_An Alarm at the Farm-house._--_The Dreadful Announcement of William
Bucholz._--_The Finding of the Murdered Man._
The evening shadows gathered over Roton Hill, and darkness settled
over the scene. The wind rustled mournfully through the leafless
branches of the trees, as though with a soft, sad sigh, while
overhead the stars glittered coldly in their far-off setting of blue.
Within the farm-house the fire glowed brightly and cheerily; the
lamps were lighted; the cloth had been laid for the frugal evening
meal, and the kettle hummed musically upon the hob. The family of the
Warings, with the exception of the father, whose business was in a
distant city, were gathered together. Samuel Waring, the son, had
returned from his labor, and with the two girls were seated around
the hearth awaiting the return of the old gentleman and William,
while Mrs. Waring busied herself in the preparations for tea.
"Now, if Mr. Schulte would come," said Mrs. Waring, "we would ask him
to take tea with us this evening; the poor man will be cold and
hungry."
"No use in asking him, mother," replied Samuel, "he wouldn't accept."
"It is pretty nearly time they were here," said Sadie, with a longing
look toward the inviting table.
"Well, if they do not come soon we will not wait for them," said Mrs.
Waring.
As she spoke a shrill, startled cry rose upon the air; the voice of a
man, and evidently in distress. Breathless they stopped to
listen--the two girls clinging to each other with blanched faces and
staring eyes.
"Sammy! Sammy!" again sounded that frightened call.
Samuel Waring started to his feet and moved rapidly toward the door.
"It sounds like William!" he cried, "something must have happened."
He had reached the door and his hand was upon the latch, when it was
violently thrown open and Bucholz rushed in and fell fainting upon
the floor.
[Illustration: "_Bucholz rushed in and fell fainting to the floor._"]
He was instantly surrounded by the astonished family, and upon
examination it was discovered that his face was bleeding, while the
flesh was lacerated as though he had been struck with some sharp
instrument. He had carried in his hand the old satchel which
contained the wine purchased by Mr. Schulte, and which had been
consigned to his care on leaving the depot, and as he fell
unconscious the satchel dropped from his nerveless grasp upon the
floor.
Recovering quickly, he stared wildly around. "What has happened,
William, what is the matter?" inquired Samuel.
"Oh, Mr. Schulte, he is killed, he is killed!"
"Where is he now?"
"Down in the woods by the railroad," cried Bucholz. "We must go and
find him."
Meanwhile the female members of the family had stood wonder-stricken
at the sudden appearance of Bucholz, and the fearful information
which he conveyed.
"How did it happen?" inquired Samuel Waring.
"Oh, Sammy," exclaimed Bucholz, "I don't know. When we left the
station, Mr. Schulte gave me the satchel to carry, and we walked
along the track. I was walking ahead. Then we came through the woods,
and just as I was about to climb over the stone wall by the field, I
heard Mr. Schulte call out, 'Bucholz!' 'Bucholz!' It was dark, I
could not see anything, and just as I turned around to go to Mr.
Schulte, a man sprang at me and hit me in the face. I jumped away
from him and then I saw another one on the other side of me. Then I
ran home, and now I know that Mr. Schulte is killed. Oh Sammy! Sammy!
we must go and find him."
Bucholz told his story brokenly and seemed to be in great distress.
"If I had my pistol I would not run," he continued, as if in reply to
a look upon Samuel Waring's face, "but I left it at home."
Sadie went up to him, and, laying her hand upon his arm, inquired
anxiously if he was much hurt.
"No, my dear, I think not, but I was struck pretty hard," he replied.
"But come," he continued, "while we are talking, Mr. Schulte is lying
out there in the woods. We must go after him."
Bucholz went to the place where he usually kept his revolver, and
placing it in his pocket, he announced his readiness to go in search
of his master.
"Wait till I get my gun," said Samuel Waring, going up-stairs, and
soon returning with the desired article.
Just as he returned, another attack of faintness overcame William,
and again he fell to the floor, dropping the revolver from his pocket
as he did so.
Sammy assisted him to arise, and after he had sufficiently recovered,
the two men, accompanied by the mother and two daughters, started
toward the house of the next neighbor, where, arousing old Farmer
Allen, and leaving the ladies in his care, they proceeded in the
direction where the attack was said to have been made.
On their way they aroused two other neighbors, who, lighting
lanterns, joined the party in their search for the body of Mr.
Schulte.
Following the beaten path through the fields, and climbing over the
stone wall where Bucholz was reported to have been attacked, they
struck the narrow path that led through the woods. A short distance
beyond this the flickering rays of the lantern, as they penetrated
into the darkness beyond them, fell upon the prostrate form of a man.
The body lay upon its back; the clothing had been forcibly torn open,
and the coat and vest were thrown back as though they had been
hastily searched and hurriedly abandoned.
The man was dead. Those glassy eyes, with their look of horror, which
were reflected in the rays of the glimmering light; that pallid,
rigid face, with blood drops upon the sunken cheeks, told them too
plainly that the life of that old man had departed, and that they
stood in the awful presence of death.
Murdered! A terrible word, even when used in the recital of an event
that happened long ago. An awful word to be uttered by the cheerful
fireside as we read of the ordinary circumstances of every-day life.
But what horrible intensity is given to the enunciation of its
syllables when it is forced from the trembling lips of stalwart men,
as they stand like weird spirits in the darkness of the night, and
with staring eyes, behold the bleeding victim of a man's foul deed.
It seemed to thrill the ears and freeze the blood of the listeners,
as old Farmer Allen, kneeling down by that lifeless form, pronounced
the direful word.
It seemed to penetrate the air confusedly--not as a word, but as a
sound of fear and dread. The wind seemed to take up the burden of the
sad refrain, and whispered it shudderingly to the tall trees that
shook their trembling branches beneath its blast.
I wonder did it penetrate into the crime-stained heart of him who had
laid this harmless old man low? Was it even now ringing in his ears?
Ah, strive as he may--earth and sky and air will repeat in chorus
that dreadful sound, which is but the echo of his own accusing
conscience, and he will never cease to hear it until, worn and weary,
the plotting brain shall cease its functions, and the murderous heart
shall be cold and pulseless in a dishonored grave.