Jasper County Democrat, Volume 13, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 June 1910 — DESERTED POGRAM’S [ARTICLE]

DESERTED POGRAM’S

“I wonder what’s the matter at Pogram’s,” said Dave Hingham to his wife one morning as lie stood in front of the house looking down ovei the corn to the rear of Pogram’s taruL “Thar bain’t no life about the place ’nohow, an’ thar bain’t been none since Thursday.” - “You jist mind your own business, Dave Hingham, other people’s alone. You know the trouble you got into by investigating the Partridge affair. Like enough Pogram’s gone a-sbootin’ or somethin’,” “But thar’s such a deathly look about it. Pogram never leaves his place ’cept at reg’lar times. He lives tbar all alone an’ is jist in a condition fur a first class murder. Now I think of it. night afore last I heard a shot in that direction right in the middle of'the. night an’ somehow I felt as es a ghost bad passed.” “Well, why don’t you go down an’ see about it?” “Reckon I hain't got no time,” The truth was that Hingham was a superstitious man, with a horror at coming upon anything ghostly. He could have gone dowu to Pograa's as well as not for all the work he did ou his farm, for he was as lazy as he was superstitious, instead of going to work he went over to talk to Steve Blackburn, who owned the next farm, and endeavor to interest him in the matter. Steve was picking berries, but paused in his work and heard Hingham through, then sdid deliberately: “Reckon 1 hain’t got no less to do than you.” Dave went the round of the farms that morning, spreading the news of a tragedy at Pogranj’s. The farmers could all look down on the deserted place, for Pogram’s was in the valley—an open space through which the road ran—and knots of them gathered on the hills and speculated as to what was the matter. The Pogram farm had indeed an uncanny look about it. The gate was open, as well as the back window: also the door of the stable where Pogram kept his horse and buggy. The overlookers compared notes as to when they had last seen Pogram, and Deacon Huston’s date was the latest, three days before, when he had met Pogram walking along the road very much dejected. After the deacon's testimony the theory was changed from murder to suicide. Still no one had yet been found with sufficient nerve to, go down and face the corpse. The white curtain in the rear window continued to flap, as much as to say, “Why don’t you come?” Bnt the better the groups looking down on Pogram’s understood the invitation the more disinclined were they to accept it. Finally it was agreed that some one should go, and the choice fell upon Dave Hingham. “Oh. I don’t take no interest in the matter.” said Dave, blanching. “I’m goin’ to work.” But Dave had called attention to the tragedy and dwelt upon it and stirred it up till his neighbors began to hold him responsible. Ike Merton and Tom Markley boldly told Dave that, since he had first noticed the stillness about Pogram’s, he was the person to investigate the cause. Dave tried to crawl out of it, but the two men insisted, agreeing to back him up. “Senes you right, Dave,” said his wife, who understood his natural disinclination at facing unpleasant scenes. “Es you hadn’t said nothin’ about it, you’d ’a’ been let alone.” The three men started down the hill, Dave in advance. He wanted the rear, but Jke Merton had concluded to take to be ready in case of an emergency, aud playfully pointed it at the chosen leader, infusing into him the necessary stimulus. The investigators proceeded, climbing the fences on their route, watched by the group of people on the hill. When they came to the rear of Pogram’s farm they halted a moment for observation. The willow tree hung mournfully over the wood house; the tin cup rested immovable on the pump; the curtain flapped from the rear window.

“Reckon you’d better go ahead with the shootin’ iron. Ike,” said Dave. "Thar mought be some of the murderers thar yit.” “You take it.” said Ike, handing him the revolver. “I hain’t no shot nohow.” Dave staggered on. pausing at the stable door. Pogram’s horse and buggy. the only occupaffcs, were gone. “They’ve cleaneu out the stock, shore enough,” said Tom Markley. "See the tracks of the buggy,” said Ike. "Go on, Dave,” said both, seeing that their leader was inclined to turn back. Thus urged. Dave staggered to the house, and after several ineffectual efforts to gather sufficient courage to approach the open window he at last did so and, white as a sheet, looked in, his two companions peering over hi(k shoulders. “Whoop!”

There were shouts fropi up the road, and the investigators, turning, saw Pogram’s buggy, followed by several teams, coming at full speed. Pogram. who was dressed in his best Sunday suit, drove his own vehicle,! beside him a young woman in a white muslin dress, with a veil and orange blossoms »n her head, while behind was a bridal party of the friends of both. “You, Dave Hingham. git away from my winder!” cried Pogram as he turned into the yard. The mystery was solved. Pogram had been courting and the day the deacon saw him had been refused, but the girl had suddenly changed her mind, and Pogram had gone to be married. „ ...