Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 429 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

on it, and that it had been often usec, was shown by its worn edges and stained look. Putting on a pair of spectacles, Silas Finn seated himself in his easy chair, and bent over the map. With his knife-blade, he traced different lines, and at last muttered: : ‘*T have tried over and over again to find the hiding-place wpon this map; but I must have | made some mistake in the drawing, ‘* Well, I can but keep up the search, and if I do discover it, then the widow’s lhttle fortune lll have no need of. ‘*It worries me, that boy not having gone home, and [ hope he is all right; but he is a devil, and there is no telling what he might do to give me trouble. ** How still the night is, for there is not a breath of air stirring, and this storm has been threatening for hours, and yet holds off, ‘*T guess the schooner I saw lying among the shoals off the inlet, will be driven ashore. ‘*So be it, others have been lost there before. ‘* Now, to study this map, and see if I cannot hit upon the hiding-place,” and he bent in silence over the map. For a long time he seemed to be studying the lines and dots, and was so wrapped up with the work he was cngaged in, that he failed to hear a light step in the adjoining room, and then to see a form come forward into the open door- way. There the mysterious intruder halted suddenly, stood an instant in silence, and then came the words: “Silas Finn, we meet egain, and you shall die. **'Thus 1 keep my oath!” A wild cry broke from Silas Finn as the voice aroused him from his work, and with pallid face, staring eyes and chattering teeth, he attempted to spring to his feet. But the hand of the one in the doorway was thrust forward, there followed a flash and re- rt, and Silas Finn sunk back in his chair, his 1ead falling upon the map which he had been so earnestly studying from some mysterious reason lLnown only to himself. CHAPTER XI. A NIGHT OF TERROR, JUsT as the storm broke in fury over land and sea, howling through the forests and laying large trees prostrate in its path, aform stag- ered out of the little school-house where dwelt ilas Finn. It was the form of a woman, and her hands were stretched out above her head, as she sped along, flying away from the spot, as though in terror of the graves about her, for, had it been the tempest she feared, she would have sought refuge in the house. **My God! my God! can I forget the scene be- neath that roof? ‘* No, never! never! never!” cried the woman, and she sped along at a rapid run, The schoo]-house and graveyard were left vet ge behind her, and, taking the ocean high- way, she went into the very face of the gale. The wild winds seized her skirts and whipped them into ribbons, while her hair, blown from its fastenings, streamed far out behind her. In the teeth of such a tempest she could hard- ly walk; but on she struggled, ever and anon glancing behind her with apparent dread of be- ing pursued. On, on, she struggled, across a moor, then un- der the shelter of some sand dunes, then into a forest that bordered the séa. Here, worn out utterly, she dropped down in the shelter of a huge tree, and bitter moans broke from her lips. The wind-storm had now seemingly spent its fury, and the rain descended in perfect sheets of water, beating upon the uncovered head and slender form of the woman, as she crouched by the trunk of the sheltering tree. The thunder rolled incessantly, and the light- ning seemed fairly to set the earth on fire, while —) after peal that fairly shook the forest burst forth from the inky clouds, | Kneeling, her face buried in her hands, her body bent forward and clinging close to_ the huge tree, the woman remained for a long, long e, The moans that broke from her lips proved how she suffered, and the rain beat pitilessly down upon her. At last the storm passed over, though the winds still blew strong, and skurrying clouds were darkening the heavens. With an effort the woman arose, and. looked about her. A tree not far distant had been torn to atoms Duncan Dare, tho Boy Re y) | by a stroke of lightning, while another, still "shall follow the sea, and hope to rise above the | of a common sailor, nearer had been uprooted by the tempest and lay across her path. Still she had seemed not to see, or know, of | the destruction about her. After a moment of hesitation, and eagerly deeper into the forest. Her steps were hesitating, yet on she went, and, looking neither to the right or to the left, she held on her way through the woodland path. A walk of half a mile brought her out into a clearing. A field lay before her, and skirting it, keep- ing by the fence, she soon came to an orchard of apple trees. Through this she passed and before her loomed up a house, Softly she moved now, through a small gate that let her out upon a lawn, and encircling the house she ascended to the front piazza. She placed her hand upon the door-knob and it yielded to her touch. Then she turned, glanced back the way she had come, and disappeared within the house, the door closing behind her, just as a huge dog, with savage bark came rushing around the house and upon the piazza. The house she had entered was the Dare Homestead. CHAPTER XIII. THE DISCOVERY. THE morning following the severe punishment of Duncau Dare, at the hands of the merciless schoolmaster, the scholars wended their: way to school with considerable wonderment as to what would occur that day. They knew that Duncan Dare had been most severely dealt with, and the blows had cut deep into his flesh; but they were aware of the boy’s indomitable will, and expected to see him at school in spite of his terrible flogging. Even the truants, when it became noised about that Duncan Dare had at last fallen un- der the master’s rod, went to school. The storm of the night had done munch dam- age, for houses had suffered in many Cases, fences had been blown down and trees were up- rooted, while the torrents of water that had fallen had made large washouts in the road. The school-house, however, still stood firm, and the first scholars to arrive simply put their hats and books away, and came out to await the coming of the others, for the door of the school-room was open. : In twos and threes the scholars arrived, until before opening hour all were there with one ex- ception. hat exception was Duncan Dare. He had not yet put in an appearance. Could it mean that he had been too badly hurt by the master, to come? Or, could it be that his mother would not.al- low him to come any more? Various surmises were given, and at last Jes- sie Hampton was asked her opinion of her boy lover’s absence. She said that she did not feel that Duncan would be able to come, and all the scholars united in their sympathy for the missing boy. Their words brought the tears into Jessie’s pretty eyes, and then she entered the school- room and took her seat at her desk. As she raised the lid she started. There, upon a pile of books, and so placed that she could not fail to see it, was a note. It was addressed in a distinct, but boyish hand to ‘*‘ Miss JESSIE HAMPTON, The School-house.” Hastily Jessie opened it, for she recognized the writing, and read as follows: ** HOME, AT NIGHT. “Oh, Jessie! how can I write good-by to you? But it must be done, and so I say it now with my pen— good-by! perhaps a last good-by! ‘* Jessie, J leave home to-night. *** It may be for years, It may be forever,’ as I know not where I go or what is before me: but, dear Jessie, I cannot remain here, for I have been flogged before you and before all my fellow-schotars, and I am ashamed to look you in the face now, “T meant not to bring the dominie’s anger upon me, and it was not what I did in school that made him mad, but what I said to bim about not wishing my dear good mother to marry him. ‘*He has asked herto marry him, Jessie. and she | has said yes; but I told him he never should, and so | he sought revenge upon me. ‘‘T am but a boy, Jessie. but the dominie should not have whipped me as he did. ‘* But | cannot stay here, so I leave to-night, and I furces. _ the love of . . . ] glancing about her, she started forward, going | a ——— ‘But it almost breaks my heart to leave you, Jessie, and my good mother; but some day you may hear from me again, ‘* Be true to me through all, Jessie, and believe in Your Boy Schoolmate, . ** Duncan Dare,” ‘*Gone! he has gone from me!” cried Jessie in girlish despair at the flight of her lover, and she burst into tears, Some of her girl friends came in, and they too read the letter, and it soon passed around the school, Where had Duncan gone? What would he become? sy? What would Dominie Finn say? Such were the questions asked and unan- swered, But where was Dominie Finn? It was time for the opening of school, and yet he had not come down-stairs. Why was he, ever so punctual, late? ‘* Perhaps he’s sick,” suggested one. But still the dominie did not appear, and Jessie said she would go up and knock at his door, show him Duncan’s letter and ask to go home, for she did not feel well. Opening the door into the little hall, she ascended the narrow stairs, and found the door above ajar. A timid knock brought no response, and Jessie entered. It was the kitchen and dining-room, and no fire was on the hearth, but a lamp burned on the table. ‘* Why, the dominic has overslept himself,” she said, and she crossed the room to knock at the other door, Still no response came, and she timidly glanced within. There sat the master, his head upon his arms, which were stretched out across the table. By his side still burned a lamp. ‘‘Master! master! wake up!” called Jessie. Still no answer, and then she stepped forward to awake him by a touch, while she said: ‘* How very soundly he sleeps.” Then those below, the waiting scholars, heard a wild, a piercing shriek ring through the school- What would folks khouse, followed by a heavy fall, and.in dismay the bolder ones dashed up-stairs. What a scene met their gaze. Jessie lay unconscious on the floor, the open letter of Dunean Dare in her band. At the table still sat the master; but there was a small stream of blood trickling down upon the floor. ‘*The master is dead! he has been killed!” oy one of the larger boys as-he gazed at im, ‘* And Jessie is dead! run for help!” cried an- other, and in dismay the children rushed from the room, leaving the unconscious girl and the dead master together. But help soon came, in Barney Bolls and others, and Jessie was taken to her home, wholly overcome by the shock, while the schoolmaster was laid out in the room that had so long been his home. But who had been the murderer? Jessie’s letter, the flight, the threat, all pointed to Duncan Dare, and upon him fell the brand of murdering his schoolmaster, Silas Finn, in re- venge for the severe punishment he had received at his hands. CHAPTER XIV. BRANDED. ONE from sympathy, another from curiosity, and a third from duty, started ovcr to Dare homestead an hour after the discovery of the murdered schoolmaster, to see the widow Dare whose son had slain Silas Finn an revenge and then taken flight. One of the trio was Barney Bolls, and he went from curiosity, to see just how the widow would receive the news of the master’s death and her son’s flight. He was revengeful, and he wished to see the woman suffer for having refused his hand and love. The second one was the father of Jessie Hamp- - ton, aman of wealth, who dwelt in the aca est mansion in all that part of the country, and who was known as the Squire, for in the past he had sat in judgment wpon wrong-doers; he went from a sense of sympathy with the ot mother of Duncan Dare, though perhaps duty also called him there. The third was the county officer, or constable and his duty was to discover what he could of the case, and endeavor to find the fugitive boy, to bring him back to justice,