George Kibbe Turner

“ The dare-devil, watching for some such downfall, reappeared immediately at the edge of the opening, and covered him with his gun.
"I've got him," he yelled joyously; "I've got him."
The eager crowd came rushing through the woods. The man, wallowing to his feet, stood sullenly waiting where he was, like a dangerous animal in a trap, sinking all the time farther and farther into the soft ground. ”

“ Occasionally we hear of them—of some shrewd and desperate city fugitives brought to bay in a corner of the woods, or some brutal farmhouse murderer still lurking uncaptured among the hills. Often they pass through the country and out beyond, where they are never seen again.
In the extreme southwestern corner of the State the railroads do not come; the vacant spaces grow between the country roads, and the cities dwindle down to half-deserted crossroads hamlets. ”

“ They kept well to the south of the railroad, along the higher and more barren land, two black figures on the ridges, outlined against the night sky—hunted creatures looking down on civilization from afar. Occasionally they heard the faint shrieks of the locomotives across the hills, occasionally they saw the blur of a city's light on the black horizon line. ”

“ The child lapsed into a black, unconscious sleep where he fell, and the man soon followed his example, with his gun beside him.
When the boy awoke again, the man had him by the arm, whispering to him to be silent. There were voices outside the pine thicket. Two ungainly country youths, with shotguns in their hands, clumped down the pasture, followed by a little black mongrel dog.
"Wonder if they got Bostwick over to Jackson's Corners to-day?" said one.
"I dunno."
"The feller that gets that $500'll be a lucky one, won't he?" ”

“ The fugitive's whole hatred and attention became focussed at the point where the yells came from. Suddenly there came a cry from behind him.
"We've got the boy. We've got the boy!"
The confederate, watching his chance, had sneaked up and seized the child at an opportune moment, and hurried him away. From outside the woods came a joyful clamor of men and dogs.
There were now left just these two men, with guns in their hands, stalking each other on either side of the thicket of the swamp. They were nearly matched in woodcraft; the murderer began to understand this. ”

“ The other animals retreated, yelping, and the party of men moved down the outside of the woods to where the shot came from. The murderer appeared dimly among the trees, reloading his weapon, the great, bloody dog thrashing about half dead a little way before him. He was not far from the edge of the woods; just behind him was a branch of the swamp. ”

“ But beyond and around all this rises the wide, bare face of the country, which they will never know—the great patches of second-growth woods, the mountain pastures sown thick with stones, the barren acres of the hillside farmer—a desolate land, latticed with gray New England roads, dotted with commonplace or neglected houses, and pitted with the staring cellars of the abandoned homes of disheartened and defeated men. ”

“ You stay here while I go out and call the men. What's the use of havin' a deputy sheriff for your husband, if he can't protect your own home?"
She hurried out behind the house, and blew a long blast on the conch shell for the men in the fields. The fugitive in the road heard the sound and took warning. True to his instincts he left the highway and headed for the nearest woods. ”

“ The excited boy on the bicycle had done his work thoroughly, and figures of farmers were already seen hurrying down the road, with guns in their hands, and some of them with their dogs. All converged rapidly toward the big hemlock at the edge of the woods.
"You want to watch out for him," said the deputy sheriff; "he's a desperate man, and he's got a gun, and there's no knowin' what he'd do with it. He can't go very far now before he gets into the swamp."
Suddenly there was the report of a gun. The dogs had found the man, and he had shot the foremost of them, a great ugly mongrel mastiff. ”

“ It is a beautiful but useless place. As far as you can see, low, unformed lumps of mountains lie jumbled aimlessly together between the ragged sky lines, or little silent cups of valleys stare up between them at their solitary patch of sky. It seems a sort of waste yard of creation, flung full of the remnants of the making of the earth. ”

“ They came at last to the low country, which betokened the neighborhood of the sea—a light, rather barren land, with patches of scrubby trees, and broken here and there with little rounded hills. The more the man considered himself safe, the more his natural brutal daring returned to him. ”

“ You fellers are in too much of a hurry. I'm goin' in and tell him to give himself up."
He advanced a few steps into the woods.
"You might as well put down that gun and give yourself up," he called. "You can't get away now, anyhow."
In reply the man leveled his gun at him. "You get out o' here," he said. ”

“ The old-est in-hab-i-tants shake their heads and say he will never be tak-en alive. If he is, it will mean still more tra-ge-dies.
"'On Sep-tem-ber thir-teen, a blood-y and event-ful day in this lit-tle com-mu-nity, Shem Bostwick shot and killed Lem Bradford in his own doorway. It was mur-der most foul. Bradford was a peace-a-ble and law-a-bid-ing citi-zen. Bostwick, as all a-gree, is a brute of the low-est type—cow-ard-ly, in-tem-per-ate, quar-rel-some—an in-hu-man hus-band and fath-er, fear-ed and de-spised by all——"
"Here," said the man at last, "does it say all that?" ”

“ Can this be a hu-man be-ing?' That's what it says in big letters; now it says like this:
"'Dumbleton, September 25.—A hor-ri-ble and re-vol-ting mon-ster, a hu-man beast arm-ed with a shot-gun, is roam-ing about the swamps around this quiet ham-let, hold-ing ci-vi-li-za-tion at bay with his wea-pon. In vain packs of savage blood-hounds and de-ter-min-ed bands of stur-dy far-mers scour the coun-try-side for him day by day. These things have no ter-ror for him. A dweller of the for-ests from boy-hood, he laughs at all at-tempts at capture. ”