Section 1 of the Black Cat, Volume 1, Number 1, October 1895. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Jim Gallagher. The Black Cat, Volume 1, Number 1, October 1895. Section 1. In Gold Time by Roberta Little-Hale. He was straight and grizzled and keen of eye. He had worked and fought and gambled his way through the lawlessness and passion of the state's early life into the decency and uprightness of a successful contractor. His name was Bill Bowen. As a civil engineer, I came more or less in contact with him and rejoiced in the largeness of his mental mold as well as in the business sense of security he let me enjoy. One summer's night, we took a drive to a distant town on the San Joaquin River. We were to look at stone for bridge building, and the blistering heat of the day made us willing to lose our sleep for the more comfortable traveling by starlight. The horses jogged lazily through the coarse, thick dust on the river's levee, and the insects from the grain fields and the frogs from the slews had things wholly to themselves until Bill suddenly interrupted. Mrs. Chase is pretty enough yet to understand why she sent two fellows to the devil, isn't she? What are you talking about? I answered. Oh, said Bill, pulling himself up. I forgot, you didn't struggle with the rest of us through those groggy days. I knew Bill well enough to let him relapse just so many minutes, then I said, Judge Chase's wife is lovelier at sixty than most girls at sixteen, for I hadn't an idea she figured so romantically in the early days as to send anybody overboard. Hmm, replied Bill reflectively. The horses traveled on without attention, and I waited in patience. You know what it was like, he began at last. Men with guns from all over the Union, in gold the heaven we sweated for. Prayers and a cord, and the gambling tables all running under one roof, and there a woman's face showing up in the mass to give us courage.  Then, by degrees, the lawyers and a stray merchant or two, aired their families. The things wasn't dizzy till pretty Grace Blanchard got out with her father. Understand she cared self as she ought to, but understand there was men among us who was born and bred to live with blood. The massivists had to take out our satisfaction in looking at her. But for two, the favorite old Blanchard's eyes was easy-reading, and it wasn't long seeing the course the straw took. Ned Emery was a long, lean, blond fellow, with a plain, fine face, in a way that made friends of the toughest. They said he looked as well when he called to the Blanchards, but I never saw him but like the rest of us. Redshirted didn't overhauled, and an angle to his pistols had made him a joy. George Stokes, shorty we called him, was a man with an answer that ripped like a knife, and a head that made success of everything, because it could work crooked as well as straight. He'd been on the bench, but he'd located a vein in Mariposa, and was overseeing up there in fifty-two. Tatrally, he lost opportunities not being right on the spot, and the danger began. The Blanchard house was well larger than most of the cabins, and had two long windows that opened onto a porch. Things might never been so bad, but for those two littlest eyes in front. One fatal night, Shorty Stokes rode into the settlement, and I'm getting ahead of affairs. Bill tossed his cigar into the tulis, and hurried the horses into effort as the interest of his reminiscence swept him on. The girl carried herself out of the fashion of high steppers, and neither fellow could swear where he stood. It was laughter and spirit for both of them, they said, and nip and tuck for the yielding. The pace was the sort that exhausts men, and Shorty sprained for lawyer and cooked up a scheme for his rescue. He was for there going together some night before her, and after a formal marriage proposal, each argued his claims in fitness for ten minutes by the clock, their honor at stake to stand by her decision. He got about afterwards that Emery wouldn't consent until he saw the devil to pay in Shorty's earnestness, and they swore with their fists in each other's to carry the thing through to the finish. The date and hour were arranged for the following Sunday night at eight, and then drank to it with Gaul in the cup. When the evening came, the clock had already struck eight when Stokes reached the Blanchard House. The lights from the room fell over the porch, and from the shadow of the steps he saw was something that in all the world he couldn't bear to see. Emery crossed in the room to take Grace Blanchard in his arms. Emery, with passion, pale in his face and Grace Blanchard in the beauty of a disturbing humility. He cursed as he watched him cling to each other, and he cursed his way back to the saloons in his mariposa mining. The next day he turned up again in the settlement, with liquor enough aboard to put a wheel in his head, and, after a losing fling at the tables, he started to find Emery. After a little ineffectual writing, he leaped from the back of his vicious-eyed piebald at the corner that bolts thickest with saloons and stood close to the stirrup with his hand on his hip. One who noticed him said his face had this steely intensity of a razor-edge. Then out of the crowd, unconscious, with the music of love in his heart, swung Ned Emery. His hat was pushed back on his fair head, and he was whistling the overflow out of his veins. In one instant a bullet rang through the air, followed by another. Emery fell in his own blood, and a horseman was riding off wildly and safe through the shallower bullets that rained around him. Every man with a k-use tore in pursuit, but they only brought back eight half-dead horses. Stokes had staked relay beasts at different points along the road, and was then safe in the chaparral canyons towards the north. The gambling dens choked up with the crowds. Gold dust was heaped on gold dust for the reward for the cowardly hound. Murders weren't rare then, but there was only one Ned Emery, remember? Four of us wouldn't drop the search. We let the blood-money men get out of the way, and then we worked as we'd toil for only our own. There was scarcely no scent to follow, for Stokes had bribed the greasers who furnished his horses, but we forced our way along on nothing. Day and night we rode with our eyes open, sometimes bullying and sometimes begging. It began to seem hopeless. The days were running into summer again. One afternoon, toward twilight, we rested on the crest of a mountain, where the path took a sudden turn away from a two-hundred-foot precipice. We were torn with the snapping branches of the greasewood, and full of extreme as dirt and disgust. Suddenly we heard the rustle of his step on the fallen leaves. Under a live oak, not thirty yards away, on the very edge of the cliff, stood Shorty Stokes. He had not heard us, and he stood looking at the moon, which hung a sickle in the hot sky. The evening star was showing. The four of us were like stones. He could have got to Guinea before motioned have come to us. Then, simultaneously with our steps forward, he turned and looked into our faces. It was a moment to test the nerve of any man. He stood it as we were used to see him face all things. I suppose I'm the man you're after, he said. He said it with the dignity of a person. In a second he had thrown down his pistols. He unsheathed his knives and dropped them to the ground. Take me, he said. Four of us looked into the unflinching clearness in his eyes. As we hesitated, he spoke again. Listen, it is not an excuse that I speak nor a weakening. It is to tell you that those among you who are men will follow my steps under like circumstances. Emery gave us his hands and his oath in the manner of his frankness to stand by an arranged agreement. We were to meet at eight o'clock on that Sunday night.  In writing to meet my engagement I happened on an accident. Within a half mile of the settlement, close on to time, my piebald went back on his haunches and the groan of a man came up from the roadside. I found an overloaded minor hurt in the leg and the hope in my own heart aroused my sympathy. I mounted the man on my beast and headed him back toward camp. Walk as I never walked I reached the meeting place three minutes late. Ah, God! Out of the darkness I saw Emery take advantage of the delay. None of you so much occurs to let the life run in a man who, under his honor, couldn't yield a rival three minutes' grace. But with the camp against me and Emery the friend of the surriest, I couldn't face the music when the justice was done. It is not mercy, I ask. It is life hereafter. Come. By the common impulse we started forward, only to halt in a frozen horror as Stokes Bronco threw up his head in alarm to watch us with the backward somersalting of his master's body over the precipice. Though there was but one verdict, he even chased it as we rode down over the mountain that night. Emery might have given Shorty a few minutes' grace. End of Section 1 Section 2 of the Black Cat, Volume 1, Number 1, October 1895. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Black Cat, Volume 1, Number 1, October 1895. Section 2, The Unturned Trump by Barnes McGregor. The ferryboat Rappahannock had an experience in the winter of 1873 that will never be forgotten by any of her passengers. During one of her regular trips between New York and Brooklyn, this boat suddenly quitted her respectable, though somewhat monotonous, career, and became a common tramp without port or destination. The day awoke in fog, such as the oldest inhabitant had never seen. The East River was blocked with ice and soon became a shrieking bedlam of groping and bewildering craft whose pilots could scarcely see their hands before their faces. At half-past nine, the Rappahannock left Brooklyn, well laden with passengers, and started on her customary trip almost directly across the river, a very short and unusually easy voyage. Even before reaching the middle of the stream, however, the ice and fog had thrown her completely out of her course. Back and forth, up and downstream, the pilot vainly groped amid the shrieking whistles, ringing of fog bells, and loud crashes of ice boulders, until, in the confused clanger, he had entirely lost his bearings. When, after long and perilous battling with ice jams and many hair-breaths' escape from collisions, he suddenly sighted the landing-place on the New York side, he found it occupied by a sister boat, which had been driven there to avoid destruction. He backed out, only to be lost again, and for three hours this boat, now become a mayor tramp, wandered aimlessly up and down the East River with its load of excited passengers, whose emotions ranged anywhere between the rage and impatience of the belated Wall Street speculator, to whom the delay might mean a loss of $50,000. To the hysteria of a nervous little woman who had left her baby alone at home, and who begged the other helpless passengers for the love of heaven to help her set her feet once more on land. Between these two extremes of impatience and excitement was a small proportion of passengers who remained calm, even endeavoring to wow away the time by exchanging pleasantries and making wagers as to the time of their deliverance. Among these was a group of men in the cabin, who, after having read and re-read the morning papers, were casting about for some other method of killing time. One suggested a game of cards. Cards, left one of his companions in misery, who would carry cards on a ferry boat, who, outside of a lunatic asylum, would start on a ten-minute voyage provided with games to pass away the time. This is a duker deck which is at your service. The speaker, evidently a globetrotter, drew from under the bench a travelling bag, so much worn and embellished by tags, labels, and hieroglyphics that it resembled some old veteran just returned from the wars and still covered with surgeons' plasters. From this he produced a pack of cards and tenured it to the man who had suggested a game. Certainly if you will join us, but what shall we do for a table? Here is a camp stool," said the man of the world. And in a moment four men were sitting around it, cutting for deal, which had chance to fall to the stranger. The cards were distributed rapidly, and the dealer was about to turn the trump when a loud shriek pierced the air and a woman opposite suddenly sank, fainting to the floor. The tension among the passengers had become so great that a panic seemed eminent. Don't be alarmed, gentlemen, it is nothing," said the dealer calmly. The lady simply caught sight of her own frightened face in the mirror, and the shock caused her to faint. It reminds me of a thrilling experience an American traveller had while bumping through Syria. But, pardon me, the game! Once more he made a movement to turn the trump when one of the party exclaimed, There can't be a better time or place than this for telling a thrilling experience. Yes," said another, Do give us some other kind of bumping than we are having here. Let's have the story before we begin the game. The stranger leaned back, passed his cigar case, and having lighted a wheat himself began. It is an unwritten law among the wild Bedouins east of the Red Sea that if an infidel traveller is attended on his journey by one of the faithful, he is safe from the attacks of Mohammedan robbers. As long as the Frank, as all foreigners are called, is under the protection of the star-increscent, the rascal's hand is stayed, and as they meet, the villain, who would otherwise show no quarter, salutes with the grave swabity of a courtier. But let that same traveller become separated from the Arab guard that he has bribed to give him safe conduct through his own Bennett-infested country, and he becomes legitimate prey. He will be plundered and perhaps killed, or worse, if the robber thinks the cruelty will extort any secrets of hidden spoil, tortured or held for ransom, with each day's delay losing a few fingers, which are forwarded to the captain's friends to signify that the rascals mean business. The party in which this American was travelling had been entering Syria from the south, and were progressing some twelve days from the sacred base of old Sinai. At a place called Bereshiba, on the regular caravan route to and from Mecca, from the north, they heard of some interesting archaeological treasures just unearthed some two days journey to the east, and having made the detour, the party snugly encamped by the side of a beautiful stream under the shadow of the tubal chain of mountains. The treasures were vastly exaggerated, as is the custom with everything oriental, and they soon determined to turn back to the caravan route and bump up on into Syria, bumping being the familiar term for camel-riding, and a very expressive word at that. But on the afternoon of the first resting day someone suggested a jaunt to a famous old well, where it was said, were some very ancient tumile. But knowing the Bedouins to be conscientious liars unrewarded chase for phantom treasures, the American begged to be left behind in charge of the two tents which were pitched side by side on the bank of the stream. This was at last agreed upon. The whole party except himself going off on their three days' trip, leaving their comrade stretched at full length on the rug, his Nogeli, or water-pipe, lighted for company. This oriental atmosphere, gentlemen, is a powerful drug. Do what you will to fight against it, its subtle charms hold you captive. The man succumbed to its influences and went fast asleep. Out of this sweet, trans-like repose he suddenly bounded into the horrible consciousness of a torturing pain in one of his hands as though some wild beast was crunching the bones. But as he rise to his knees to grapple with the foe he saw instead three swarthy, evil-faced Bedouins ending over him with ghoulish glee. One had just cut off, with a hideous dirk-knife, the first three fingers of his left hand. In an instant it flashed upon him that these were to be sent to his friends with the demand for ransom. He was correct in this opposition, for no sooner had the bleeding hand been rudely bandaged than two of the captors set out upon this mission, leaving him in the care of the third who was heavily armed. No one knew better than the prisoner how impossible such a ransom would be. His fellow travellers had brought as little money into Syria as would meet their actual necessities while there. He therefore began to cast desperately about in his mind for a loophole of escape before the fellow should return with these unsatisfactory tidings, which would result, no doubt, in further mutilations. As his gaze swept the tent for something suggesting a plan for deliverance he saw it had been gutted of everything except two articles, his light silk coat, which hung upon the partition between the two tents, and the tourist shaving mirror which it concealed. The coat had been overlooked because it was as grimy as the tent wall itself. In moments like this one grasps at straws. As it is said a drowning person reviews his past experiences perfectly in a brief moment, so to this man facing desperate odds came a desperate suggestion. He called loudly on a supposed protector in the adjoining tent to come to the window and proved to his captor that he was under protection of a Muslim. As he spoke he slowly drew the coat from before the mirror in front of which the sheik was standing. No words could express the unutterable consternation pictured upon that blazing face, livid with fright and wonder, as for the first time it saw its own awful reflection, not knowing it was its own. An instant he stood stock still, fascinated, horrified, overwhelmed, then collapsed just as that lady did but a moment ago, and the American quickly possessed himself of his captor's arms and was master of the situation. And now gentlemen, concluded the storyteller, we will have our game. As he spoke he again reached forward to turn the trump. There was a quickly drawn breath of horror from those who observed him, for the first three fingers of his left hand were missing. Before he could turn the card, a savage lurch of the boat, accompanied by the creaking of timbers, announced the arrival of the Rappahannock at her New York slip, and the trump was never turned. End of Section 2. Recording by Todd. The Black Cat, Volume 1, No. 1, October 1895 Section 3. The Secret of the White Castle by Julia McGruder When I became the occupant of the Chateau Blanc in the neighborhood of Fontainebleau, I found that my wish for a place of complete seclusion was likely to be realized to the full. I was not in a state of mind for society, and I had deliberately given myself three months in which to fight out a certain battle with myself, for which I needed solitude and reflection. When the old woman who acted as keeper and caretaker of the place took me through it on a tour of inspection, there were three things which, in spite of my preoccupation with my own affairs, struck me very forcibly. The first was the forlorn remnants of the body of a white swan, which must once have been a creature of splendid size and shape. My informant told me that this swan had been a great pet of the former owner of the Chateau, until some accident had killed it, after which it had been stuffed and fastened in its place upon the surface of the little lake under his window. There it was still, what remained of it, a mass of weather-beaten and dirty feathers. Another thing that compelled my strong attention was a certain picture which hung in the bedroom of the late owner and which I was informed was his own portrait painted by himself. This room, by the way, was sinister and mysterious in its effect, beyond any I had ever entered. One reason for this was the fact that all the furniture, which was elaborately carved and which must once had been of beautiful polish and color, had been ruthlessly covered with a coat of black paint, the bed, the table, chairs, wardrobe, chest of drawers, and even the great leather easy-chair, which was placed just under the picture facing the opposite wall. It was a wretched piece of work, that picture, representing a man dressed in some sort of court dress of the last century, and it would have seemed ineffectual and amateurish to the last degree, but for the truly marvelous expression of the eyes, which were fixed on a certain spot in the wall opposite, with an earnestness and intensity, which made me feel that there was some hidden significance in this look. The man not only looked at the spot himself, but he compelled me to do the same and forced me by the insistent command of his eyes to look again and again. And yet there was nothing to see. The wall was perfectly bare in that place and covered with a meaningless sort of wallpaper, which gave me no encouragement, whatever. Another thing that I noticed especially with the feeling of being imperiously directed to do so was a large rusty key that hung on the wall directly under the picture. When I inquired of the old woman what this key belonged to, she answered that she had never known, but that it had been hung there by the late proprietor and had been undisturbed since his death. That event had occurred a great many years ago and it was owing to the provisions of the will left by him that no one had ever occupied the house in the interval. The prescribed time had only just expired and I was the first person to rent the chateau, the revenue from which was to go to a nephew who lived abroad. The somberness of the black chamber suited my frame of mind and I decided on taking it from my room. Besides this, the picture, the key, and the white swan all interested me and, as it was the first time that an outside interest had made any headway against the melancholy of my own thoughts, these objects, far from cheerful as they were in themselves, afforded a grateful diversion. So continually did I wonder why the picture looked always and could compel me to look at that one spot and why the key had been hung in that place and had kept its position so many years undisturbed as if some ghostly guardian watched over it and why ever and always the old white swan compelled me as if by some irresistible power to connect it with these other things. Then I kept myself awake at night, weaving all sorts of stories concerning these objects and spent half my days and looking from the picture to the wall and back again to the key and then out of the window at the battered effigy of a noble bird beneath it until the confusion of mind thus produced seemed likely to drive me crazy. I expended all the ingenuity of which I was master in questioning the old woman who had lived here in the time of the former owner but the satisfaction of my curiosity in that direction was rather meager. She told me that her former master had had a wife whom he adored, fair as an angel, and gifted with a divinely beautiful voice such as none had ever heard before or since. This young wife had been snatched from him by a sudden and frightful death. The fever which seized her had been so contagious, the woman said, that everyone had fled the premises except one woman servant and the master himself. These, with the help of the doctor, had nursed the young wife through her brief illness until its end. My informant had heard it said that the circumstances of her death were very peculiar, that, in her delirium, on the very last night of her illness, those who had ventured to linger about the premises had heard her singing more gloriously than ever in her life. That it had reminded them of the great white swan which but the night before had sung its last sweet song on the lake in the moonlight and had been found dead in the morning. The woman who had remained to help the master in his last, sad, ministrations to his dying and dead wife had gone away the day after the funeral and had never been heard of since. That funeral in the quaint old church but a few paces from the house had been, from the woman's account, a melancholy affair enough. Scarcely anyone dared to come to it, so malignant had been this fever and it was feared that the few men who were willing to act as pall-bearers would not be equal to the task. But the poor lady had always been slight and fairy-like in figure and so wasted was she from this consuming fever that the bearers declared that her weight was scarcely more than that of an empty coffin. The woman further said that, as a small funeral cortege was leaving the church, it had surprised everyone to see the husband who was directly behind the coffin pause abruptly under a statue of the Virgin and single out from the great bunch of white ribbons which hung there the long strip which his young wife had placed there on the day of her marriage to him, less than a year before. It was an old custom connected with this church. Every girl ever married there had conformed to it and some of the ribbons were yellow with time and almost dropping to pieces. The longest and freshest bit of all had been put there by the beautiful and beloved young creature now lying dead in the flower of her youth and loveliness. No one ever knew, the woman went on to say, how the master spent his days after the funeral was over. He had forbidden every servant to return and turned a deaf ear to the rings and knocks of visitors. Months had passed and no one held speech with him. They knew he was alive because people who had looked through the palings had seen him walking in the garden. And one person reported, having seen him carry from the house the stuffed body of the great swan and fasten it in its place on the lake where it could be plainly seen from his window. He must have embalmed or stuffed it himself, the old woman said, for he was known to have remarkable knowledge and skill and such strange arts, and had once had a great room filled with birds and beasts which he had preserved by methods studied in foreign lands. As was inevitable, after hearing all this my interest in the picture and swan and the key deepened sensibly. There was certainly a spell of this supernatural about these things for me. I had only to stand near the spot on which the eyes of the picture were fastened to experience the strangest, the most overwhelmingly significant sensations I had ever known. The spot was haunted by a presence for me, and as often as I stood there I would feel my heart throb and cease throbbing, my breath pant and cease panting, my very flesh turn cold and moist with consciousness and apprehension. I tried to account for all this unnatural grounds, but I found it was quite impossible to do so. One day it was the nineteenth of August, a hot, sultry, close, indescribably gloomy day when the heavy clouds that lowered seemed only to darken the whole earth without giving forth one drop of moisture. The old woman came to my room in chanced dimension that it was the time of the death of the young mistress of the Chateau Blanc. She had died, it appeared, just at midnight between the nineteenth and twentieth of August. After giving me this information she said good evening and left me to the reflections which it aroused. I can scarcely call them reflections. They took the form, rather, of a sort of compulsion that was laid upon me to obey a certain force by which I felt myself suddenly dominated. It was the picture that did it, this was certain. For, as often as I faltered, one look into that insistent, commanding, coercing face compelled me to go on. In obedience to its bidding I did as follows. I went to an old desk in the room and took from it some simple carpenter's tools with which I deliberately cut through first the wallpapering and then a thin boarding which covered all the space between a door and window opposite the picture. When this was done I saw I cannot say whether most to my satisfaction or my horror that I stood opposite a door, a regular ordinary door with panels, hinges and, more than all, a keyhole. I glanced at the picture that seemed to me that the canvas positively lived with expression. The eyes commanded me to get the rusty key. I got it, fitted it in the lock in which it turned with difficulty and then with my heart almost choking me with its throbs, my knees shaking under me, my body covered with a cold sweat and my tongue drying my mouth I opened the door. As it creaked on its rusty hinges I saw by the light of the candle which I held in my hand a mass of cobwebs heavily weighted with a dust of years and through these a woman's figure. It was clad, for I obeyed the eyes which commanded me to examine it though my heart was cold with terror and what I made out to be a white silk gown above which was the face withered and awfully livid as I had heard the faces of embalmed corpses appear years after death. Still it was recognizable as a real human face and was surrounded by masses of yellow hair which, even through the dust and cobwebs gleamed with a brightness of gold the hands held something in their shrunken fingers a white ribbon with the date of her marriage and death upon it, her husband's name and her own and these words which, under the compelling eyes of the picture I laboriously studied out I have been able to keep you near me even in death I have never been separated from you or from what was you to me once when death shall come to me you will have no power over my body and they will take me from you that I am unable to help I think only of this you cannot suffer for it since you have so long ceased to be and by that time my suffering also will be over I shall put my spirit into the eyes of my picture which will watch over you still I looked from the paper to the picture it seemed dull and inexpressive mere canvas and paint the power of the eyes was gone their spell over me was broken suddenly I felt within me a long absent yearning for human companionship for life and love I had come to this place impelled by a morbid and unhealthy desire for solitude and my experiences here had made me more morbid and unhealthy still they had culminated now in this awful revelation of disappointment and death which threw into brilliant contrast the bright possibilities which still remain to me and I resolved to go back into the world and do my best to deserve and win these The Black Cat Volume 1, No. 1, October 1895 Section 4 Miss Wood, Stenographer by Granville Sharp It was Detective Gilbert who told the story to a group of boarders seated on the piazza of one of the quaint old Rhinelander houses These dwellings, though situated on West 11th Street in the very heart of New York present an almost rural spectacle with their green lawns, wide piazzas and vine-covered balconies It was one day, about two years ago, said Mr. Gilbert that I received a card on which was engraved the name Miss Julia Wood the name was a familiar one When my wife was living, Miss Wood had been an intimate friend of hers and a frequent visitor to our house Since then I had lost trace of the girl and knew only that owing to her father's death and the straightened circumstances of herself and her sister she had taken up the study of stenography and typewriting with the idea of earning her living So when she rose to meet me in the reception room I was startled by her changed appearance and the haggard, anxious expression of her face Mr. Gilbert I had a great trouble, she exclaimed as I shook hands with her and then, without further preliminaries she stated her case You know, Mr. Gilbert, that for over a year I've been studying stenography and typewriting and you can understand that lately I've been very anxious to find a place At first I suppose that this would not be difficult but I soon discovered that my lack of practical experience stood in the way of my getting anything at all In fact it was not until this week that even a temporary opening presented itself Here Miss Wood paused for a moment as if to summon all her strength and then continued About eleven o'clock yesterday morning my teacher, Mr. Lakin came to the door of the practice room where I was at work and, calling me to one side, said Miss Wood, didn't you tell me that you understand the deaf and dumb alphabet? Well perfectly, I answered As you know, Mr. Gilbert my little sister Helen is deaf and dumb and that is why I understand the sign language almost as well as I do spoke in English I thought so, said Mr. Lakin and I'm glad for your sake that you do for I've just had an application from a lady who wants a deaf and dumb stenographer But I'm not deaf and dumb, I protested No, but you understand the sign language and that is the main point You see, this woman wants some notes taken from a deaf and dumb relative who uses, of course, the deaf and dumb alphabet and she thinks, I suppose that a person who understands the sign language must be a deaf mute also She says that this relative of hers is ill possibly hasn't long to live So no doubt you're wanted for some sort of anti-mortem examination One, maybe, that's connected with some family scandal or secret that they don't want to leak out Just a matter for discretion, that's all Of course, I don't want to urge you into this against your will, he added But I know how much you want a position and a chance for practical experience Besides, this engagement is only for a week perhaps even less and the salary is $50 and all expenses paid The main question is whether you care to be deaf and dumb for that time For just a moment, I hesitated Certainly, the conditions were very clear Still, there was the money How much $50 would mean for my poor little sister There was the experience and there was Yes, I must confess it There was the charm of adventure I know you always said that I was of an adventurous disposition and that spirit has grown since I've been thrown upon my own resources and have made it my mind that I must make my own way in the world as if I were a man As for acting the part of a deaf mute that seemed a simple matter to me who knows so well the habits of the deaf and dumb through constant association with poor little Helen Money, experience and adventure The combination was too much for my prudence In less time than it would take to buy a handkerchief I had accepted the position 45 minutes after the time that I had walked into Mr. Lakham's office I sat on a southbound train rushing towards a place I'd never heard of before The companion of a woman who was an utter stranger to me and bound on an errand of which I knew practically nothing You see, in the rush of preparation I had no chance for reconsidering my decision Indeed, when I was led to Mr. Lakham's inner office and introduced to my prospective employer Mrs. Westinghouse, by means of course of pencil and paper and gestures I hardly noticed in my excitement what manner of woman she was I had enough to think of in keeping to the character I had assumed and in preparing in half an hour's time for a week's journey For almost the first demand made by a strange woman was that I should go with her upon the noon train The invalid had no doubt only a few days to live, she explained and every minute was precious Upon reading my penciled explanation that I must go home to say goodbye to my sister and get a few articles for my trip she thrust a ten dollar bill into my hand telling me to use that to buy whatever I needed Mr. Lakham, she signified could explain matters to my sister that she hurried me down the stairs and into a cab waiting below and this I was whirled away first to a big department store and then to the railroad station arriving just in time for the noon train so it wasn't until I was seated in the local express and it actually started that I had a chance to review the situation and to examine my companion what sort of woman was she I interrupted Oh, she appeared perfectly respectable I tried to make herself agreeable by keeping me busy answering questions on my pad but something in her cold gray eyes or perhaps in her high metallic voice chilled my ardor for the first time I realized my position here I was about to enter into the lives of unknown people under an assumed character and one that might involve me in matters of a secret perhaps a dangerous nature and however it was too late for me to retreat all that I could do was to vow as I did with all my heart that no matter what I learned while with these people I would make no use of it upon leaving the train after a ride of about two hours and a half I found myself in Rockwood a desolate little way station in the most dreary section I have ever seen the only sign of life was a top carriage drawn by a pair of lean horses and driven by the son of my companion a man about 30 years of age he had handsome features but somehow his bloodshot eyes and dissipated look impressed me even more and favorably than had his mother's appearance I was directed to take the back seat and Mrs. Westinghouse sat in front beside her son as we drove off the young man put a question at once which I did not hear but his mother in her usual voice assured him that I was a deaf mute and had been secured at a large salary for that reason then they proceeded with their conversation without restriction but the road was so stony and our speed so great that I caught only a little of it what I heard did not serve to make me feel any easier they spoke of some person who appeared to be a relative with the most dreadful effetats and appeared to be planning some way to bring him to terms should he prove obstinate after they arrived with the stereographer before we had gone a mile I was not only sick of my barking but ready to jump from the carriage to escape it the aspect of the country also was enough to make the most hilarious person feel melancholy it was rocky, sterile and almost uninhabited the few farmhouses we passed untented it and falling to pieces the fields were covered with the thick growth of bayberry bushes or stunted furs the house was as nearly as I can judge about three miles from the station it had once been a fine mansion but showed signs of age and neglect the paint was worn off in patches the floor of the piazza was rotten the inside of the house however was fairly comfortable the furniture being extremely old fashioned and quaint I could hardly touch a mouthful of supper and soon excused myself from the table wandering around the piazza which skirted the house I came upon a rear view of the premises here I had another surprise before detached from the main house and several yards away stood a long, low brick building with a huge chimney like a smokestack proceeding from it its windows were close against the roof and probably about 12 feet from the ground while the only entrance seemed to be by way of a rough bridge extending from a curious door on a line with these windows to a window in the second story of the dwelling house while I stood gazing at this remarkable building I noticed that Mr. Westinghouse had followed me I could no longer restrain my curiosity but pointed to the mysterious building and raised my eyebrows with an impatient gesture as though she resented my inquisitiveness the lady caught up my writing pad and scribbled, it is my brother's laboratory he is a metallurgist we wish you to come and take a dictation from him then leading me upstairs she unlocked a door and ushered me into a large apartment in which at that moment I saw only one object a man stretched upon a couch the coverings thrown away from my face revealed both to be shockingly emaciated the eyes were wild and staring the lips drawn away from the teeth which were white and even but there was strength even in that dying despair at the first glance I saw that there was a look of dog endurance in every line and feature now Alfred went Mr. Westinghouse upon my pad and signified to me that this was my introduction here is Ms. Wood she is the first stenographer we have brought from New York so there is no longer any reason for your keeping your precious secret she understands the signs and can put your words on paper as fast as you can give them to her then passing the pad to the invalid she turned to her son Victor Love, she said the writing paper, pencils and a little table for Ms. Wood here they are, said the young man rolling the table toward me with an ingratiating leer he gave no sign of having read his relatives communication but lay quite still and breathed softly in gasps I should not have been surprised to have seen him drawing his last breath at any moment the woman stood looking at him appealingly until she caught his eye then she covered her face with her handkerchief pretending to be overcome by emotion a moment later she turned aside to Victor and hissed, oh is it too late if only I knew some torture that would bring from him that secret which would bring us millions then controlling herself she went on more calmly sit down Ms. Wood and take the dictation I saw Victor looking at me and had the presence of mind to remain perfectly quiet without noticing what she said for indeed I had now begun to feel that I was among desperate people and that it would be best for my well-being to carry out my role in it apparently satisfied that I was as unfortunate as I claimed to be she signified by motions that I was to seat myself and write as soon as her brother should dictate I did so but while Victor had been occupied in arranging my utensils and Mrs. Westinghouse was absorbed in her pretended emotions the man on the bed had turned his eyes and looked straight into mind the effect was tremendous I felt calmed there was almost an understanding between us at least there was sympathy as I seated myself and caught up my pencil he raised his wine hands and began to sign to me show no fright of whatever I say pretend to take notes or you will betray yourself acting on his suggestion I began tracing disjointed sentences upon the paper then after allowing me a few moments to recover from the effects of the startling communication he went on this is no place for you these people are desperate characters and if they suspected what I am saying might injure you again a pause during which I shaded my face with one hand and scrawled senseless marks over the paper with the other beneath my lowered lids I could see that two pair of eyes one bloodshot and the other steely gray were watching me from a shadowy recess on the other side of the bed I realized that the slightest expression of my real feelings might prove fatal I set my teeth hard my old adventurous spirit returned as mechanically as though I were taking a school dictation I followed the movements of the trembling wine hand and traced those meaningless marks apparently mother and son were satisfied with their scrutiny but they soon retired to the other end of the long room as they went I heard her murmur to Victor come, that old miser won't forget his own flesh and blood at any rate that girl shall stay in the house until her notes are written out in plain English and the experiments made I gave that foolish teacher of hers a wrong address at this she turned on me suddenly and nothing on earth could have prevented my face revealing the fright that was on me I could hide my terror only by sneezing violently into my handkerchief as soon as they had withdrawn to the farther end of the room they invalid hastened to communicate as rapidly as possible the state of affairs in this strange household the woman Mrs. Westinghouse was so he said his sister-in-law the widow of his only brother and Victor was of course his nephew on the death of his brother the man who now lay dying had invited the widow and her son then a handsome lad to make their home with him and indeed had treated Victor as his adopted son and probable heir about three years ago however Victor who had acted as his uncle's assistant in the laboratory had repaid his generosity by attempting to steal from him the secret which he had spent years in perfecting failing in this he had forged his benefactor's name for some amounting to a large share of his fortune and had applied the proceeds to a payment of gambling debts since then Mr. Westinghouse though allowing Victor to go free had refused to see either him or his mother and it was only now when he was on his deathbed that they returned and invited with the hope of extracting from the sick man the only wealth remaining to him his recent discovery at this point the invalid stopped abruptly and looked once more deep into my eyes then with a sigh that seemed one of satisfaction he continued they think because they hold me as prisoner here upon my deathbed they have deprived me of society and spirited away my faithful man servant the only person who understood my sign language that they can force my secret from me but your face tells me that I can trust you that you are not their accomplice indeed I am not I signed hastily I came here ignorant of what it was I was to do and now they say that I am a stay until the notes are written and the experiment is made if it fails it is likely to go hard for both of us the invalid received my communication quietly without asking how I had gained my knowledge then after asking and receiving answers to several questions in regard to my history he nodded as if satisfied and signed me to take down with extreme accuracy what he should give me he then dictated by means of the sign alphabet what seemed like a technical article many words of which he was obliged to spell for me and including the finest weights and measures relating to metallurgy after he had completed it he asked me to read it to him by signs so that he could be sure that it was correct when I had done so he looked up smiled faintly to see that mother and son had left of the room and beckoned me to him he took my hands clasped them in his and then signed swear that you will never permit that paper to fall into the hands of Mrs. Westinghouse or her son in my fright I took the oath guard it well he signified for it is a fortune beyond your dreams now sit down and take a bogus paper which you must give to Mrs. Westinghouse but first conceal this paper in your dress I did so he then dictated another paper different in every way from the first as to its methods and then motioned that I must write out the second paper as soon as possible give it to Mrs. Westinghouse and then effect my escape before the fraud was discovered as I looked at him doubtingly he added trust me I will provide the way but you I said he tried to laugh I shan't live 24 hours he said I asked if they were to blame he shrugged his shoulders her son's treachery robbed me of health and fortune and now in their fiendish greed to inherit the secret they have locked me in this room and tried to bring it from me by their soft words and weedling caresses but they shall not succeed they shall never know this as he spoke he drew from under his pillow a small blade in a sheath it was a bright brownish yellow the edge was sharp as a razor he handed it to me signifying that I was to keep it hardly had I sheathed the strange weapon and concealed it in the folds of my bodice when the door opened and the woman again entered I showed her the pages that I had taken and penciled a note saying that the formula was complete but that it would take at least half a day to write it out as it contained many unfamiliar terms which I should need to refer to a dictionary for just a moment the woman scanned my face out of the envelope with that strange air of suspicion that never wholly deserted her apparently what she saw satisfied her for she signified her pleasure that I had succeeded in gaining the information in so short a time and added that as it was now past midnight I might leave the rest of my work for the next day upon this she led me to a room opening out of her own indicating that she thought I might feel less lonely if I were near her later I heard the key turned softly in the lock on the outside of the door leading from my room into the hall and well you can imagine that I got very little sleep that night early the next morning the woman unlocked my door and after I had eaten a hasty breakfast led me to a library well equipped with reference books where she wrote I was to finish my work then she left me locking me in once more I had reached about the middle of the false formula when the door opened and the woman entered in great haste from her hurried movements and the anxious expression of her face I judged that some new complication had arisen I was right snatching up my pad the woman wrote he is sinking fast that must begin at once how much of the formula remains I wrote over one half never mind she wrote in return Victor can begin with what you have give me the papers you may finish the rest in my brother's room and bring it to us in the laboratory as we entered the invalid's room I tried to exchange a look with the sick man but the woman drew me away to a large French window at the end farthest from the bed and opening the sashes which swung inward motioned me to look out to my surprise I saw that the bridge that I had noticed the night before as connecting the house and laboratory was approached from this window it was a rough affair resembling those used on ship-board and consisted of a wide plank guarded only by two ropes stretched one on either side of the plank about three feet above it as a sort of guardrail on the laboratory side the bridge terminated at what seemed to be a heavy door made of one solid piece of timber and provided one third of the way from the top with two small windows or rather panes of glass about eight inches square behind each there was a heavy iron bar hastily signifying that I must cross the bridge in order to bring her the remainder of the formula the woman sent Victor ahead and then turned to follow before going she intimated to me that while I wrote I was to remain beside this window where I could see any sign from the workers in the laboratory and be seen by them for the next two hours nothing was to be heard in the room save the scratching of my pen over the paper and the labored breathing of the dying man he seemed to be sinking rapidly however he caught my glance with smile reassuringly as though to say do not be afraid all will come right as the hands of the clock on the mantel approached the hour of eleven however he appeared to grow suddenly stronger a faint color tinged his cheeks and he half rose in bed as though awaiting some new developments on the stroke of eleven he turned to me and signed it is time to go but there's still a few pages to write out I answered it's all right you rejoined it is enough only go go at once it is your way of escape for a moment I hesitated the words sounded senseless sick men I reasoned had strange fancies but the glance of his eyes was saying there was more there was convincing but another word I gathered up my papers and started across the bridge it swayed but only slightly there was not the slightest danger of an accident and yet in my passage across that bridge I trembled violently when I finally reached the strangely guarded door I had barely strength enough to knock upon the heavy timbers there was no reply evidently they were absorbed in their experiment I thought knocked again still no reply but this time I seemed to hear a faint movement within I tried to peer through the tiny windowpans in the door there were somewhat above the level of my face and partly obscured by the iron bars so I raised myself on tiptoe and shading my eyes with my hands looked in for a moment I could see nothing then as I became accustomed to the gloom I made out a few objects nearby a charcoal stove a table holding a pair of scales pincers blowpipe a graduating glass and other apparatus with which I was unfamiliar at the far end of the table set a motionless female figure the head thrown back one hand clutching a crumpled sheet of paper while the other hung limply at her side directly opposite a man's set also motionless his bowed head resting on the edge of the table as I looked I fancied the hand holding the paper twitched slightly I shifted my position a faint light fell upon the face of the woman it was that of Mrs. Westinghouse put white and rigid with sightless staring eyes they are dead I cried as I rushed back into the room of the dying man then recollecting myself I succeeded in repeating my words with fingers that trembled so that I could hardly give the signs for a moment he seemed unmoved then with a ghastly smile he signaled this is your time to escape but you never mind me all I care for is to keep my secret from them remember your vow and now go go and God bless you I grasped his hand then rushed from the room I snatched my hat and coat in the hall below and ran out of the house and down the road never stopping until I reached the station there I took the next train and reached the city only half an hour ago here Mr. Gilbert began to light a cigar and so his story were finished but what became of the dying man of the mother and son the mother and son had simply been evidently stupefied by drugs purposefully introduced into the false formula and soon recovered their senses but the uncle had breathed his last Mrs. Westinghouse had been smart enough to get a physician who was there when we arrived and who did not know what was going on but the mother and son had simply been evidently stupefied by drugs and was there when we arrived and who, honestly enough I suppose ascribed his death to natural causes we could do nothing from lack of evidence but the secret the mysterious formula that is the saddest part of the whole affair half crazed by her horrible experience in this house and recalling her vow to make no use of any information gained while there no sooner escaped than she tore the true formula into pieces and threw it away had she kept it it would undoubtedly have brought her an enormous fortune for an expert metallurgist who examined the strange dagger given to her by the dying man pronounced it to be an example of a priceless art that of tempering copper to the consistency of steel a process understood by the ancients who had lost these thousands of years End of section 4 Recording by Julie Birks It was because the doctor insisted that my system needed Ozone that I went to Colorado on a hunting trip it was there that I met her and it was there by the way that I became convinced that when a man with a lame lung undertakes to hunt Ozone in the wild of the Rocky Mountains it was there that I met her and it was there by the way that I became convinced that when a man with a lame lung undertakes to hunt Ozone in the wild of the Rocky Mountains he ought to provide himself with a guide I went alone and that's why I got lost for two days I had tramped half starved toward the rising sun with the hope of reaching some cattle ranch near Denver on the morning of the third day as I was trudging through a thick undergrowth I was suddenly startled by a woman's voice you didn't happen to spy a little speckled heifer back yonder did you stranger it is said that upon the approach of a human being the first impulse of a man who has been lost in the woods is that biblically ascribed to the wicked namely to flee when no man pursues but at this time I was too far gone with hunger and wearing as to flee from anything I simply leaned against the tree trunk and awaited the appearance of the voice's owner she came riding a Bronco across the crest of a hillock she was slight and wiry and she wore her huge sombrero and man's canvas shooting coat with an air that at first suggested the cowboy a later glimpse of feminine drapery however proclaimed her something infinitely more interesting a real Rocky Mountain cowgirl in all her glory no no I answered weakly to her repeated question as to the heifers whereabouts no I've seen neither hoof nor hide of your heifer which is lucky for you as I should probably have eaten it if I had you do look hungry said the strained horsewoman and as she spoke the bold lines of her aquiline face relaxed into an expression of womanly solicitude here take this she added in a business-like tone producing from a bag that lay meal sack fashion across her saddle a can of pressed beef and a square foot or so of cornbread no as I tried to speak never mind explanations have some lunch with me and talk afterwards that is if you ain't afraid to eat with a cowgirl you see she continued when we were comfortably seated on a moss-grown log that served as a whole set of dining room furniture I know myself what it is to get lost and nearly starve to death having experience misfortune myself I know how to pity others I choked over a morsel of cornbread and stared at my companion with ill-bred astonishment a cowgirl who quoted Virgil even in a translation was something not dreamed of in my philosophy yes I don't wonder that you look surprised said my hostess good-naturedly I suppose I don't look as though I was up in the classics but the fact is I'm a graduate of Iowa Wesleyan University and I've studied Latin, Shakespeare Geometry and all the rest yes, musingly once I expected to pursue a literary career indeed my professors all told me that I might become the George Elliot or Mrs. Browning of America but that speckled heifer I was asking you about just now knocked all my plans into a cocked hat how was that I asked well it was like this said the cowgirl college graduate as she pushed aside her cornbread untasted and planting her elbows upon her knee propped her chin upon her palms man fashion in the spring of 1885 several years after I graduated my father died and mother and I came to Colorado and bought a ranch at Plum Creek some 23 miles south of Denver you see my father had been an invalid and ever since I can remember we'd been chasing round from pillar to post trying to find a climate that agreed with him so this was really what you might call the first chance I had to go to work in earnest it was a lovely quiet spot an ideal place I thought for communing with nature a literary career but it was not so to be like what's his name with a tender heel Achilles I suggested yes like Achilles I had one weak spot that was going to be my ruin I was crazy about pets why if it hadn't been for that weak spot I might be wearing literary laurel instead of lasso and cattle but this is neither here nor there what I was going to say was that before I'd been settled on that ranch three days some men came our way driving a herd of Texas cattle to Denver and as a late snowstorm came up just then they decided to camp on good feet in the hills in front of my ranch that afternoon they came over to our house to buy bread and while they were there they mentioned to me that they had a nice cow that had just calved and offered if I would buy the cow to throw in the calf wow here was where my weak spot came in no sooner did I hear about those animals than nothing would do but that I should have them for pets besides the cow was offered mighty cheap only $18 while I'd been going without milk rather than pay the $50 or $65 ask for a milk cow so now I thought was my chance to close a good bargain and get two nice pets beside I planned while the men were gone after those animals how I would domesticate them in a few days and it took longer I asked domesticate I might as well have tried to domesticate an active volcano but I mustn't anticipate my first impression of my pet cow wasn't exactly encouraging I had imagined her ambling serenely up to my house mild-eyed and gentle with the little calflet trotting at her side instead she was dragged upon the scene by four men who had spent at least an hour in catching her and bringing her to me the calf meantime after an equally exciting chase had been let up and tied to a large plumbush however I wasn't one to let a little thing like that phase me I was determined to make friends with that cow so when about 200 yards from the house the men threw her and took off the rope I advanced with that idea but I wasn't half so anxious to make friends as the cow was as soon as she said eyes on me and if ever an animal had the evil eye that cow did she made a beeline for yours truly look out shouted the men but I was already footing it pretty lively towards the thicket where the calf was tied the cow after me snorting like a steam engine almost in my ear the next thing that I knew I had slipped and fallen on the ice in the north side of the bushes with the cow on top I believe that I tried to grab the creature by her horns with a wild hope that I might hold her down until the men came to the rescue I might as well have tried to hold down a hurricane as she rose so did I and was on my feet 20 yards away before she could see where I was at just as she rushed from the bush and lunged after me I saw a rope swing through the air and the next thing that devil possessed cow knew she was tied to a clump of thicket and left to meditate upon the evil of her ways what did the men say to this I asked of course they made out that they were awfully surprised that the cow's antics fearfully scared in my close call and all that but I saw them grinning and chuckling as if they were ready to burst as they rode off and I felt dead short they planned to have a double funeral of a cow and calf both if they hadn't found a tender foot to unload them on however I never was one to give in that I was beaten by anything first off especially by a cow besides that idea of having two nice pets had got a great hold of me I made up my mind that if kindness could reclaim that air and cow she should be coddled like an infant so next morning bright and early I started for the plumbush where she and the calf were tied determined to make peace fortunately two gentlemen who had heard of the episode of the day before rode over to see me that morning and joined me on my peacemaking expedition no sooner did the cow see me within 30 feet of her than she gave a fearful surge the rope that she was tied with worn thin by rubbing against the tree all night gave way and the cow made for me as though 50 devils had taken possession of her and were urging her on I tell you I didn't stop to think about the power of kindness on the brute creation I simply yelled murder and made for a sand gulch nearby as though a band of wild Indians were on my trail as I reached the gulch and dropped 10 feet or so down the steep bank digging my heels into the loose sand to stop myself that acrobatic cow sailed straight over my head and lit about 20 yards below at first I thought that she was dead but no such luck in a moment she got up looking foolish and dazed but very much alive and began shaking her head and pawing fiercely when the two gentlemen reached down and lifted me out as much as to say this is what I'll do when I get hold of you which she didn't I hope I put in no indeed you can be precious sure that I took particular care that she didn't have another chance to get hold of me or to get back into the yard again for an hour or so after she had hoisted herself out of the gulch she stood outside the fence that separated the yard from the field shaking her head and pawing whenever she saw any of us at the doors or windows at last towards evening she trotted off with a zigzag wabble down the bank towards the creek among the willows and there she lay in ambush you might say so that for a week after we didn't dare to go down to make a garden or do anything else for fear of having that cow descend like a wolf on the fold and after that week I inquired well finally she grew bolder and ventured on the mesa near the railroad track where she made war on the section hands and it was warned that I must take her out of the field or they would shoot her to prevent her from demoralizing the entire neighborhood I had her killed and used her for beef and tough eating she was said my hostess laughing but in any case she was better dead than alive for there wasn't room for that cow and me in the same country but you've been telling me about the cow what about the heifer I thought that you said that she was the cause oh yes the heifer was the calf now whether the cow disowned the calf or the calf the cow I never found out anyway the day that the cow disappeared into the bottom land that little calf trotted up to the house and tearfully begged to be loved well you might have thought I'd had enough pets for one while but no the helplessness of that poor little calf so went to my heart that for weeks I rode nine miles every day for milk to get to that little creature with my own hands a sort of foster mother I suggested yes I was a mother to that little orphan calf but if you'll believe me it was a case of how sharper than a serpent's tooth is an ungrateful child or however that goes yes sir that calf followed in the evil course of its mother only if anything it was worse sort of like agarpina and her son Nero only this was a daughter you see the cow was perfectly open about her evil deeds but the calf was underhanded after trotting around me looking as innocent as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth she'd all of a sudden disappear and come back after a few days with an ear torn and the skin raked off her side and pretty soon I'd hear that she'd been attacking horses or fighting other cows one day she chased an unlucky workman out onto the railroad bridge and kept him there until a train came along and the engineer slackened enough to take him on and carry him to plum station another time she got after a tramp that was camping on the bottom land among the willows and forced him to take refuge in the forks of a crooked tree where he roosted until one of us went down and called off Miss Bossy in fact the only return that calf ever made for all my loving care was to scare away tramps if I could have kept her around the house just for that purpose she would have been one of the best investments I ever made but as years went by that calf became more and more abandoned to evil she would wander farther and farther from home until now I spent half my nights worrying about her and more than half the day following her up and taking her home with me I should think you'd get rid of the creature I interrupted kill her yes I suppose that would be the most sensible thing to do but you know how it is about always loving the prodigal son the most yes sir wherever that animal goes it takes my heart with it and though it's nigh on 11 years old I never can think of it as anything but a pet calf and so it was bringing up that heifer that interfered with your literary career interfered well I should say so back at the start I did publish some poems in the local papers and I read one or two essays at the Zion church literaries but people wouldn't believe they were original no woman they said who spent her time chasing wild cows over the country could write odes to spring and essays on Shakespeare my literary career was killed blighted in the bud and as my income was small and I had to do something to make out a living I've just turned my hand to anything that came along instead of gaining fame as the American George Elliott I've been called Colorado Cowgirl and Bronco Buster instead of wielding the pen I've driven a four horse stage branded cattle broken saddle horses sung in a church choir run a blacksmith shop kept school given music lessons in a hotel taught painting carried mail roughed it on horseback all the way from Colorado to Oregon and taken a hand in pretty much everything else except shoveling wind off the roof but there breaking off suddenly you aren't interested in all this what you want now is rest and shelter take my outfit and make tracks for Wilkins ranch just give the pony his head and he'll land you all right it's over that way rising and gesturing toward the southeast I tried to protest against this plan but the Colorado Cowgirl was already several yards away that's alright meet you later at the ranch she cried turning for a moment before she plunged into the thicket but first she added with almost maternal solicitude I think I'll just look around and see if I can't find that little speckled heifer and of section five section number six of the black cat volume one number one October 1895 this is LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Jay Salem Las Vegas, Nevada the black cat volume one number one October 1895 section six in a tiger trap by Charles Edward Barnes the royal melee tiger is no gentleman if he were the following would never have been told Punda Sang was an innkeeper he was sole proprietor of Balawari Dac which is a very big name for a very small native hotel about 60 miles north of Penang and on the high road to the hunting steps of Bukit or Hill Country the quaint little hospice clung to the mountain side like a swallow's nest high over the jungle-bedded Tsunji whose foaming crashing torrents came down from the upper mountains like an endless charge of white cavalry to the sea Punda was a good sort of melee which means a bad sort of anything else that is he would plunder only on the Securus Principles and never quarrel with a bigger man nor a better armed one than he in this he differed from other melees who would plunder a knife upon no principle or provocation whatever they thought there was a tin on a piece in the job but a deeper reading of this prosperous bonaface of the jungles revealed the fact that he was capable of love yes, even a tender and human affection and that little Iali his five-year-old daughter was the object of a worship in his heart even more fervent than that which he bestowed upon the five homemade clay gods before which in a corner of the Dac burned a vast elial of ill-smelling punk the second year of Seng's married life had hardly begun when his beautiful wife was bitten by a yellow viper while gathering healing herbs down in the valley when they found the poor creature she was dying with a newborn babe in her arms this calamity the bereaved husband regarded as a direct visitation of the clay gods in the corner only the day before he had robbed a cling hunter of his rifle leaving the poor fella to make his way unarmed down to the sea where he ran upon a pair of half-starved hookangs a vicious species of the Malay chimpanzee in fleeing from which he fell over a cliff and was dashed to pieces and Punta Seng always felt that the yellow viper was sent direct from the land of the judging gods to avenge the blood of the poor cling hunter but there was one thing that mitigated the harshness of this vengeance the presence of the little child whom he tenderly cherished and whom he had called Iali which is to say forgiven but even were not the little creature a messenger of forgiveness to the penitent savage heart she was more than worthy of his worship and love this child of the tropic forest restless and agile as a young panther with lustrous black eyes and a wild wayward nature much spoiled by the wayfarers and fond upon by the coollies that swarmed about the compound one day two British naval officers stopped at the deck on their way down from a hunt in the hill country we were seated under the palms after tiffin smoking charoots while I listened to their exploits with interest suddenly four native melees approached wheeling a live tiger in a clumsy wooden cage and halted before the deck they were going to dispose of him to a naturalist down on the coast who had a method of killing and stuffing animals by which the marvelous luster of their skins was preserved the forest king was certainly a magnificent specimen if you have never seen a live tiger fresh from the jungles take my word for it the ordinary cage tiger at the zoo is as much like the former as canned strawberries are like the fresh lustrous fruit of June the Englishmen evidently thought so too as they concluded to buy him and swear they had captured him and then to present the beast to the London zoo they bought the animal for 40 Mexican dollars sent the natives back rejoicing and started down toward the coast while Punta sang not contented with extracting 50% commission from the poor fellows for using his deck for a tiger mart committed the meanest act of his life he slightly sawed one of the cage bars moved through in four places then he went to work planning to way lay the tiger on his way back to his haunts after he should break loose which he knew would happen before the Englishmen could get many miles down the valley he quietly pursued his planning until late that night when he heard upon good authority that the tiger had broken jail and nearly killed one of his owners then he prepared to put his plans into action here we reached the illustration of the first mentioned fact of which Sang was ready to take advantage that the melee tiger is no gentleman he knew that the beast would never walk up leisurely and take his bite like a smooth and oily club men and a free lunch but that at the very instant he smells blood he will drop flat and even if the feast is a mile away will begin a slow creeping journey towards it wasting hours perhaps and working up a terrific hunger in the meantime when he is approached within 20 feet of the prize quivering with desire and terrible with greed he will leap into the air like a cannonball and plunge down upon his victim put to Sang knew all this so he dug a pit down the valley constructed a network of branches over it and laid the quarter of a bullet upon it then he waited for the tiger to send the blood and make his slow crawling journey knowing that when he made the grand 20 foot leap he would go crashing through the network into the pit below then Sang planned he would starve the beast let down a cage baited with more fresh meat and sliding the bars from above haul the captured tiger out and sell him over again all of this might have happened but it didn't event somewhat stranger and more terrible for Poon to Sang interfered doubtless as another direct visitation of the vengeance of the little clay gods in the bungalow corner half concealed in clouds of punk smoke as little Iali was the innkeeper's constant solace and companion she went with him to the pit digging her father explaining to her the manner of capturing the four-footed jungle god which facts instead of frightening the child only helped to increase the stock of her play gods and demons which she molded deathly from the red clay of the ravine with the appearance of the new moon that mass caught of the orientals the pit was baited for two days nothing was heard of the tiger and Poon to Sang began to fear that he had gone back to the hills by another route on the afternoon of the third day I sat on the cliff edge watching the mists rise from the roaring river bottom a phenomenon which always accompanies the closing day suddenly there was a great shuffling of sandals about the compound and I knew something extraordinary was taking place I turned quickly the big form of Poon to Sang the innkeeper burst upon me suddenly his flat face as pallid as a demons ferocious but with the ferocity of nameless fear Iali he cried hoarsely have you seen Iali no I replied almost in a whisper he did not wait but sped back toward the so-called bullock sheds which were really caves cut into the solid rock beyond the deck I had become attached to the child whose marvelous beauty had charmed and whose weird ways mystified me but I had never been alone with her knowing that any accident happening to Iali while in my keeping would result seriously for me perhaps cost me my life the Couglies were flying hither and thither making the air ring with their loud wails such agitation on the part of these vagabonds roused me to a realization of the child's danger suddenly I turned my eyes and thoughts in the direction of the ravine where the tiger trap lay I recall vividly the child's interest in the jungle god who was to be captured in the deep pit and knowing the little creatures have salute fearlessness thought that acting upon some childish impulse she might have strayed down the narrow path to the pit meanwhile the wailing about me increased I dropped over the ledge soon reaching the pathway by a short route as I penetrated the jungle now suffused with mist and the ruby glow of the expiring day I realized with what risks to myself I was entering this dangerous spot all unarmed I was still debating whether or not to return for a weapon of defense when as I leaped over a soft spot in the red clay I saw two footprints that shot terror into my heart one was that of a mammoth tiger the other belonged to a little child I dropped down beside them no there was no mistaking them so clear and fresh were both I rose to my feet my ears half deafened by the noise of the jungle insects and the increasing roar of that river beyond then I crept forward scarcely daring to breathe my heart beating faster and faster with apprehension the distance to that tiger pit seemed to be doubled and the time that elapsed before reaching it everlasting the crackling of leaves and twigs on the moss beneath my feet entered into my trepidations almost before I realized it I had reached the big trap and then halted short thrilled by the sound of something human I looked up through the deepening mists and intervening bows I saw the little child figure of E. Golly creeping out upon the withered branches over the pit for the instant I had no power to move nor dare I speak my chest overcome with sudden fright the frail little one might lose her foothold suddenly a new horror disclosed itself what were those two glaring cold yet fiery points beyond the pit burning their way through the shadows my god it was the tiger he was lying flat on the ground couchant pause extended quivering ready for the fatal spring in moments like these one's reasoning powers become superhuman I saw that in all probability either E. Golly or I was to be sacrificed which one depended merely upon the caprice of the wild beast I had heard that the calm steady fearless stare of a human is more terrifying to wild animals than guns that kill on the instant I resolved to practice it it was my only expedient so I stared at those two coldly bright and glowing points of light like a madman without a quiver without a doubt suddenly I saw the little figure waver on the dead branches over the mouth of the pit and then oh horrors with a weak cry poor little Iali had lost her foothold and slipped through the yielding bows into the cave beneath for a moment the fall was silent then I heard her childish prattle the soft sand had broken Iali's fall and saved her life while I was brought face to face with the most awful problem of my life for what seemed hours I stood like a pillar of stone the sweat pouring down my neck my tongue hot and parched one show of fear would I knew be fatal the jungle gods are keen to conjuring strength with man how long could I keep up this maddening strain how long force upon the king beast this illusion of my superior will suddenly as I stood like one in a trance facing this growing problem I was conscious of a stir in the reeds and underbrush at my right hand though the sound caused me to tremble I dared not take my eyes and I was searching monster beyond the next instant a strange huge shape crept steadily out of the underwood and advanced into the clearing toward the pit a ponderous black monster with the body of a beast but lifting through the grass the head and shoulders of a human colossus it was a mammoth orangutan the tiger crouched lower he seemed to be non-plussed stunned by the intrusion of this huge interloper as I was in motionless silence he transferred his burning gaves to the mammoth monster advancing to the very edge of the pit the huge ape slipped but he recovered sly beast he saw that the branches were only a blind then he walked around the edge of the trap and knelt down like a human being slowly deliberately reaching out his long hairy arm till his giant hand clutched that bullet bone oh what joy that calm providential deed brought to my heart then to my intense relief the orang slowly dragged the great mass of flesh off the network of branches upon the solid ground for a moment longer the gleam of those two terrible eyes now like peepholes into hell followed the unsuspecting pilfer then came a rustle a strange shrink like thunder a bound and a roar and the jungle god had sprung into the air and came down like a flashing avalanche full upon the broad body of the kneeling orang a single paw struck the mammoth ape in the small of the back and never shall I forget the sound of that blow broke the bones of the orang spine like a cannonball with an almost human groan the rescuer of my life and hers I came to save gave up the booty together with his own life and then the tiger with a final flash of his eyes full into my own snatched up the carcass of the bullock in his flaming jaws and slid off into the thick of the jungle I have often wondered since how things would have turned out if that tiger had been a gentleman end of section 6


U.S. drone strike kills Iraq-based militia leaders. The U.S. carried out a drone strike in the Iraqi capital that killed three members of the Qatayb Hezbollah militia, including a senior commander. Washington's Central Command, CENTCOM, has taken responsibility for the attack. A car in which the trio was travelling was struck in the Mashhtal neighborhood of Baghdad. Local outlet Sabarine News described the attacks as American aggression, photos circulating on social media showed the remnants of what seems to have been a hellfire missile commonly used by U.S. attack drones. Two of the dead have since been identified as Haj Al-Alawi and Wissam Muhammad Abu Bakr Al-Sa'adi, who was in charge of Qatayb Hezbollah's operations in Syria. In a statement posted on X, CENTCOM said it had carried out a unilateral strike in Iraq in response to the attacks on U.S. service members killing a Qatayb Hezbollah commander responsible for directly planning and participating in attacks on U.S. forces in the region. The U.S. has blamed Qatayb Hezbollah for last month's attack that killed three U.S. soldiers at a base on the Syria-Jordan-Iraq border. Following a series of retaliatory U.S. airstrikes, the group announced it would suspend attacks.