Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 301, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 December 1914 — A Voice In The Storm [ARTICLE]

A Voice In The Storm

It was $ o'clock at night In December a*d very dark when Jose Oaio came down the mountain on his way home, rather worried at the thunder growling in the distance. Above his head the sky grew steadily darker. The rain had stopped, but the wind was shaking the old chestnut trees, making them sigh and whisper mysterious things. A bright stroke of lightning caused him to hurry. The bridge was not far away, then came the hill and half way up the hill was His home. Another stroke Illuminated the road, enveloping .everything in Its blue light, and Jose began to run like a madman until the thunder, sounding like the firing of a thousand cannons, made him stop in, an attitude of terror, raising his arms toward heaven. Recovering his courage somewhat, Jose once more walked, when he heard a voice very close to him cry out sternly: “Jose > Gaio.” He stopped and saw at the roadside the big black cross that had be€n erected on the spot where Jose Tendelro had been murdered. Gaio crossed himself and turned to the right, taking a path leading direct to the bridge, but once more came that dreadful, stern voice: “Hello, Jose Gaio.’* He wanted to run toward the bridge. Once he had passed that, he felt that he could get home in a few moments. He made a few steps forward, but stopped again, and as if forced by a higher power, he walked backward to the same spot and again he heard: “Hello! Jose Gaio.” Rain began to fall now, first in big drops, then in torrents which drenched him to the skin and beat against his face. He did not move a single step to seek shelter; his whole body was burning as if with fever, and the rain felt rather a relief. Then a terrific flash of lightning blinded him completely and made him drop like a log into the mud on the road, while louder than the thunder came the awful words: “Hello! Jose Gaio.” Soaking wet, stained with mud, he remained where he had fallen, pressing his face against the ground for several minutes; but when he raised his head a little later the first thing he saw was the cross, and again came the inexorable voice, always repeating: “Hello! Jose Gaio.” Suddenly he heard footsteps at a distance. Somebody was coming. He felt himself coming back to life. He was saved. What did he care for that voice now? “Hello! Jose Gaio.” The steps came nearer, and fearing that whatever it was that was coming might step on him, he gathered all his remaining strength and rolled out of the road into the heather at the foot As the cross. Instead of crying out, a new mysterious fear kept him absolutely silent. The unknown passed by him, stopping at the opposite side of the cross, bared his head and to Jose Gate's ears came the sound * of a prayer interrupted by sobs. Who was this person? A flash of lightning revealed the pale, livid face of Jose Tendelro. The poor young man, scarcely more than a boy, came there to pray for his father who had been murdered on this very spot, on a night similar to this. Then he went away, descend4ngK towards the old bridge, but Jose Gaio remained there lying motionless In the heather at the foot of the cross. When the storm was over and the full moon came out, the shadow of the cross fell across Jose's body. The* next morning the gendarme discovered the body. The coroner’s physician came with the two assistants, acompanied by the old priest of the village. "bloodshot eyes, blood in the nose and mouth," the doctor said; "a case of congestion.” When the doctors had gone the old priest threw himself down on his knees at the foot of the cross and sobbed. Then he raised his hands toward heaven and cried: "Oh, Lord! Thy justice is terrible, as Thy charity is endless!” A secret of the confessional, undoubtedly. The old priest knew who had marked this spot for the punishment of Jose Tendelro's assassin.