The Argosy, January 1907 — page 200: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

382, THE “T’m some, when I get a-goin’,” he answered. ‘‘I had to do it. He was in love with your mother, and I simply had to do it.” The expression on Almanina’s face was indescribable. ‘‘ Where is that church?” she cried. “Oh, it’s over there in the woods— what’s left of it.” “And you killed Krily?” “Sawed him up. Know that lock alongside where Nail Creek goes under the old viaduct? ” ‘““Yes—what the boys call the swim- ming-hole? ” “Same. We threw him in there.” “Oh! And you tell of it? I should think—I should think——” “ Well, ma cried some, but that didn’t matter. He was dead, and we had to do something with him.” “ Did you—saw—cut him up—alive ?” I asked, beginning to feel a tremendous hatred for the man. “Oh, yes. Sawed right through.” Almanina was gasping. Her breath came fast and short. Her eyes were staring. She groped for the manuscript that had been turned down. She looked at it. I looked at mine. What a miserably weak thing it was! Here was something worth while. “And the chapel—you say it haunted!” said Almanina. “Yes. There ain’t been a night since I killed him his figure ain’t been seen looking for his head.” “ His—looking x “Sure. [I cut his head off with the saw. You see, ma _ had that, and dropped it into Nail Creek. The rest of him went into the lock. Now, you see, the ghost wants his head.” ‘“And you’ve seen it?” ‘“T ain’t seen it. Si Jossing has seen it every time it has appeared.” ! was cold. Almanina was shivering. Her lips trembled, and there was a fer- vid glow in her eyes that seemed almost like hysteria. I was fumbling with a pencil. ‘Write down what he says,” gasped Almanina.. “ We mustn’t use the right names. But what a story! I know the Knockemout Magazine will take it.” “Don’t furgit,” said Almanina’s father, “ that we tried to set the church is ARGOSY. ~on fire, but it wouldn’t burn. Something about it.” “Heavens!” It was creepy. Almanina’s mother came to the door and looked out. Al- manina turned away from her in horror. ‘“What’s the matter, pa?” asked the old lady. “All well here?” “Well,” said Almanina’s father, “I was tellin’ about that time you and me sawed up that preacher and threw him in the lock and you lost his head in Nail Creek.” “Oh!” she said quietly. all?” Almanina was ghastly white. it, and supposed I looked it, too. Almanina sank into her chair and be- gan to write. I walked up and down the lawn and thought things out. “A family tragedy that has never been equaled,” I said. ‘We will do it together.” We went at it. “Ts that I felt Our hot breath min- gled. I could almost hear Almanina’s heart beat. I know I could feel mine, all right. ‘The saw—let me see—ma!” called Almanina’s father. 'Almanina’s mother came to the door again. “What ever became of the saw we cut up that preacher fellow with?” “Oh, it’s around somewhere. Got rust on it. Blood, I guess.” Almanina did not look up. In a frenzy of horror, she was writing as fast as possible. We worked all night. We wanted to hear no more. Our souls had _ been stirred, and our blood was fevered. We wrote as though it were our last night on earth. In the morning I took it to a young fellow I knew who was one of the edit- ors of a Utica paper. He looked it over and stared at me. * “Did you take morphine to write this?” he asked. “‘ What sort of dope?” “Can you use it?” “Tl see what the boss says. What the—where is this church, chapel, or whatever it is?” “Up in the woods, by the old Che- nango Canal.” ce ™ ! noon.”’ I'll let you know this after- (E00) .OO ANIC S (C@)