The Clio messenger., 1915-10-08

fire.
The protesting voices inside OF me
had died. too. l knew the hope had
builded so bravely was gone-there
was nothing left.
! / pulled the brances of the bush to-
ward me then. and, burying my hot
face in the cool wetness of the leaves,
sobbed. Yes, sobbed. They wero
sobs of bitter rage that choked my dry
throat and shook my whole body.
don't think there were any tears,
but mingled with the sobs were curses
| curses against fate, myself, the
thing that had been within my reach
deemed responsible in that moment Of
unreasonable rage for the blast that
had come to me.
How long stood there don't know
will never know. Sanity came when
heard footsteps again on the path.
Two more men were hurrying up
the path from the house, and I drop
ped to the ground and crouched
against fallen log as / saw the Ian.
tern one of them carried.
| "He took to the railroad tracks. ~
! know anything" heard one of them
say nasally.
George an Phil Naples an John
Rogers came up here" said the 9TH
er. Maybe they got some trace"
Lucky that smart city lawyer that's
stayin' down the road piece fer the
summer came up, amt it?" remarked
the first, as they hurried on. "That--"
They were out of earshot and l
heard no more.
Then I realized my position.
was a stranger near the scene of a
had the man described few minutes
before.
! didn't know foot of the country.
and every minutes delay meant that
more people were being aroused. OF
course could establish my innocence,
but-cOuld l?
That question hit me like an cleo.
trio shock. Would the conductor
whose notice had so carefully avoid
ed remember me? Would the whist
| players be able to identify me abso-
| lutely? No! Why, could be arrest
ed and sent up for the murder. Men
| have gone to the electric chair for
| less!
Carefully / made my way down the
path toward the house. | knew that
it would be worse than folly to go
| back to the railroad, and il would be
impossible to find my way through
| the woods and fields. / must find the
road. Luckily l wore gloves to pro-
tect my hands from the scratching
triar. and my turned-up collar and
pulled-down hat covered my face.
Crouched low I fought my wav
through the thick underground.
could both hear and feel the bushes
tearing my brown rain-coat, my feet
sloshed through ankle-deep puddles,
the rain was chilling me to the bone
where I could still see the men
through the lighted windows.
A carriage drove up to the house,
and some crazy instinct drew me
back. Was it the constable who had
just driven up? Was there any more
Information to be had?
l was on the road now, and almost
on my knees l made my way along in
the shadow of the high bushes that
lined the road Cautiously, SLOWLY,
went nearer There came break in
the bushes, and l stepped into it &c
straighten my cramped back.
"Ive got HIM"
The shout rang in my ears! A pair
Of huge arms encircled my body with
their pressure of steel. The hot
whisky-fumed breath of my captor
came to my nostrils.
"We're COMMIT"
The answering cry came from the
house, not fifty feet distant. / heard
the Gathering feet on the porch.
tried to wriggle from his hold, but
the arms were around me like wise
I could hear the coming men as they
splashed through the mud and water
of the road.
voiced low, gasping moan and
went limp. I heard the pant of tri
umph, felt the arms loosen. NV
hands, clasped before me, shot up to
his chin. The wedge of my arms tore
his part.
He staggered back and my right
fist crashed against his jaw With the
same movement, almost, / caught
him as he fell and let him slide gent
ly into the bushes at the side of tho
path. / rolled him farther into them
with my foot and darted into the
darkness, yelling at the top of my
painting voice:
"He got away! UP this path
save wind-run!"
I heard them coming IN the dark
ness, but l knew that in the black
rain I was as invisible as the body
of the unconscious man in the bushes.