Rensselaer Standard, Volume 1, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 November 1879 — CALLED TO ACCOUNT. [ARTICLE]

CALLED TO ACCOUNT.

Some years ago, when I was a young man, I was tent down to Evan’s Corners about a big robbery that bad occurred, and while I was there working the thing up, my attention was attracted by a pretty girl I used to see at the hotel where I stopped. Nobody could help noticing such a beauty. Her hair and eyes were 1 dark, but her skin was fair as a lilly, with just a dash of red that came and went iu her Her form was slender, but well rounded, and her hand was us ' white and finely formed as any lady’s hand in the land. Her name was Rose Wynne, and of course, she had plenty _>f admirers, but she coquetted with them all. However, there were two who were a long way ahead of the others. I used to wonder which she liked tiie best, but I could never guess, for while she smiled sweetly on one, she would fling a merry word at the other, and so on. Both' young men were good looking, one fair, the other dark—and both were carpenters. One was called Audrew Davis, and the other Mark Sheldon. Sheldon was a jealous fellow, and •bowed it. Davis was jealous, too, but didn’t show it so plainly. Sheldon was always in a quarrel with her. Davis, I fancied, was angry enough at her coquetteries sometimes to eat her, but he never let on.

Hose Wynne knew I was a detective and had. a sort of awe and curiosity about me. Many a yarn I told her, some true, some not. It was so pretty to see her big eyes kindle aud grow fused to joke her sometinAps aud try and discover which she liked best, Davis or Sheldon. But she would never tell me. “See here, Rose,” I said to her one day when she had been playing those two chaps oft' against each other pretty lively, ‘‘you’ll have those foolish fellows fighting about you if you're not careful.” / \ “I’m muctf more afraid of one of them fighting me,” she laughed. “Which one?” I asked, laughing too; but I thought of Davis’ glowing looks. “Guess,” she said. “They’ve lakh got temper, too much of it.” “Andrew Ihivis hasn’t much temper,” she said. * “I shouldn’t like to belli your skin if you ever jilt him for the other,” I aaswered. “Why not?” she askini. “Never mind.” I said; “but if you ever make up your mind to marry anybody beside Andy Davis, don’t do it 'while he’s around —that’s all.” Rose glance*! to where Davis was at the other end of the veranda, watching" us, though he pretended not. Then she looked back at me. * “Well, you’re solemn enough about it,” she said; “anyoue would think you meant it.” We both laughed, but I said, shaking my heal: “You know that I do mean every word.” • “Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” said Rose. “If any harm ever comes to me through either of them. I’ll promise to come to you, Mr. Sharpe, or send my ghost to tell you who did it. And you must hunt him.down for it. Will you promise me that?” “Yes, I will,” I said; “and there’s my baud upon it.” Aud we shook hands, had a laugh over it. and thought that the last of it, Of courefe. Well, I went away soon after, and it was a year almost to a day before I ever saw the place again. Then I had almost forgotten there was such a person as Rose Wynne. The case I was on was a very im-

poriant oue, and I didn’t want it known I was around at all. So I had disguised myself in a farmer kind of rig, that I don’t believe my own mother would have known me in. I had stopped at a cheap lodging house at the ena of the town, because I suspected some of the gang I was after frequented there, my head was so full of business. , My room was on the ground floor, and the window »as wide open. It was growing dark. It wasn’t a very nice part or the town—lots of roughs about you know; so when I saw a woman standing, all at once there under my window —alone too —I thought it was very queer; but .when she looked up, and I saw it was Rose Wynne, I thought that was queerer yet She was ail in black, even her head was wound 1 about with thick folds of black, and never had I seen her so sad and solemn. She came close to the window and looked up at me. “Mr. Sharpe?” she said. 1 I jumped; for you see I did not think any one would know me, fixed up as was, and I said in a whisper: -“Is it really you, Rose? Don’t speak -s, ioud, please, for I don’t want to be known here.” She went right on without seeming to have heard me. “Harm has come to me,” she said, “and it was Andy Davis. Remember your promise.” And then, all in a flash she was gone, and I couldn’t have told where, up, down, or round the corner of the house; only she’d gone, and I hadn’t seen her * go. As I sat staring out, with her words

going through and through my head, I began to feel kind of creepy and odd. Now, I don’t believe 'any one who knows me would call me superstition*. But ail at once, as I sat there, it came over me that may be I had seen Rose Wynne’s ghost Instead of herself. She had certainly spoken and looked very strangely fora living woman. Then I laughed at myself for the fanev. “Sharpe, old fellow,” said I, “you know there are no such things as ghosts. What in the name of common sense are you dreaming of?” And I put on my coat and hat, and weut out into town to see if I could learn any tiling about the business I had come down there upon. Every now and then as I walked along in the darkness the thought of Rose Wynne would come over me with a kind of thrill, and I seemed to hear her saying: “Remember your promise.” I tried to shake off the impression, but all to no purpose, and at last I stepped into a store and said to a clerk, a fellow whom I recognized as one of Rome’s old admirers:

“Is there a young girl living around here by the name of' Rose* Wynne? “Cause I’ve got a letter for her.” “Then you’ve got a letter for a dead woman,” he said. “Rose Wynne is dead; drowned in the river.” “Who did it?” I asked, turning cold. “Did it herself, I suppose. I never heard of any cne else being accused of it.” “And why should she? Where is Andy Davis?” I blurted out before I knew what I was about. “Oh. Andy went away ever so long ago. I guess Rose atid he were engaged. It was thought that they quarreled, maybe, and that was why she drowned herself.” I did not continue the conversation, hut left the store and went hack to my rojm. That night I dreamed that Rose came to my and stood lookiug at me just as she had under my window, aud said: “It was Andy Davis; remember your promise. “Well, I made some more inquiries round and found the general impression was that Rose had drowned herself, just as the clerk had told me. The body Lad never been found, but she was missing, and her handkerchief and gloves, and the hat she wore the night she disappeared, were picked up on the river bank. The water was very swift 'he: e, and it was generally believed the body had drifted out tq the lake.” Well, I had some pretty cuiious thoughts. Was Rose dead or wasn’t she*? At all events there was a mystery, and 1 was just the fellow to ferret it out. The first thing was to find Andy Davis. So, just as soon as I had got through the business I was on, I started on his track, i

I was obliged to hunt for him much longer than I expected, but I fouud him at last. The longer I looked for i him the more I suspected he had soine- | thing ugly on his mind. People with ! clear -consciences ain’t, as a general | thing, so hard to find. Well, as I said, I found him at last, working on a farm I and he a carpenter by trade. He was a good two hundred iniles from Evan’s Corners, and he’d got a hew name besides that. . He dal led himself Thompson, but he couldn’t Thompson me. I knew him the minute I put my eyes on him. He was at supper with the man he was working for and the other farm hands, and I stood and watched him through the kitchen window some minutes. He’d changed a good deal, got thin and yellow, and had a sort of hunted look in liiseyes. That settled his case for me then and there. I never saw the look in an innocent man’s face. The kitchen door stood open, and I walked in without any ceremony, aud going directly up to him I laid my hand on bis shoulder. _ “How do you do, Mr. Davis?” sard j 1 You should have seen him. I’ve had some experience vith frightened men. but I cau safely say with truth, ! that I uever saw one so scared as he was. I never in my life saw a face turn so white as his did. First he jumped up and lookeil round as if he was going 1 to run, then he sat down again and set his teeth hard. You see, he recognized me, and knew that 1 was a detective. “My name ain’t Davis,” said he, glowering at me with eyes like coals. “I don't know you sir.” “Your name is Davis,” and I know you if you don’t know me I answered |ln a low voice. “Who do you suppose sent me here after you?” His eyes almost jumper! out of his i head, aud his teeth would chatter in ! spite of himself. j “Rose Wynne seut me,” I went on, j “you know what for.” Wheu I 9aid that, the wretch fell on ; his knees, and fairly howled for mercy. “I’ll confess,” he shrieked; “I killed her, I did. I’d sworn Sheldon shouldn’t have her, and I killed her to keep her ; from marrying him. She said she’d come out of the grave to hang me, and she has kept her vow.”

I took him hack to Evan’s Corners as fast as he could travel, and lodged him in the prison there. The trial came off in due time. There wasn’t one atom of evidence that he did the deed except his own confession to me. He hadn’t opened his lips to any oue since; and when called upon to plead “Guilty, or not guilty,” the villian answered “Not Guilty, after all. As he said the words there was a slight stir the crowd behind him. He looked round, and something be saw there turned his face chalky. He gave a sort of gasp, staggered upon his feet, and fairly screamed out “Guilty!” and fell down in a fit. They carried him out writhing and foaming at the mouth, and as they did so, a woman dressed in black c&me forward and threw back her veil. It was Rose Wynne alive, and standing before us more beautiful than eve. “He tried to kill me,” she said. “It was not his fault that he did not succeed. I had been engaged to marry Mr. Sheldon a long time, but because my father was opposed to him and favored Mr f Davis we kept the engagement a secret from every one. I had gone out that night, by appointment, to meet my promised husband, and as I was crossing on the railroad bridge over the river. Andrew Davis came from the other side and met me. He told me if I did not promise to marry him then and there he’d throw me into the water. I was always afraid of him; he had such a savage look in his eyes sometimes. I knew him to be terribly jealous of Mark

Sheldon. But I would not promise him anything of the kind. I could not believe he would really carry out his threat, and I expected Mark would come every minute. “When he took hold of me, and I saw he was in earnest, and really intended to drown me, I struggled with him, and told him if he did harm me, I’d have him hung for tt. And I also told him I was going to marry Mark Sheldon, and that I had come out there to meet him. For I thought perhaps it would scare him if he thought Mark was anywhere around. But he suddenly snatched my shawl oft me and wound it round my head to keep my screams from being heard, and the next moment he lifted me in his arms and threw me into the river. He did not know that I was an expert swimmer; but before I could free myself from the folds of the shawl I had gone under the water twioe. Th* second time I rose to he surface I swam toaard the bank, but the current was so swift I would inevitably have bee'n drowned if Mark had not come just then in time to save me. Davis had run away as fast as he could, aud he did not know that he had failed in killing me, after all. The shock was a dreadful one to me, and my fear of Andy Davis was so great that I begged Mark to hide me from him, and from every one, and let it be supposed that I was dead. So then we were married, and went away from this part o* the country for several months, till we heard that Davis had gone away, when we returned. But I kept close, aud let no one but my own folks know I was alive, for I was determined that Davis should be punished in some manner. So I never went out without a thick double veil over my face, for I was afraid of Davis yet. “Then, one evening I was riding along in a carriage with my husband, when I saw Mr. Sharpe sitting at a window. He was disguised but I recoguized him, and I remember that he had once promised to help me if ever 1 needed his services. So I went up to the window quietly aud spoke to him, and told him about Davis, that is all. I didn’t want the man hung, of course; but I hope he won’t be allowed to murder me, as I am sure he will want to when he finds I’m not dead.” But Davis was past doing any one any further injury. The wretch went from one fit to another and finally died, literally frightened to death. And so his sin had certainly found him out.