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*h'“ 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