THE DESERTED CABIN.

Otago Witness, Issue 3611, 29 May 1923, Page 66

THE DESERTED CABIN.

By

H. A. Bruce.

(Copyright.) The last touches had been put to the evergreen wreaths, the last wreath had been hung in the dining room, and the last bunch of mistletoe beamed down upon the big hall of Simcoe Lodge. The house resounded 'with the laughter of children. In a small room to the left of 'the hall Uncle Tom and Nieoe Aland had achieved a victory over Aunt Fanny and Nephew Bud at a rubber of whist. Out in the kitchen the final preparations for the big dinner on the morrow were busily going forward. For at Simcoe Lodge Christmas was the day of all days in the year when Uncle Tom and Aunt Fanny, always hospitable, fairly outdid themselves in hospitality. And now, as the Yule log in the big health in the hall blazed higher than ever, little Nephew Archie vociferously entreated Uncle Tom to join the magic circle around the hearth, and add his quota to the Christmas stories that were bring told there. Nothing loth, Uncle Tom complied with the request, filled his bulldog pipe, and began this story: “You all know, children, that your uncle Charlie, my cousin who lives m New York, is immensely wealthy, and that his wife is one of the sweetest flowers that ever bloomed in God’s garden of the world. But Viiat- you do not know, beys and girls, is there was a time when your uncle was one of the poorest men in the world, and that he owed the beginning o-f liis fortune to a strange event that happened in liis life one Christmas Eve, nearly twenty years ago. Your uncle Charlie was a surveyor then. That is, he earned his living, or rather failed to earn his living, by measuring land for anyone who might want land measured. He had just entered upon his profession ; but it. did not take him long to find out that though it gave him plento of healthv outdoor exercise it was not very remunerative in a peou-niarv sense. “To make matters worse for liim, what must he do but fall in love with a very pretty girl—his wife now, G-od bless her—and spend the greater part of his time m Kiakijnr love to her or in bemoaning his poverty, which was not a very sensible way of improving his worldly affairs. Matters came to such a pass at last that your uncle’s father denounced him as a ne’er-do-well, and ordered him out of his house, bag and hag wage. To cap the climax the young lady's father forbade her holding any intercourse whatever with your uncle. In despair poor Charlie literally took to the woods, though it was midwinter. “He had a friend, a schoolmate, who kept a small hotel away up in the wilds of Musk ok a ; and your uncle decided that the best thing he could do would be to go and spend Christmas with his old friend, and try to devise some means if improving his fortunes. So he took a train to Huntsville, and from there started across country afoot; for he was a bold youth, was your uncle, and being armed with a rifle thought nothing of the dangers of the journey. Moreover, he took with him a well-filled knapsack, fo-r it would never do to go hungry on the walk.

“His friend's hotel was about twenty miles from Huntsville, and while he could have followed a well-beaten road, he chose to take a short cut through the woods. Now short cuts arc not always short cuts, and this he speedily learned. There had not been a heavy fall of snow as yet that winter, and so the walking was not bad in the woods. But towards even, when your uncle had scarcely covered half his journey, a blinding snowstorm came on. “The wind howled through the trees, and the cold was intense, but your uncle plunged on, regardless of snow, wind, or cold. Before long he was forced to admit that he was in a very unpleasant predicament. He was growing very sleepy, and he well knew that if lie gave wav to his desire for sleep he would be frozen dead before morning. So be bit his lips, clenched his teeth, and stumbled on. “All at once he came to a. clearing, and looking up saw a house in the clearing. There was not a single light in it, but the sight of the house put new life into him. “ ‘Well,’ he thought, ‘I am sure to find shelter here for the night, and I can

go on again in the morning. This is the first piece cf good fortune I have had in many a day.’ “He hurried up to the door of the dwell mg, which he now saw was a log cabin, and knocked loudly. But even though lie knocked two or three times, once giving a postman’s rap, which is, as you know, a very noisy rap, he received no invitation to enter. . “ ‘ See here,’ said he, ‘ I can t stand out in the cold all night. If you are not disposed to be sociable I am afraid I will have to force my society upon you. ‘With this apostrophe to the invisible inhabitants of the cabin, he tried the door, and to his joy it opened easily, So in he marched, for, as I have said, your Uncle Charlie was a bold youth, and found himself in a very dark room. He struck a match, and noticing a candle on a table lit it, and proceeded to look around him. , . ~ “He hurried up to the door of the V.vvellin the place was covered with dust, and secondly that it was tenantless save for him. He could see that nobody had. set foot in the cabin for many a day. From scraps of paper scattered around the room, he ascertained that he had stumbled on a deserted logging camp, but how . long deserted he had no means of telling. “What surprised him most of all. was the fact that a great deal of furniture and household utensils had been left- behind by the former occupants of the place. AYhv. in a cupboard he found several suits of clothes: and a- low bed in a litt-le room was still covered with several dusty blankets. However, he lost no time m vain conjectures on this rather odd s s. i-,° affairs, but speedily set snout maki.i„ himself at home. . ‘He soon had a fire blazing in a big stove in the main room. He tea in an old canister, and brewed for himself a pot of the welcome beverage. Then he made a good supper on the contents of bis knapsack, lit ms pipc cocked his rjgs on the table and be a to think about the girl he had left bchiai hl “it was Christmas Eve, and he smiled as he thought that never had he spent Christmas Eve in such a queer p.ace. mat the smile left his face when he began to wonder where he would be a year from then. Presently he grew very downhearted, and at the same time drows >'’, for whenever your Uncle Charlie gotte spondent he always felt drowsy. ouddenlv he w-as arounsed by a keehng tha he was no longer alone in the room. “Theeandle liad burned quite low, so low that it only gave a b.uish light, but there was light enough for mm to see seated at the other side of the tab.e, heavv swarthy, red-slnrt-ed lumoerman. How" he had * entered the room was a mystery. Your uncle was sure he had bolted the door behind him. But at all events there the stranger was, and youi uncle felt lie ought to explain Ins presence to the lumberman, who was doubt less the owner of the cabin.. “ ‘ You will excuse me, said he, as he promptly removed his legs from the tabic, 1 but" the fact is I was overtaken bv the storm and sought refuge here. I could get rio answer to my knock, and

S °“ ‘Et’s all right, all right,’ the stranger o-ruffly retorted, waving, his hand. 1 m ter see ve. tt ser long tune sence I’ve had e r clianct ter talk ter enyone Bet me see. -Kt must be nigh outer nine rears now. Why, blow my out tons et’s jest nine years ergo ter-mght. Huns y !- di .atd your undo Charli,. ''Woi'Tfergot, paid,’ raid the. lumber c’ ... ct liver. He was ole man, yer -a suangfci ]>oss Scntum, the man who owned this camp I worked for him. But he died. “ ‘You said that once before, said your uncle Charlie. ‘Here, will you have some tobacco?’ “ ‘Sure,’ was the reply. “The lumberman pulled a short clay pipe ‘out of his pocket grave y ™nimed the tobacco into the bowl, and lit it. Then he asked, in a strangely tremulous voice . Tard, hev ye got eny whisky? “Your uncle happened to have a flask •and he passed it to the lumberman. W hotter put it to his lips, and when he took it a-wav from them it was empty. ‘•‘Whew!’ said he, wiping his hand ?cross his mouth, ‘ye must paruon me, but et’s nigh outer nine years sence I h '“ ‘What 1 do you mean’’ asked your Un »‘Whv, pard, I'll tell yer. Nine years ergo ter,'light ole Boss Scntum died, and nine years ergo ter-morrow I died. “ ‘You died?” , , , ‘•‘Sure. I’m dead. Ini a ghost. “Your uncle Charlie smiled incredulously, but the lumberman frowned. “ Til prove et ter yer. Give me jer fll “Y’oiir uncle stretched out his hand to the other, and the lumberman took it in his. Rather he appeared to take it, or your uncle felt no pressure. " - ‘Don’t be afraid.’ said the lumberman. 1 won’t hurt ye. Now, I’ll tell ye my story. Ye never knew ole Boss Scotuin •

“\jf course not.’ “ ‘Wal. he was er deep one, was ther boss Always a-toilin’ en’ a slave drivin us men en’ always complaimn o hard times. But I kep’ my eve on him, an knew he hed his pile eaehed summers liearabouts. After loggin’ was over bed live layer in ther woods, all erlone. until loggin’ began argin, en’ naterally I bekim curious ter know why he liked this hyer hole so much. “ ‘I faun’ out nine years ergo ter-night. 1 kim on him a-saltin’ some bills in er holler tree. Wal, sir, he never suffered. ‘Pon my word, he didn’t. I jest give him one good whack with er ave, en he was gone. “ ‘On investigatin’ I diskivered nigh onter ten thousan’ dollars hid in tliet holler tree. O’ corse, bein' er provident man, I kirfully removed ther bundle, en put et in a box under ther bed in tliet room.’

He waved his hand iu the uirection of tne adjoining apartment, and continued : “ T’.t's ther yet. Et wuultin’ be, on y I died tner very l.tx day. \\ as cxiaved up Oy tr measly, rneakin b ar.’ “'what!’ cried jour uncle Charlie. ‘Eac’,’ said tne lumberman, 'l—but, ther, 1 must be gum’, ets arler miunigut, en' my tune’s up. Er merry Curistuius ter ye. “ 'But, hold on,’ cried your uncle excitedly. T “He stooped and rubbed liis eyes. The lumberman had disappeared. then lie became drowsy again, and in a moment was sound asleep. It was morning when he awoke, and his lire! thought was of the lumberman. He decided be had just had a queer dream, but curiosity impelled him to look under the bed. “There, sure enough, boys and girls, was the hex, and m the box was the money, ten thousand dollars in bills. Yout uncle Charlie took it, box and all, and the next moment was on the way to liis triendb running for dear hie. “He made inquiries about Bess Scotuin, and learned that the Boss had no relatives. Bo he at once decided he was en titled to the money, and, long before next Christmas Eve, he and his sweetheartwere happilv married. “There, that’s the story, children; and now to bed with you, for it s growing late.”