids, into one thunderous
crash that blotted out the world.
MRS. HARLAND'S NARRATIVE.
CHAPTER XIV.
l have been asked by nv dear husband