The Syracuse Journal, Volume 20, Number 7, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 14 June 1928 — Page 7

The Red Road A Romance of Braddock’s Defeat

SYNOPSIS Impoverished by the open-handed generosity of his father, Virgin!* gentleman, young Webster Brond is serving as a scout and spy for the army under General Braddock preparing for the advance on Fort Duquesne. He has Just returned to Alexandria from a visit to the fort, where, posing as a Frenchman, he has secured valuable information. Braddock, bred to European warfare, fails to realise the importance of the news. Brond Is sent back to Fort Duquesne, also bearing a message to George Croghan, English emissary among the Indians. Brond joins his friend and fellow scout. Round Paw. Indian chief, and they set out. On the way they fall in with a typical backwoodsman, Balsar Cromit, who joins them.

CHAPTER ll—Continued “Why didn’t these two strangers stop your bloody At least the white man, if he he white. If George i.’rogban had been here, he’d ’s' stopped you quick enough.” ' “Mebbe so, tnebbe not. Mother Cox. But Croghan’s in Great cove. So it’s no good talking his name, Mother Cox,” bantered Cromit. “How do you know he’s in Great i demanded. The widow eyed me with stern dis approval, but was quick to take the words from Cromit’s mouth and told me: “He was here three days ago ano bound for there. Some of his dratted Indians are straying 'round the ■country, and he’s looking ’em up. And when he ain’t hunting up his Injuns he’s trying to hire our men to work on Braddock’s road. Let the redcoats make their own road, 1 say. When our men-folks go to the Ohio they don’t have no road laid down for ’em to walk on. They just git up and git.” “Where is McDowell and his men? Where are the Craigs?" I asked. “McDowell’s folks is in Great cove. 1 told you,” huskily reminded the ■drover. “And the Craig brothers are on the road to Shippensburg.” said the widow. “McDowell’s gone to help drive out some witches.” “But he and his men haven’t time to drive out the French,” I said. She eyed me blankly, and then berated me: “Os all the numbskulls! There ain’t no French near’n Fort Duquesne. They can’t hurt us with Braddock’s army going ag’in’ ’em. But witches right among us can ‘spell’ our cattle and send sore pains to our children. Merciful land! What good to drive the French from the Allegheny if witches can work their evil spells tn •our homes?” “If it wa’n’t for these beeves, I’d go back and help clean out the devil’s nest,” muttered the drover. “There'll be no tormenting of poor people on the charge of witchcraft if <George Croghan is in the cove,” I fold them. I walked up the horse-path toward Parnal’s Knob with Bound Paw at my heels. We covered a quarter of a mile when a yell behind caused us to look back. Cromit was coming on Che run and his legs carried him rapidly. I expected trouble and handed niv rifle to Round Paw. Cromit halted and informed me: “I ain’t no call to sell my soul to the devil. I don’t hanker to see no witches, but I’ll go with you. Just stopped to git my knife. Old Brad■dock will give me a new gun, but be might be stingy with his knives.” And he patted a large butcher knife worn without a sheath. Did he trip and fall it would be a miracle if he escaped Inflicting a severe injury on bimself. The belief in witches and wizards in western Pennsylvania and Virginia was widespread. The Old world immigrants had brought along their su perstitions as well as their Bibles. ■Once they had ventured into the unbroken forests and made a clearing and felt the solitude closing about them *like a wail they worked new fancies Into the old tales. If there were werwolves tn Europe, why should there not be as bad, or worse, diabolic agencies in this new land of gloomy ancient forests, weird water falls and wild mountains? What with the Palatine Germans and their grewsome beliefs, the Irish with their fairies, the Scotch with their gnomes and other strange nil) creatures, and the English with their devotion to ghosts, it was email wonder that almost any community along the frontiers should possess those who implicity believed in witchcraft Nor was lacking in New Eng<ang and other colonies. As we drew clear of the hills we beheld two-score men and women grouped at the foot of a low hill on which stood a log cabin. The door of the cabin was open but 1 saw none of the occupants. N or were the people at the foot of the hill giving much heed to the cabin as we came up. Their interest was confined to a woman groveling on the grass and making a great outcry. I pushed my way through the crowd and looked down on the young woman She was having a fit of some kind. “What’s the matter here?" I asked. “This young woman is witched, sir,” cried a gray-haired woman “Witched by Elsie Dinwold.” growled a man; and be turned to shake nis clinched hand at the cabin on the hill. “But she’ll witch us no more! We’ll burn that nest. Fight the devil with fire! Der Hexenkopf has bred witches long enough. We’ve sent for John Hokes, sir. He’s a rare wizard. He’ll soon take the spell off this poor sufferer ” “Is George (Jroghan in the valleyF “Gone yesterday for Will’s creek.” The sufferer did not fancy any shiftdnu <>t attention and renewed her screaming and kicking.

* By Hugh Pendexter . Illtutrationa by Irwin Myers Cepyright by Hugh PendsxtMb WNU Service “The devil bates water. Bring me a bucketful." i commanded. I rolled up rhe wide sleeves of my hunting shirt as if Intending to bathe my hands before attempting even a partial cure. A bucket of water was placed before me. I picked it up and dashed it over the woman. Spitting like a cat she came to a sitting posture. When she could get her hreatb she began calling curses down on my head. “The devil bates cold water." I repeated. “The woman Is all right now if she will keep out of the moonlight for ihree nights.” “Then you are a wizard and can remove spells?’ eagerly asked tne gray-haired woman. Others were staring at me with much respect. “Some spells.” I admitted. “Now tell me how this woman was spelled.’ ’’ It seemed that Dinwold, who lived with her uncle in the cabin on Der Hexenkopf. or the Witches’ Head, as the little hill was called, bad laid a most malevolent trap for the woman now hobbling to her cabin for a dry shift, it consisted of a barrel and a witch snake. The narrator was here interrupted by several, who Insisted Elsie Dinwold bad changed herself intp a snake, or had entered the body of the snake —preferably the latter as the snake was still in the barrel and the accused was in her cabin. The victim had been Induced by some magic arts to pause and look into the barrel. She beheld a large rattlesnake with Elsie Din wold’s eyes. The barrel was pointed out to me. 1 walked to it and htoked Inside. My flesh crawled as I encountered the relentless malignity of the serpent’s sta ring eyes. ( directed the men to kill the snake and would have remained to make sure it was done had not the appearance of a slim figure in the cabin door set the crowd Into a wild uproar. The woman stepped outside and was fol lowed by a man badly crippled, for he walked with difficulty even while using two canes. Some in the gathering began gesticulating, and then they were sweeping up the hill, a frantic mob. “Why all this fuss over a snake In a barrel?” 1 asked, fearing some harm would be inflicted on the woman and the cripple. “She is a woman of Der Hexenkopf!” accused a woman, pointing a trembling finger. “She comes of a foul brood,” excitedly explained a man. I took time to look more closely. The woman, scarcely more than a girt, had suddenly taken alarm for the man’s safety, and had interposed her slim figure between him and her accusers. Her loosened hair was blowing about her face and half-veiling her thin features'. She leaned forward as she watched us, her body lithe and wiry as a boy s, her lips parted in a little feline snarl. Knowing me to be a stranger and yearning for an impartial judge, she centered her wild gaze on me and panted: “I’m no witch. These folks be fools! 1 live here alone with my uncle. He is old, a cripple with rbeumty pains. Several years ago the beastly Germans named this place Der Hexenkopf My poor mother died from fear and sorrow. My two sisters, older’n me. were driven out of the valley. 1 am last of tbe women to live on the Witches’ Head, and they won’t let me live in peace.” “Keep your wicked jaws closed tight, or we’ll pin ’em together,” roared the red-faced man. 1 waved my bands for silence and requested: “Will some of you good folks telt me what she has done besides putting the snake in the barrel?” It was the old man. her uncle, wbo enlightened me. “They say she sent a sickness to

“Leave It to Me,” Said Jimson, and Made Good

“I’ve nothing in particular especially to do tonight, so I think I’ll fix that clock,” decided Jimson Skupper. “I’ll show the people in this house whether I put off fixing it because 1 didn’t know how, or merely because I didn’t have time before!” And be looked- at the handsome eight-day clock on the mantel, and after a half hour’s concentration, removed th back. Dusting off the jewel-mounted ditchy spring with the end of nis hanclke.chici and pouring oil on .he revolving gadgets and shtmpwinders, he screwed the back on again, wound up the clock and then hook it. The clock continued tn a state of innocuous inactivity. "Humph!” Jimson Skupper exclaimed to himself, and this time took the face off and squirted eau de cologne into the left porthole. Then, after breathing a prayer on the bands

Too Much Pep Norma, age seven, was visiting her grandma, and they were telling jokes. Grandma told Norma the one about the- boy who went to the grocery and bought some pepper for his mother, and when he arrived home and opened the package he found the pepper was half peas (p’s). Norma was quiet for a few moments, and then she said: “Grandma, here is one for you: “A little boy went to the store to buy some pepper for his mother, and when he came home and opened it he found it was half pep.”

Oscar Kluck’s white horse,” he tremulously explained. “Oscar Kluck here this morning early and asked me to pay four pounds for the hurt done the animal i had no money.” “He was a good boss, my white one. I refused four pounds for him,” cried Kluck. “Now she’s spoiled him—the d—d spawn!” Some one tugged my elbow. It was Cromit. His face was weak from fear, and his voice trembled as he whispered: “I’ve been looking at the white horse. I know horses. He’s old and oughter be shot. He was never worth four pounds. Four shillings would be nearer." He scuttled back to tbe Onondaga. The cripple was speaking. “If site confesses and promises never to do it again, shall she be left unharmed?” “Let her say she is a witch and then leave the valley this day, never to come back, and she shan’t be whipped.” a man promised. “But 1 can’t go,” wailed the girl. “Who would take care of my unHe? The dear God knows I would gladly go and never look toward this piace again if my uncle could go with me!” “Never mind me. little Elsie. You must not be whipped.” groaned her uncle. “Teach the d—d brat we can break her spells!” screamed a woman. « “She threatens us with the devil’s power! She should be burned and her ashes scattered at midnight.” loudly declared a man in English but speaking with a thick accent. 1 Interposed: “Enough. There will be no burning, nor whipping. She is scarcely more than a girl. You people talk like crazy folks.” - “And who be you, mister, to come to Der Hexenkopf and say what we’ll do and what we won’t?” a woman fiercely demanded of me. “1 am recruiting for Braddock’s army. Three pounds sterling to every man who enlists. A fine red coat and a fine new musket. This man beside me Is Balsar Cromit from McDowell’s mill. He has enlisted. My red friend back there is an Onondaga Indian. He will bring an ax in his hand if I call. I have this rifle, which makes a good club. The young woman shall not be whipped.” “Horoor! No whipping!” yelled Cromit, and he stretched forth his half-closed hands and began turning on his heel in search of any who might care to argue the point more Intimately. 1 had no intention of getting into a rough-and-tumble fight with the settlers, so 1 threw up the rifle and held them back. While they were huddled together the Onondaga let out a war-whoop and came charging up the hill, bounding high and swinging his ax. The women screamed and fell back; the men forgot me to cover the retreat of the women. I yelled for the Indian to halt and for the settlers to listen. When I had secured their attention I said: “Drop back a bit and let me talk with the woman alone. This Is no place for either her or her uncle. Perhaps it can be arranged for both to leave this valley.” With much grumbling and many loud threats they accepted the truce and retired some distance down the hill. Cromit and the Onondaga had no wish to draw closer to the cabin, so I went to the forlorn couple alone. The man was seated on a log. leaning forward by resting on his canes, and breathing heavily. His eyes were bulging in a fashion I did not like. The girl glared at me, unable to believe I could be a friend, yet puzzled at my defiance of her neighbors. s “You have nothing to fear from me. child.” 1 told her. “Child!” she bitterly repeated. “I’m an old woman. I stopped being a child when very small. My mother was pretty. Till they called tier a witch her hair was as brown as mine. My father went over the mountains, where no one had been, and never came back. That was when 1 was a baby. My uncle lived here with us and supplied us with meat. Then they called my mother a witch, and she died. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

and rubbing It in well, he returned the. clock its face and snook it again. It remained in a condition of noncommittal somnolence. “Heck !” swore Jimson Skupper, and hurled the blamed thing forcibly into the stone fireplace. Instantly it began ticking with sensible industriousness. “Leave it to me!” said Jimson loftily and placed the clock back on the mantel ana lit his pipe with the «lr of somebody who really was somebody.—Providence Journal. Totally Indifferent He was a veteran actor, with an extremely indifferent outlook on life, appearing in a very good show but in a minor part “How’s the play going?” asked a friend on meeting him. fair, I’m told," drawled the actor. “What’s it about?” “Don’t know.” “For heaven’s sake,” exclaimed the friend, “surely you’ve seen the thing, you’re in on it?” “No,” returned the veteran of the boards. “Several, times after the first act I’ve thought of going round to the front to see what it was all about, but somehow I’ve never quite got there." Sympathetic Public All people are alike in enjoying the presentation of rogues tn drama, but it means nothing about their attitude toward rogues in real life.—American Magazine.

THE SYRACUSE JOURNAL *

OUR COMIC SECTION Events in the Lives of Little Men J LA \ I slw. 1 7- V' 1 W 1 jMja y- a ’ 1 • IuBSFi z / r\z iH i IIETI R s r , ii f "lost* ' . (Copyright, W.N.U.) ~ J FINNEY OF THE FORCE Snoop Is No Longer Interested / . 1 X \ /will MOW / / MGRCVSAkGS.'- \ /US POUCEMUN AQG \ \ CAnSTsELIvS?/ / \bU LAND DOWN Ort | I GITTIN UP A LITTLE / HOU) OLD yCANCM | WIVO UT Itll- ) I RAPFLE FGC A PORE / I M Q. ) \ ING HER WHAT IT*S / \ OLD MAN s' X. V \ALL ABOUT A. □L _ LA. ZUZI /oi think 9EUG \ / CUE AOFnY \ / <S6NE Art’ MiSUNDUGQ- / QAPFLIN’ THE \ STOOD MAE, MQS. J .... | T ' S p E p I ySHOQP I n Q Wuttra N«w»p>p<r l j THE FEATHERHEADS Something From Chopin . [ ruSEOToSiNGP I TUIS-ITS FEOM / Jis J I J \txNAPoec-Z Z /?>Z a • . p / x'AB O / JmX i /Z wuavsthg* \ i l), JA — ; / USB OF A PADiO Al X - : ( AN9WA9 IFMOO /) ? b JvX eANG -7b -4 OiMl' ' *7 —' \ - ~~t~* OWeitira Nt trap* p«r Union ■

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