Year: 1875

ltwas IN the latter part OF November,
in the year 1874, that found myself at
sunset, on one of the dreariest DAYS
ever saw, waiting my chances at little
Arkansas station for a seat in a coach,
which the telegraph operator assured
me would start in a couple of hours for
the town of C, my next destina-
tion.


sat in the operators little cage,
beating tattoo with my foot, and for
the first time in q week, feeling utterly
jaded and worn out. The door facing
the dense and gloomy forest outside
looked like some yawning aperture to
a cavern, the oil lamp inside seeming
naturally to intensity the inky blackness
outside.


The operator, o weary, pale-faced
man, seemed glad of my company, as he
no doubt was, and DELAYED me with
questions about the busy world to which
he was attached only through his in
strument and an occasional newspaper.
I ascertained that the coach generally
made its trip in an hour and half or
two hours.


suggested the probability that as
the night promised SO bad, perhaps the
coach would lay over, in fact, rather
hoped that this might be the case, as
began to hate the idea of being whirled
through the dark woods with a fierce
wind twisting the branches together
overhead, and smashing the dry limbs
and twigs with great noise. The op-
orator declared that as it was the mail
coach to c., it would undou btedly 60,
whatever the prospect; as to company,
though, he fancied l would have it pref
ty much my own way, as there did not
seem to be any passengers beside my
self.


He walked down the platform to the
station-room and came back with the
intelligence that it was empty. Just at
that moment o man pushed the door
open and looked in. The glimpse had
of him was not enlivening. He was
heavily wrapped and his face very near.
ly covered by thick, black beard
The operator, busy at his table, had not
observed the intruder, and made no
comment except yawn Of general dis
satisfaction.


There's house down the road a
quarter of mile where you might stay
all night" ventured the operator, list
lessly turning the pages of o book, not
raising his eyes Mt all.


Mine was not q suspicious nature,
and yet took no heart in this sugges.
ton and began to think all manner OF
things about the man with the book.
A house down the road! went to
the door and looked out. The man who
had looked in on US had been sitting on
the step formed BY the threshold. ]
was sure it was the same. He got up
hastily and walked down the platform,
not glancing back. / observed then
that he wore heavy capote cloak and
low hat.


The wind blew o hurricane and there
was not q star visible; as to the road
could see none, nor in fact any thing but
about twelve inches of the frosty rails
on which operators lamp-light fell. /
closed the door suddenly as if l had re.
tired within. cannot say it WIS nv
purpose to watch the man in the cloak,
but closed the door. 1t was very dark
on the platform except under the grimy
window. The man came back softly,
and scraped a wax taper to light q
segar. The black beard and pair oi
ghttering eyes were within two feet OF
me. Was he discoucerted i: He walked
on to the other side of the platform lei.
surely.


The rain began to fall in big splash
ing drops. chilling me thoroughly il
three minutes. I went back into ths
operators room. He still idled owe,
the book, scarcely looking up as en-
tered. Soon after there was the dis
tant rumbling Of wheels, the trample O
horses. and few bugle tcnes came dow,
tmouFnfully in the wind.