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Thursday, May 31, 1928 THE TIGER TRAIL by Edison Marshall Illustrations by PAUL FREHM WHAT HAPPENED Dr. Long, out fishing with Alex under Pierce, a detective, fcelU> ot his projected trip to Southley Downs. Pierce advises him to keep his eves wide open while there. On the way in a train Dr. Long- is at tracted by a girl, who tater fainU. Dr Long treats her, and lookin., n to her bag, is astounded to tmd a loaded revolver. Now read on — Chapter II I heard the conductor shout be hind me. I turned from her, even as her eyes were upon me. it vas my station; and I did not stop to realize the screaming tolly Ot lea\- ing the train. Men who have thrown aw a., the wrong card in the biggest poker hand of their lives might have some inkling of the way I felt. lor three minutes I stood fuming, watching the vanishing end of the train, it soon swept out of sight. “Is this Dr. Long?” spoke a voice behind me. ... The voice was deterential; yet it had neither the tone nor the rhythm of our Florida colored men. 1, think I had expected to turn and ; see a white servitor —one ot those! grav-haired English butlers of an old and incomparable school. It was a low voice, with a rather pecu- j liar purring quality. And so 1 surprised to see the dusky lace tna, looked into mine. It wasn tblack, j vet quite dark enough to be that ot j a mulatto. But in a glance 1 knew j that the ma nhad no African blood whatever. The shape of his features was dis- . tinctly Aryan. He had a straight, j finely chiseled nose that was almost classical, thin lips and rather high, cheek-bones. He wore the snow white turban of a Musulman. But, most of all I noticed his e>es. T.hej . were the eyes of a mystic, '• ei> black, and astoundingly deep, they gave no key to his thoughts, but j suggested the somber mysticism of the East. Os course he was one ot Southley’s servants and a native of Hindustan. “Yes, I’m Long,” I told him. “I come from Southley Downs, j sahib —and the car is waiting.” he j went on in his strange, purring; voice. The great, black eyes tas-' cinated me. He took my bag and led the way | to the car. I am not usually par- j ticularlv observant of casual ac-, quaintances; but I found myself ; studying- the dark, straight form in front of me. There was a quality • in his carriage that was particularly absorbing. I couldn’t quite grasp j what it was. I rather think it was j the somewhat stealthy way with. which he placed his feet, a sinuous- 1 nes sand a grace that one might j expect i na dancer. I couldn’t hear his footfall in the gravel; and I fell to conjecturing what a successful hunter he would be in the V estern mountains. It usually takes years of practice to learn to stalk. He seemed to know how intuitively. Th man walked just like a cat. He placed his feet in the same way. “The other must have rnisesd the train,” he told me in his correct but hesitant English, as he helped me into Southley’s great touring car. Southleyhimsehv met me on the great veranda. The shadows were heavy there, and his face just a white blur. But whe nwe went into the lighted hall, I saw that the months had changed him. The sight of his fine, old face in the soft can dle-light was, I think, the first real shock of my stay at Southley Downs. He greeted me with the finest hospitality. He couldn’t live in a Southern manor house and do any other thing. It’s in the air and the atmosphere, as all men know who have visited the South. It is a tra dition, too. The v’oice itself was rather wavering and shrill, rather more aged than I remembered it. Then he turned to the impassive Oriental behind him. “Ahmad Das,” he asked, “didn’t Joe come?” I didn’t hear the answer, for I turned to shake hands with a tall, straight youth that was Southley’s son. He was about twenty-one, evi dently an undergraduate at college. “My son Ernest,” the old man told me. He tried to straighten up. “Already taller than his father.” We walked into the great draw ing-room; and there two other men arose to greet us. “Mr. Hayward,” my host ex plained. “And another Mr. Hay ward, his son.” It was wholly possible that his voice changed slightly when he in troduced these two. But, of course, it was to be expected. An instant before he had just introduced his son, evidently the joy and pride of his life. But now it seemed to me that the voice had an alien tone—a strain and a nervousness that was not readily explained. I bowed over the older man’s hand. He was a huge creature —six feet tall and more than a little obese, and perhaps sixty-five years of age. white hair was clipped close. He had rather peculiar, piercing gray eyes, a firm mouth, and he had the look of overflowing opulence. As I shook his hand, a bell jingled in the hall. For an instant the Hindu’s face showed in the dorway, and Southley went to meet him. They talked together an instant, and the old man was beside me again by the time I had turned to the young er Hayward. He was a man possibly my own ago. He also was in the newest ol dinner garb. He had a rathei large, dark sac a trifle severe and forbidding. I here was a dull light that might have been ambition and might have been a thousand other things in his eyes. “I’ve heard Southley speak oi vou,” the younger man told me. “I km Vilas Hayward. it may help you to keep us straight to know m\ given name.” “I think that is Joe now.’ Then we all tsood up. The whole world faded —the glittering table, the watchful eyes of the men, the dark body ox the Hindu servant — and left onlv the slender form at the threshold of the door. “She’s been on a visit to the shore, anu she was carried past her station —like the little stupid that she is,” I heard Southley saying from far away. “I had to send for her in the car. Josephine—come up and meet my friend, Doctor Long.- Long—my daughter, Miss South ley.” The girl at the doorway was the same girl that I had carried in my arms that afternoon; and she had not yet removed the intriguing little hat from the fine, brown hair. “ I hope you don’t mind candle light,” Southley apologized during the excellent meal. “We have a, private lighting plant, but it’s seri ously out of order. WVre sending; for new parts.” “I prefer candles, and I d have j 'em if I had enough servants to - keep them trimmed.” I replied. “It’s the most restful light on earth.” ' Then the elder Hayward grunted in his place. , 1 “I fall all over the house with ’em,” he said. “I like bright lights, and lots of ’em. And the worst of it is the plant broke three days after I came. Spite work, I think.” I looked at him. expecting to find him in jest. There are men that j joke like that sometimes. But his such remarks were quite to be ex pected from the older Hayward. A long, tremulous call suddenly shivered out of the darkness — seemingly just below the veranda.! It wa s a plaintive, haunting cry, but except to a naturalist not worth a moment's thought. I had been j enough in the wilderness to recog nize it as the cry of a certain large species of owl—a night-hunter that is often found in our Florida marshes. Those on the veranda with me must have heard the same sound dozens of times. But four of them started in their chairs, and one of the four uttered a half smothered gasp of dismay. Something was radically wrong with the verves of these occupants of Southley Downs. Evidently the swamp air had got into them and left its poison. The elderly South ley had evidently not heard the sound. At least, he gave no sign. Hi s son, the nerves of whose hand some body should have been of steel, gave a scarcely pereptible start. Both of the Haywards turned with a nervous jerk, and the elder said something- that sounded like an oath under his breath. Josephine had been the most affected of all: and when I looked at her again I saw that lingering, haunting sorrow in her dark eyes. She uttered a little, nervous laugh ] —a sound that was joyously musical; in spite of her embarassment. “Did you ever encounter just this atmosphere before?” she asked me. 1 “iJt’s these marshes, I ttynk—‘the j traditions of this old house.” “All it needs is a ghost,” I told | her. “If you can present a ghost, it’s going to be the biggest week of my life.” “It’s here already.” “You don’t mean it!” “The newest, most novel ghost in the world!” She said it lightly; and I kept] my eyes upon her. Then we heard the elder Hayward grunting fr-jfn his chair. “Oh, don’t tell that silly story again, Josephine,” he muttered. “I’ve heard it till I’m tired.” “Then take him into the library, Joe,” her father suggested. “I do want him to hear it —and since it bores Mr. Hayward you’d better not tell it here. I want him to see the house, anyway.” Josephine and I went through the long hall, and into the library. There were other candles here, and the shadows were long and unwa vering. I held a chair for her, and took one myself. ' “Os course I know you,” she said at once. “I’m glad of that. I was sure you had forgotten.” I was watching with immeasur able delight every change of expres sion in her face, every shadow in her eyes, the delicious rising and falling of the color in her cheeks. | She was in the middle of a sentence, and all things else were forgotten. Then, slowly as water freezes, the life utterly died in her face. There is no other word. In a moment, the witchery and mystery that men call life was sparkling in her eyes and dancing in her smile. Her color was at its height, and I was drinking it like wine. In the next it was wholly gone. Probably my first impression was that her color was fading. She was watching something just over my shoulder. Her gaze was almost trance-like. The light went out of her eyes, and they widened, THE CHATHAM RECORD too. And a no less perceptible change came in the set of her lips. Very slowly I turned. I don’t know what I expected to see. But I certainly expected nothing as commonplace as I saw. Her eyes were fixed on the form of Ahmad Dais, the servant, who was doing some household task at the end of the long room. For an instant I also followed his motions, with a senseless fascina tion. He was on his hands and feet on the rug, evidently cleaning a soiled place on the carnet. And even in that awkward position he seemed to move with' a strange, feline grace, a lithe sinuousness be yontj all words. I- did not forget that this was natural in the man. But by some Satanic contriving of fate ..and cir custance, his candle light had found a reflection in his eyes. I am a self-discipjined man, and it was not just imagina tion, not just illusion or moon-mad ness that revealed to me a strange, greenish glare, not unlike the light to be seen in the eyes of certain great beasts of prey in the black depths. Ahmad Das left the room, and I spoke in the deadly quiet that fol lowed his departure. “What is it, Miss Southey?” I asked her as gently as I could, “What has frightened you?” “I must be ill,” she said. “It was just Ahmad Das.” “I know —and that wild light in his eyes was natural. It was just the glare from his candle.” She smiled at me, took me through some of the great, down stairs rooms of the manor house. The place was almost Georgian. There were many little alcoves — the best of hiding places—and long corridors and indefinite flights of stairs. I was amazed at the size of it. “And what traditions it must have!” 1 exclaimed. “You forgot, Miss Southley. You were going to tel! me about the ghost.” She paused and looked at me. “I’ve decided I hadn’t better.” “I’m so sorry. It would give an added zest to my visit —” “But you wouldn’t believe it—” “And you wouldn’t want me to! Ghost stories aren’t meant to be be lieved.” “But this story is a little differ ent, Dr. Long. It has one or two strange facts, and the situation isn’t to be laughed at, even if it isn’t to be believed. I hope you’ll be able to laugh—but I’m afraid you won’t. It’s been a tradition in this house since my father came, forty years, ago. And it isn’t nice —at all. It’s just that Southley Downs needs a doctor —even more than I do.” “And maybe I’m the one it needs.” “Our ghost isn’t the ghost of a man,” she said. * “It isn’t the ghost of a lovely girl who died for a sweetheart —or even a little child.” “I’m glad it isn’t a little child. I can’t bear .to think of their sleep being so uneasy that they vvodld walk.” “Our ghost—isn’t a human being at all.” I couldn’t laugh into her earnest face. I didn’t feel like laughing. “It isn’t very cheerful, is it, doc tor?” she went on. “And it is rather embarrassing- to sit her and tell you things I know you can’t possibly believe. My father came from India- forty years ago; and he brought a tiger cub with him. It was a pet—a tawny little creature that played and romped and pulled aft the curtains. He brought ,two servants, too — a Hindu man and my mother’s ayah. Both these two servants are dead. Although you would hardly gues sit, Ahmad Das was born after they; came to this plantation. - “The cub grew into a beautiful, tawny, full-grown tiger, seemingly as gentle as a collie. But one night when the wind blew it seemed to go mad. It attacked the Hindu woman, and she was badly torn be fore my father drove the creature off. In the condition that she was, her wounds were even more danger ous than they otherwise would have been: It was unquestionably the brute’s intention to carry her off — and maybe you know something about tigers. “They say that they will play for literally hours with their human prey—just as a cat plays with a mouse, with the most terrible cruel ty that can be imagined. The beast attacked my father then, and leaped through the window and escaped into the marshes. “When morning came all the negroes and my father and the Hindu tracked the tiger down—and finally killed him in the thickets. And when they got back Ahmad ! Das was born. On the very day, ! and the same hour, that the tiger I died. ! “Os course that’s just a detail. The legend that has grown up deals | with the stories that the colored | people told—about something they 1 saw thereafter.” She paused, and in the little si lence we heard some night bird give its sleepy call from the marsh. “At first the stories were rather vague. Now and again they would get a glimpse of something tawny and alive in the thickets. Everybody laughed at first. But as time went on it got increasingly hard to laugh. Too many people told the same story. And one night a traveler stopped at the house, simply speechless w?th fright. He said that a tiger, dear and tawny in the moonlight, had followed his hors*\ “The stories ail agreed on 6ne point. The beast was always seen either on or about this hill on which the house is built. And then one midnight a negro came with a can dle on some errand into the library, the room we are now in. H-e told rather a straight story afterward. He couldn’t see at first. He just heard something bounding about in the shadows —playing with the cur tains. His candle-light showed him something big as an enormous hound —and yellow and black in color. “That is substantially the legend, Dr. Long. Os course I don’t want you to think twice about it —if you do you would take your ba P - and go. For years and years the story /'as just told at intervals, and not even the negroes were afraid. But two years ago— But you’ve heard enough. Let’s talk of something else.” “If I’m to cure this house of its troubles, you’d better tell me all.” I told her. She braced herself and continued. She was a sensible, cool-headed American girl; and I had no doubt but that the story was hard for her to tell. Already I was groping for some natural explanation for the legends. •'Two years ago Sam, one of our colored men, came wild-eyed into the house and said that he had seen the thing just below our veranda — and all of us laughed at him. Per haps a month later one of the house maids came with almost an identical story—she and one of the young colored men had been walking about the hillside, and it had sud denly emerged from the shrubbery. It makes such a story particularly disquieting, doctor, to have two people verify it. (Continued next week) Moncure News Items Mrs. S. T. Fleming, of Carters ville, Ga., is visiting her daughter, Mrs. V. H. Hilliard. Mr. G. T. Hilliard, of Wildwood, Fla., is visitino- his brother, Mr. V. H. Hilliard. Mr. L. H. Fitchett, of Greensboro, is visiting his brother, Mr. R. H. Fitchett. Miss Virginia Cathell, of the Me thodist Orphanage, spent last week end at home with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. J. E. Cathell. Mis s Annie Lambeth, a student of Louisburg College, returned to her home here last Wednesday. Miss Lucile Brady, also a student of Louisburg College, returned to her home here last Wednesday. Messrs. Mills, of Waynesville, spent several days in town to see Mr. W. W. Stedman in regard to buying some farm land. Mr. and Mrs. J. L. Womble and Mr. and Mrs. C. B. Crutchfield will attend the graduating exercises at Elon College tomorrow, Tuesday. Their sons, Jennings Womble, and Sam and Clarence will receive diplomas. Also Jim Utley, the son of Mr. and Mrs. B. J. Utley, will graduate. The Epworth League met as usu al last Sunday evening at 7:30 o’- clock. Miss Ruth Womble was lead er of the evening. Rev. J. D. Bundy, the presiding elder of the Fayetteville district of OID LE-MU&U 9Be'«TN& DOCTOR. f/AW, GOOD MOKNWS/ vaiU. FIND V ! A POUT HIS INDIGEtSTION, KATIE-?1 M FUMBLE-, lIV/&l I V/& Q WiM IN THE- > \ mrSmmiC y&s\ he- told him “ | w-/ vouc. husband/ following \l T 0 TAKEvTVO GLA9C&? 1 JKI9 11 VOUT2 ! | jp|| * y* the Methodist church, will preach; here next Sunday evening at eight j o’clock. He will also preach Mon- j day morning at eleven o’clock. As- , ter preaching, an hour will be given for dinner. In the afternon, there will be a lousiness session. All sup- j erintendents, , stewards, Sunday j school teachers and all members of j the Sunday schools of the Pittsboro circuit are invited to attend services. This will be the third ; quarterly meeting of this year. Miss Jeanette Ernst, who was a, member of the graduating class of i Peace Institute, Raleigh, received her diploma last Friday and is now at home for a vacation. Miss Alma Walden and Margaret Dickens, also students at Peace In stitute, are now at home for the sum mer. ev,eningLm,D (-F slfi’dLuetaoincmmm As for real estate news, Mr. Sted man states that he has sold seven farms since Christmas, involving a total of fifteen thousand dollars. He also states that he hopes to.sell quite a number of farms this fall. He still has a score or more of farms which his clients have instructed him to sell at sacrifice prices. RAYON ONLY HOPE FOR COTTON Boston, Mass. —Hope for the cot ton industry in the future lies in the increased manufacture of arti ficial silk from cotton and in that alone, in the opinion of German tex tile manufacturers, 27 of whom have arrived in this city from Germany for a thorough tour of the South where conditions of the industry will be studied. This group of distinguished Ger man manufacturers in addition to making a detailed study of the cot ton textile situation in the South will offer, explain, and demonstrate the new process for the manufacture of a new and perfected artificial silk from cotton which has been de veloped to a great extent in Ger many, and with this product it is believed that manufacturers will be able to compete for all lost trade. In the opinion of the German leaders of the textile field there is hardly any hope or likelihood that women will ever again resort to cotton underwear or hosiery. And they do not look for a return of longer skirts to add to the consump tion of cotton goods. It is only through the increased use of artificial silk that any cot ton manufacturer may hope to get back lost business. With the perfected artificial silk the German textile leaders declare the entile cotton industry will be A Speedy Transformation How often have you wished that your furniture, woodwork or floors were different —yet you hesitated to refinish them because it meant days of drying. But NOW —with Luco-Lac, which dries in half an hour—you can do a littlebit at \V k hSSL 'Y y\(\Vjv \ r a time, if you wish. The work \ \ Vy dries as you go, yet not so fast \ as to prevent easy working. \ft'J t / \ Luco-Lac comes in 20 beautiful shades / f and is so easy to apply you'll want to . > ilßml “ Luco-Lac everything in the house.” jys|g|L«pj *J j Cleaning improves TRY Ii v Luco-Lac The Hardware Store, Inc. Dries with porcelain* cv, n-i xr /-« like hardness and a City, N. C. satin-like sheen. revolutionized and prosperity bevo expectation enjoyed. The new • " uct, it is declared, will tikewha goods, so perfect is the artificial duct in comparison. Among- the group of 27 German textile leaders preparing for the e tensive tour of the South are suU leaders as Otto Sgler, Ernest Fies*. cher, Alfred Hilderbrandt, Dr. Ha 7 Schaeffer, Wilhelm Kohlstedt. rvf ir ’ tin Marx, Eugene Negler, Albert As terman, Rudolf Pfitzner, Waite Richete, Ulrich Rudert, Otto Scheie Hugo Stompe, and Wilhelm Vogt. ’ Se\*eral of the German leaders are accompanied by their wives, and th* Southern trip, which it is stated reaches every “nook and corner" of the textile field of the South, will also be blended with extensive sian~- seeing. Jig THERE is nothing quite like Bayer Aspirin for all sorts of aches and pains, but be sure it is genuine Bayer, that name must be on the package, and on every tablet. Bayer is genu ine, and the word genuine—in red— is on every box. You can’t go wron* if you will just look at the box when you buy it: Bayer Manufacture of Moaoaceticacidester of Salicylicarid PAGE EIGHT
The Chatham Record (Pittsboro, N.C.)
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May 31, 1928, edition 1
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