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THE FLOWERS COLLECTION
'?/ -
I Mystery of Champanole CreeK
By LOLLIE BELLE WYLIE.
Written for The SUNNY SOUTH.
I.
VARUS tho close of the 23rd
*f May in tho year of our
1/ord 1878 a man astride a
aded horse made his way
hrougli a tortuous road, half
auseway, half path that cut
ho face of middle Arkansas.
His bearing was that of one
nured to travel, and not likely
o be disconcerted by those
lifficulties that overtake a
raveler In a newly-settled
tuntry. Tho man appeared
o be about 30 years old and
wa.s of the complexion of the Southron, be
ing dark, with eyes of melancholy ex
pression.
The sun was passing with one of those
swift transitions that change the earth
from a golden glow to purple mists as he
drew rein where Champanole creek made
a sudden bend in the willows, and care
fully surveyed the surrounding country.
“It looks discouraging enough," he said
aloud, “and gives but little promise of
shelter for man or beast.
All day the man had ridden with little
rest and meager hope, for coming upon
any place of habitation, for the route by
which he was journeying was new to
him.
John Ledbetter, for that was the name
of tho traveler, was a diamond merchant,
as his father had been, and was on his
return from Brazil by way of New Or
leans to Camden, where ms home was.
It was on a similar trip that James
Ledbetter, the father or John, had mys
teriously disappeared in the spring ot
1358. At the time John was too young
to realize the horror of the incident hut
he had the story retold to him by his
mother many times, and he knew also
that diamonds to the value of a hundred
thousand dollars had also disappeared
with hts father, and that, beyond the be
lief that the diamond merchant had taken
the road by Champanole creek, nothing
was ever discovered concerning the mys
tery.
Having paused upon a slight elevation
of storm-blown sand and debris, John
Ledbetter observed a dilapidated house a
short way down the road, nestling in
vitingly beneath the wide spreading
boughs of a walnut tree. Across the arcli
of the door was written, “Champanole
Inn."
Drawing rein a few minutes later at the
entrance, he called a resonant:
“Hello: - ’
fn answer, there appeared at the door
the most grotesque ligure he had ever
beheld.
It was impossible to say at first glance
whether the occupant of the house was
man or woman. A tali, bony frame, cov
ered by a lusterless, leather colored skin
drawn tightly over ttie bones, suggested
tlie masculine sex, but the long, heavy
tress of gray hair failing over the simple
garment that was a compromise be
tween sack and shrrt, was like a
woman’s. The most cur'ous feature, how
ever. or ttie creature was the nose, at
the end of which hung a growth ot
brown moles that resembled a cluster
of dried grapes. Two long teeth of un
even length portruded from the heavy lips
and the eyes were watchful like those
of a lynx.
“Good afternoon,” said the new arrival,
courteously, "1 am John Ledbetter, di
recting my journey’s end to Camden,
which town, being another day’s travel,
promises me little hope for rest or re
freshment tonight. I would with your per
mission remain with you until the mor
row."
“You may enter,” replied the strange
possessor of the queer nose. "Henfluer,
lias no task for turning away good
company since :liis wife Nancy, went
away. There are only ghosts walking
along the creek now :hoy say. Ha! Ha!
Ghosts wiio carry their bleeding heads
in their tleshless hands. “There are no
ghosts,” he cried, with sudden fury. "I
walk the nights -through beside the run
ning water, with my bags of gold in my
iliands. Gold! Gold! Bags of gold tihaL
are mine! I hide tdiem lest they aie
taken away. But you will not carry
them off, for I rwill not walk tonight,
and you do not know where. 1 have
bidden my gold.”
“The man is daft,” thought John Led
better, “but I um well armed, and
shelter and a couch is preferable to die
loneliness and pestilence of the swamps."
tk> *he replied dial he would accept
tlie hospitality of Champaaoia Inn, and
its keeper, Henfiuer, with no fear of the
ghosts, nor desire for the gold, wliicn
answer so pleas.' d the host, that lie had
the traveler enter at once.
bread, and cold water, John Ledbetter
was shown to an empty room adjoining
the one in which he had eaten bis re
past, and bidden to rest upon a bed of
walnut leaves that were heaped in the
corner.
During his brief intercourse with his
host the diamond merchant had learned
from his Incoherent garrulity that for
forty years he had kept Champanole
Inn, assisted by Nancy, his wife. That
Nancy Henflfuer had been dead many
years, leaving him with the bags of gold,
which he had hidden, nnd« gnat Tineli-
ness had made his life unbearable. No
one stopped at the inn any more, and
few persons passed. It was difficult to
bring provisions from the towns and he
subsisted chiefly on -roots, game and sucil
edibles as the woods and water supplied.
Tired as he was it did not take the
traveler long to compose his body and
mind for sleep, not however, before lie
had secreted his diamonds, which were
tied in a chamnise bag in the under
side of his shirt sleeve, as his father
had always done while traveling in
strange places. This done, he lost con
sciousness from sheer fatigue.
It was impossible to tel! how much time
had elapsed when John Ledbetter wa»
suddenly aroused, fully awake to the reel
ing that the incorporeal essence of some
palpable presence was in the room.
Through the blaekness of th" night he
could see nothing, but he could hear the
roar of one of those swift and fierce
tornadoes that so often seize upon the
quiet of the day or night in Arkansas,
and he feared for the security of his
shelter as a fusilade of sand, branches
and stones we.re hurled against the roof
and weatherboards of the inn.
• • • ••• • o • ••• e -«• 9 •'
i •■••••. i
Pushing open the door, he was about
to enter the living room when he felt
himself rivited as it were, to the Moor-
Unable to advance he stood staring at
the scene that met his vision—dumb of
speech, without power of motion, ana
feeling as one who looks into the grave
of a loved one.
For before him, seated at the taable
upon which his own meager supper had
been served, 'was a new arrival so like
unto the pictures he had seen o>f his
father, even to the high satin stock and
silver-embroidered vest, that he would
have sworn that it was he. Bending over
him her face concealed by a straw shaker
bonnet, frilled with brown berage, was
an obi woman, serving him with smok
ing viands from generously filled platters.
There was an uneasy, furtive manner
with her, for from time, to time she
glanced towards the open fire place where
an old man with a cluster of moles on
his nose sat. gazing moodily into the
fire that crackled on the hearth.
Presently Henfleur. for it was he. got
stealthily <up from the settee, and going
to a closet took out a long, slender bag.
which resembled an eel. This he swung
to and fro, and seemed to weigh in his
hands.
Ledbetter tried to call out. but could
not. He divined by psychic knowledge
that a murder was about jo be commu
ted and that the victim was his own
father.
Horrified, he stood m the darkness,
looking into the brightly lighted some be
yond. but unable to render aassistance.
Suddenly Hen'fleur gave the sand bag a
quick jerk, and laid it across the hack
of t.be head of the gentleman dining at
the table. The man as suddenly fell
from his chair upon the floor—dead.
“Hurry and get the gold. Nanej',’’
■•■a-»-a—a — a-»-a — 0-*-a—i
An Experience ^
By ARTHUR. RIGSBY
arette.
• ...a-~a—a—a—a-~a-~ i
CHAPTER I.
T wanted two days to St.
Valentine. Keen, frosty
air bit at the bones of the
indolent, and tingled the
cheeks of the skaters on
the Cercle des Patineurs
with a rosy, healthy glow.
Claude Duresne petulantly
threw ct handful of reviews
•upon the table, and drew
his chair nearer the fire.
“Those critics are ail
fools'” he exclaimed, as
he dexterously rolled a eig-
They say my book lacks actual-
servntion °’ Jtcon, ° of shrewd ob-
peri^ce s' stiU ’ of actual ex-
penence. ^ SapristiJ Does Claude Du-
r-one la ck experience?”
He fell into a brown study, and a full
he gl mcef r,?° n9CiOUSly - When *t last
fc iced at the time he uttered an ex-
damation. and leaped from his chair.
1 • past ^o! J -promised to skafp
moV nneUe and hvr mother this
WhatT'u W :i at wil1 Jeannette think?
tur» tv ma f me s ^ ? 1 m in for a lec-
tuiw front madamc tills evening.”
l00k . e< ^ . down J n“> tl»’ boulevard
again, and his eyes fell upon something
wlwh possessed them of an unfriendly
llgnt. In an open carriage, exposed to
all eyes, as well as to the biting wind
passed Madante Bruat, in a startling red
costume, trimmed with white fur; and.
seated opposite to her, Jeannette and
ol <i!l men -M. Guegnier, an accepted
top, in all his scented elegance and fat
uity.
‘ Claude’s face darkened perceptibly.
So niadame lias found an escort,” he
exclaimed. “I heard the other day that
Guegnier was prowling round her. Ciel!
How can Jeannette entertain such an im
becile ?’ ’
Then it occurred to him why maiiame
had gone out of her way to drive past
his house. It wa.s a hint, that he was
discarded, that his place by Jeannette's
side was now occupied by a rival.
lie was supplanted by that hateful
Guegnier. In which case, he might as
wei: strike first. It was all “expeii-
tnce.” 11.- sat down and wrote:
"there Mademoise.le: A most unfortu
nate mischance compels me to consider
it best tliaL our engagement should ne
severed for a time, i do not suggest an
everlasting disunion; but if you think
ibat necessary. I must perforce acqui
esce. Yet, bear this in mind: 1 have not
eeased to lov.e you, nor to regard your
affection wiLh less pride, honor or rev
erence. My regards to Madame Bruat,
and apologies lor missing my appoint
ment to skate with her today. Unfore
seen circumstances, not lack of desire,
prevented the -fulfillment of my promise.
Ever, with devotion, yours,
"CLAUDE DURESNE.”
CHAPTER II.
“See!” cried Jeannette, excitedly rush
ing into her mother's room. "See what
Claude Duresne lias written to me!"
Then she noticed the additional pres
ence of Guegnier and her brother Jean.
"What is it, child?” Madame Bruat in
quired impatiently.
“Oh! nothing, mother—only a letter.”
Jeannette attempted to beat a retreat,
but her mother held her with a glance,
received Claude’s letter and construed It,
and, without comment, passed it to M.
Gufegnir-r. The latter's expression under
went many variations. Perhaps Claude
was right when he conjectured that
Guegnier had no wish to be entangled in
i.iadame’s net.
Jean was tli e first to comment upon
tlie letter.
“Duresne wil! reckon with somebody
for this,” lie said.
“Cost bien!” replied niadame.
“With, me,’’ added Jean, savagely.
“C'est bien!” repeated niadame. “But
better still, with M. Guegnier. Let
Duresne reckon with M. Guegnier. We
shall know then that lie is in competent
hands. What say you, monsieur?”
Guegnier produced a smile, to all eyes
anything but happy, and replied:
“All! At niadame’s bidding any duty
is a pleasure.”
The next morning Jean and a friend.
a ■•■a--a—a ■•■a ■•■a—a-
armed with Guegnier’s card and oha'i-
lenge, waited upon Claude Duresne to ar
range th e conflict, -or to receive an apol
ogy— ample and humble. The apology
was Guegnier’s idea; the qualification of
it was niadame's.
Duresne, who had been disappointed
of a reply to his letter by post, revived
at sigiit of his visitors. If, indeed, his
unintentional neglect of Mine. Bruat was
to culminate in the loss of Jeannette,
it was hard lines, he thought, if the
fiasco didn’t breed some additional expe
riences. Guegnler's challenge, though it
surprised him, as emanating from a
milksop, yet fulfilled nis desire. A duel
was new' to him in the character of a
principal. He had often played second,
but tlie sensations were so entirely dif
ferent.
“Pistols," he.replied to Jean's question
of weapons. "Tell M. Guegnier we will
meet tomorrow morning—with pistols.”
The latter's hlanched fact} when, later
that day. Jean communicated the result
of his interviewing, would have been a
delicious study for Duresne. Jeannette,
who was nigh, favored him with a con
temptible glance, and mentally compared
his pusillanimity with the chivalry she
was sure her lover possessed.
'My dear M. Guegnier.” said madante,
"that fellow's choic a Is fortunate. We
have vour word for your prowess with
tlie pistol. Only, don't kil him. Hurt
him—don t kill him. It might bring you
intii trouble and us into unpleasant noto
riety.”
"Oh, never fear,” replied Jean, with a
laugh. “Guegnier won't kill him.”
And there was a jeer in Jean's voice
1 Hilt made the mother look quickly at
him and read contempt in his face.
Faith in Guegnier's boasted valor was
growing shallow.
Jean left the room, and Guegnier sat at
a little distance, heeding neither the sing
ing nor the photographs which he found
on the table, and was abstractedly turn
ing over and over. He stared at his own
portrait several minutes without recog
nition; but turning up by chance a pic
ture of Duresne. he became conscious
of his employment. With that discovery
came another—a mor e important inspira
tion. It flashed upon his mind Without
effort, and printed itself there with the
rapidity of an impression upon a photo
graphic plate.
Madame broke in upon his reverie, and
made him guiltily invert the portraits
lie had been gazing upon, as if afraid
they would reveal his inspiration.
“Won’t you join us, M. Guegnier?”
she inquired.
“I should be delighted,” he replied,
“but for a letter of som e importance that
has slipped by memory, Ha\> I mad-
atne’s permission to write one? ’
“Write a dozen it' you like, monsieur,"
! ... repilEd, laughingly. "Vail will find
plenty of material at your elbow."
Guegnier wrote:
“Sir: A writer of anarchistic broch
ures, living as a gentleman, in the
Boulevard Haussmann. No. 23. may be
found tomorrow morning at daybreak in
the Bets, near to the fortifications be
tween the Fortes Maillot and Dauphine.
I inclose his portrait for identification,
and. as a safeguard against this anarchist
and his desperate companions, forego the
addition of my name.’’
He addressed the envelope to the com-
ntissarv of police for the department,
and referred to his watch. If it was to
avail him, the letter must be dispatcl#jd
at once.
Madam e noted the action and rang the
bell.
“I will send your letter to the post,
monsieur," she said.
The servant's footsteps sounded on the
stairs. There were four portraits on tlie
table together: Durcsne’s portrait was'
the fourth to tlie right. He carelessly
dropped the blotting paper over them,
wa'tched his opportunity, picked it up
again, with tlie portrait beneath, placed
it over his envelope -with one hand, and
slipped the portrait in with the other,
sealed it. and handed it to the servani;
then, with a sigh of relief, -followed mad
ame. who would listen to no further ex
cuses. to the piano, and sang lustily
with her and Jeannette until dinner
time.
CHAPTER III.
St. Valentine’s day had barely blushed
when Claude Duresne, with 'his two
friends, carefully wrapped, drove from
• a»a*a—a—a* ■ ...•...•...a—a*
Missing' Witness
By WU. PIGOTT.
do not, for reasons that will
become sufficently obvious,
propose to give any date in
connection with the inci
dents I am about to relate.
Nor do I bind myself to
the assertion that the
places I shall mention are
the real ones. I will even
confessed that, in the case
of tlie town upon which
this statement pivots, the
name lias no existence, so
far as I am aware, except
in my imagination. The main facts, and
those alone, may be taken as correct. I
have my motives in making them public,
which motives will, perhaps, form a
subject for speculation. I am afraid that
they will have to continue to do so.
I was traveling by the night express
from London to Liverpool, where I pro
posed fo embark the next day upon a.
steamer bound for Valparaiso. My com
partment had no other occupant, and 1
was gkul it was so; for I was restless
and uneasy, moving from seat to seat,
and peering continually—for no reason
that 1 knew of—out of the carriage win
dow into the, darkness, in such a state
of mind, indeed, was I that tlie constraint
engendered by the presence of a fellow-
traveler would have been well-nigh un
bearable.
We had been on the way a little more
than an hour, and were passing a way-
• ■•■a-a—0-a-a-*-a-*-a--0-»a-a»a—aca
on the window of my carriage; the glass
was shivered to atoms, and something
fell upon the floor of the compartment.
My nerves were strung at so high a ten
sion that I believe I shouted aloud. For
a moment I thought that I had been ,‘liot
at, and sat rigid, lest by moving 1 should
realize a hurt. Presently, recovering
somewhat, 1 looked upon the floor, and
saw that the object which had been
thrown there was a small note weighted
with a stone. With a feeling between cu
riosity and apprehension, ►! picked it up.
The. indorsement, in a scholarly hand, did
little to allay the first of these:
"For the perusal of the person or per
sons into whose carriage this note may
be thrown.”
1 opened it, and the contents were of
such an astounding character that 1 do
not think it is likely that I shall ever
forget them. At presenl, at any rate, t
can give them verbatim—
“There is a prisoner lying in tlie jail at
Malton, sentenced to be hanged tomor
row morning at 8 o’clock. He lias al
ways protested his innocence and said
that there was a man who could prove
it. Though nothing was left undone to
discover that man. lie was not found. t
am lie. Through illness and other
causes I have only at this moment learn
ed the circumstances—too late to tele
graph. too late to communicate with the
authorities at Malton In any way save
tills. Beyond the shadow of a doubt I
can prove that the accused was many
miles from the scene of the murder at
the time it took place. You wiio rend
the Boulevard Haussmann, and past the
Arc do Triompho.
Down the avenue they went, and over
the bridge, and through the little fre
quented Forte Maillot, into the park. A
short way down the broad Alee de Long-
champs the carriage stopped. Duresne
and 'his friends alighted and turned off
into a 'by-walk, and so again into the
trees, and a small space protected them
from immediate observation.
. Guegnier, with Jean and a mccffcal
friend, were waiting. The paces were
carefully measured and remeasured, the
footsteps producing a dirty track upon
the down trodden snow. Pistols were
produced, examined and loaded.
Jean recounted flic cause of the duel,
and repeated Guegnier’s challenge, add
ing—at Guegnier’s expressed desire—the
phrase nnent the apology.
“Monsieur,” replied Dutesno’s compan
ion ,”my friend formally accepts your
challenge. To apologize to M. Guegnier,
he declares. Is too complete a degrada
tion for liis powers of submission.”
All eyes turned upon Guegnier to mark
his reception of that additional insult.
He was trembling visibly. His face was
as gray as the morning, and lips the pal
lor of the new fallen snow. His teeth
chattered, and his legs shook far be
yond any excuse of the weather. His
eyes, wandering restlessly toward the
pathway whose snowy whiteness wat in
distinctly visible through the trees, be
trayed nothing if not terror and despair.
Where was his friend the Commissary,
to whom he had written? Had that
usually zealous functionary overslept
himself, or thrown his letter into the
waste paper basket, as the work of a
hoaxer or a fanatic? Guegnier trembled
violently as the suggestion took root,
and Jean had to warn him several times
that he was staying proceedings.
He allowed himself to be placed in po
sition, and mechanically closed his fin
gers over the pistol which Jean presented
to him.
Guegnier heard, and striving to realize
that it was all a nightmare, and not a
fact, smiled feebly in reply, and let his
hand, arm, pistol and all hang limply
at his side. Then his head grew dizzy,
and the snowclad trees circled slowly
round him. For some time he gazed
upon the scene, waiting for the moment
when he should waken from that horrible
dream, striving the while to keep his
body perpendicular to the earth. At last
he failed and fell—into the arms of a
Sergeant de Ville, who, with a comrade
and the Commissary, at that moment
walked through the trees at his rear.
He awoke to consciousness, and to the
police officials. The Commissary was
rereading a letter and consulting a pho
tograph, which lie was comparing with
the prostrate man. Duresne and the rest
had gone.
"So you've come round at last, mon
sieur," said the Commissiary. “Allow me
to assist you to your feet. What is your
name, mon ami?”
“My name, all.' of course. Louis Gueg
nier. ’
“M. Guegnier. you will have the good
ness to accompany me to the depot.
There I will question you further.”
“And the others—where are they? Have
you also arrested them?"
“I know nothing of any others. I
want you, monsieur. You write anarchist
brochures, I believe.”
Guegnier jumped quickly to his fet-T.
“You mistake, monsieur. Ii is Claude
Duresne you are seeking. Where is he?"
“Look at this photograph," said tlie
Commissary. "Unless I'm double sight
ed, it is a fairly good likeness of you;
and it is the original of this 1 came here
this morning to arrest."
Guegnier looked at the extended pic-
ture, and saw—a photograph of himself.
. In his little trick with the blotting paper
at Madame Rinat's the previous day lie
had slipped his own portrait imo tlie en
velope instead of Duresne's; and ere he
could convince the Commissary that his
prisoner was not the dangerous anarch
ist iie had thought to arrest, the unfor
tunate Guegnier had passed anything but
a pleasant St. Valentine's day.
In the meantime, Duresne was recon
ciled to m.adam e and dear—to, and had
considerably increased his "experience.”
shouted Henfleur's voice above the
storm. And Nancy, the woman, began
rifling th“ pockets. There was a quan
tity of coins in a leather wallet the dead
man carried about him, and some loose
silver in his small pockets, which, with x
hideous grin, old Henfleur greedily took
and counted.
•'Now for a grave." said he. raking a
spade and pick from the closet, “and
who’ll ever be the wiser?”
The two dragged the body through the
door and laid it beneath the walnut tree
by the window of the room in which
Ledbetter had slept. It took but a short
time to dig a hole in the loamy soil, and
when this was accomplished the dead
body was covered with the loose earth.
The murderer ar.d his accomplice re
turned to the room where the deed had;
been committed and.began putting it in
order.
The storm still raged with unabated
fury, and during that hour a bolt of
lightning, with freakish play, struck the
woman dead.
The rage and grief erf the husband was
unbounded, and as John Ledbetter crept
noislessly back to his bed of tears, 'er-
Tified and horror stricken, he could hear
Henfleur moaning.
“Nancy! Nancy! Get up and help me
count the gold!
“Do not leave me alone, with the hell
in wlfic/i my conscience will burn! Wake.
Nancy, wake! Come, hurry; let us count
the gold!” Then followed such a laugh,
wild, fierce, demonical as to make John
Ler|better shrink into the darkness of his
couch with awe. where he lay until the
dawn of day.
TH E
in.
GRAVE BY CHAMPANOLE
cRBfiK.
Two days had elapsed, since the psycho
logical experience of John Ledbetter in
old Henfleur's inn on Champanole creek,
when the morning of the third witnessed
the return of the diamond merchant. This
time he was accompanied by three other
men, who occupied seats in one of the
old English mail coaches that at that,
period traversed the public, roads of Ar
kansas. The occupants of the coaca
were listening with interest to Ledbetter
recount the happenings of the night he
had stopped at Champanole inn rwith daf:
Hen'fleur.
“If your dream, or rather telepathic
message from the spirit world prove true,
it will bear me out in my theory, that
until a spirit is liberated of its sorrow
it still haunts the spot where its sorrow
overtook It,” said Professor Brownlow,
the noted psychologist.
“If it proves true that a murder has
been committed, and the body rests in
the grave which you say you sounded
under the walnut tree how are we to
know that it is that of your fathr’s?"
questioned the good old doctor, who had
been a friend of the dead man.
“By the diamonds, which disappeared
with my father," answered John T/ed-
better. “the diamonds were not taken by
the Hcnfleurs. They took nothing but
the gold. Of this T am convinced. I be
lieve the optical illusion T had to be
entirely true in detail. Before 1 left
Champanole inn T asked old Henfleur of
what disease his wife had died, and he
said she was carried away on the storm.
I asked him where she was buried and
he said he had hidden her with his gold.”
“Now.’’ announced the sheriff of Cam
den county with stentorian voice. “I'll
tell what all this will prove. That TTen
fleur. or ‘Bacchus.’ as he ttsed to he
called, became of the grapes on his nos=“.
Is ono of the most noted, criminals in the
west. That it. was he and his spouse
Nancy Who made way with all the trav
elers who disappeared during the tint"
the Champanole inn prospered, and it will
also prove that murder will cut sooner or
later."
Thus the four men talked, and not one
doubted or discredited the belief of John
Ledbetter that his father’s hones lay in
tho grave tinder the walnut tree.
An hour later, when the earth was up
turned by Champanole creek, and a num
ber of human bones laid bare in the sun
shine. a small chamoise skin bag was
picked, t’.p by Professor Bronwlow and
handed to John Ledbetter.
“My father’s diamond::." said he unty
ing the purse, “and hero, on a slip of
parchment is ris receipt fo r them."
Old Henfleur, who had already been
taki n into custody, admitted his guilt,
and showed the sheriff where the bodies
of his other victims reposed.
But he would net discover to any one,
where his bags of gold were hidden, or
where lie had buried Nancy. Tothis day
though the old man has olng since been
dead there are people who go to Cham
panole creek and dig along its flowery
banks for the treasure which will some
day be found.
ii