UNKNOWN TO THE JURY. 



WILL SCRIBBLER. 



The bell in the courthouse tower aroused 

 us at midnight, clanging a wild alarm of 

 fire; and a glare in the South directed our 

 hurrying footsteps toward the village out- 

 skirts where the cottage of a woman — old 

 and poor and lone — a pensioner on the 

 bounty of her friends for every having save 

 life and the roof that gave shelter to her 

 age — was wreathed in smoke and flame. 



In desperate situations, requiring mir- 

 acles of work and valor, men are giants; 

 and an hour's effort at windlass and with 

 buckets rescued the wooden walls and 

 saved the blackened rafters. 



" God be thanked! " exclaimed a man 

 with reverend brow. " The damage is not 

 beyond our willingness to repair. It would 

 break old Sally's heart to lose her home." 



" Where is Sally? Who has seen her? " 

 some one asked, reminding us that in our 

 eagerness to save the home the woman had 

 been forgotten. 



A failing search throughout the crowd 

 was extended with dread into the house. 

 A pitiable sight was there indeed. Life 

 was extinct and the woman's nude and 

 withered frame lay stretched on the floor. 



" Asphyxiated? " questioned some one. 



:i No," said the doctor, " there is blood 

 on her face; crushed by falling timbers 

 perhans." An instant later and his voice 

 assumed a graver tone. "Gentlemen, here 

 are wounds for which no accident is re- 

 sponsible. This is murder, and the cottage 

 was fired to conceal the crime." 



A groan of horror burst from the crowd, 

 but was quickly changed to that most ter- 

 rible thing — an angry roar for vengeance, 

 when it appeared, on further examination, 

 that outrage had preceded assault, and was 

 the cause of all. 



* * * 



In the gray of the dawn there was mount- 

 ing of horses and the glad note of hounds 

 in the street. There was game in the woods, 

 to be chased, and huntsmen and dogs were 

 keen for the cry. 



A stranger at the village inn, aroused by 

 the noise, came out as the crowd called by 

 for his host. 



" How easy you forget! " he exclaimed. 

 " I thought from the anger evoked by the 

 crime of last night you would leave the 

 foxes at peace, at least for a day." 



''So we will, so we will, an' we run them 

 to earth." said the landlord, as he swung 

 to the saddle. 



In old Sallie's garden, strange place for 

 a strike, the dogs were cast off — were 

 driven and coaxed into the house and out 

 in the yard, trodden to mire by the crowd 

 of the night. 



For an hour they sniffled about, per- 



plexed by the maze of hundreds of foot- 

 steps; but at length there came from a 

 grizzled old strike-dog a satisfied whine 

 that soon changed to confident cries as he 

 slowly untangled the trail and carried it 

 out in the road and over the fence and into 

 the fields. Here it lay with such strength 

 that a dozen followers found voice to ap- 

 prove and proclaim. 



" That will lead to his lair," said a hunts- 

 man; and there was looking to arms and 

 tightening of girths. The chase had be- 

 gun. 



The breezes that blew from the South 

 were laden with fragrance. The fields were 

 ablaze with mystical color of millions of 

 blossoms that, in summer, burst from the 

 hedge rows and transform the plantations 

 of cotton and corn into gardens of fra- 

 grance. The mocking birds sang in the 

 thickets as brightly as though sorrow and 

 wrong were unknown to the world. 



These beauties were naught to the hunts- 

 man who, silent and grim, followed the slow 

 trailing hounds through the bright morn- 

 ing hours. Not once did their senses 

 quicken or thrill, at sound or at sight, until 

 long after noon-day, when something was 

 caught in the cry of the dogs that declared 

 the trail at each instant was more easy to 

 follow. 



An encouraging shout from the master 

 of hounds and the horses, so long under 

 curb, sprang forward rejoicing that at last 

 the pack set a pace worthy to follow. 



But what of the hunted? Not from fear 

 of the puisuit, but driven by conscience his 

 flight was begun. Many times, with re- 

 gret that nothing could purge from his 

 brain the horrible visions that rankled and 

 seared, had he thought on the flames which 

 had concealed his crime from the world. 



Unheeded he heard the first faint cries 

 of the hounds. He remembered that crim- 

 inals are taken with dogs, and rejoiced 

 that there could be no possible clue to his 

 deed. Yet the chase was approaching. It 

 drew rapidly near. " Perhaps, after all, 

 some trace had been found." Fear lent 

 speed to his footsteps. A wild beast indeed 

 he plunged for shelter into the gloom of a 

 swamp, forgetting that the suns of the sum- 

 mer had dried it up, and that dogs could 

 find footing where no man can travel. 



There was cheering behind , him. and the 

 hounds had no voice. They-W^e running 

 by sight and were sure of their-prey. Cer- 

 tainty brings madness, and madness de- 

 spair. To surrender was — death! For an 

 instant the fugitive faltered; preferring that 

 fangs should rend him, piece-meal, rather 

 than that, alive, he should fall into the 

 hands of the huntsmen. 



273 



