Vengeful Tree - Eleanor F. Lewis - Audiobook Read
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EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (Canadian-General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
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the vengeful tree By Eleanor F. Lewis. This is a library box recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit libra vox dot org. Recording by Todd da silva. Through the windows of Jim daly saloon in the little town of see, the setting sun streamed in yellow patches, lighting up the glasses scattered on the tables, and the faces of several men who were gathered near the bar. Farmers, mostly, they were with a sprinkling of shopkeepers. While prominent among them was the village editor. And all were discussing a startling piece of news that had spread through the town and its surroundings. The tidings that walter steadman, a laborer on Albert Kelsey's ranch had assaulted and murdered his employer's daughter had reached them and had spread universal horror among the people. A farmer declared that he had seen the deed committed as he walked through a neighboring lane and having always been noted for his cowardice. Instead of running to the girl's aid, had hailed a party of miners who were returning from their midday meal through a field nearby. When they reached the spot. However, where steadman, as they supposed had done his black deed, only the girl lay there in the stillness of death. Her murderer had taken the opportunity to fly. The party had searched the woods of the Kelsey estate and just as they were nearing the house itself, the appearance of walter steadman walking in a strangely unsteady manner toward it made them quicken their pace. He was soon in custody, although he had protested his innocence of the crime. He said that he had just seen the body of himself on his way to the station, and that when they had found him he was going to the house for help. But they had laughed at his story and had flung him into the tiny, stifling cal abuse of the town. What were their proofs, Walter, steadman? A young fellow of about 26 had come from the city to their quiet town just when times were at their hardest in search of work. The most of the men living in the town were honest fellows doing their work faithfully when they could get it, and when they had socially asked steadman to have a drink with them. He had refused in a rather scornful manner, that infernal city chap he was called, and their hate and envy increased in strength when Albert Kelsey had employed him in preference to any of themselves as time went on, the story of steadman's admiration for Margaret Kelsey had gone afloat with the added information that his employer's daughter had repulsed him, saying that she would not marry a common laborer, so steadman, when this news reached his employer's ears was discharged, and this then was his revenge for them. These proofs were sufficient to pronounce him guilty. Yet that afternoon a steadman crouched on the floor of the caliber. Use grew hopeless in the knowledge that no one would believe his story, and that his undeserved punishment would be swift and sure, a tramp boarding a freight car several miles from the town sped away from the spot where his crime had been committed and knew that forever its shadow would follow him. From the tiny window of his prison walter stedman could see the red glow of the heavens that beto pinned the setting of the sun so the red sun of his life was soon to set a life that had been innocent of all crime. And that now was to be ended for a deed that he had never committed. Most prominent. Of all the visions that swept through his mind was that of Margaret, Kelsey lying as he had first found her fresh from the hands of her murderer. But there was another of a more tender nature. How long he and Margaret had tried to keep their secret until walter could be promoted to a higher position, so that he could ask her for her hand, with no fear of the father's antagonism. Then came the remembrance of an afternoon meeting between the two in the woods of the Kelsey estate. How, just as they were parting walter had heard footsteps near them and glancing sharply around, saw an evil, scowling, murderous face peering through the bush. He had started toward it, but the owner of the countenance had taken himself hurriedly off the gossiping townspeople had misconstrued this romance. And when Albert Kelsey had heard of this clandestine meeting from the man who was later on to appear as the leader of the mob and that he had discharged steadman. They had believed that the young man had formally proposed and had been rejected. But justice had gone wrong as it had done innumerable times before and will. Again. An innocent man was to be hanged even without the comfort of a trial. While the man who was guilty was free to wonder where he would. That autumn night the darkness came quickly, and only the stars did their best to light the scene. A body of men, all masked and having as a leader, one who had ever since steadman's arrival in town, cherished a secret hatred of the young man, drag stedman from the caliph booze, and tramped through the town, defying all defying even God himself along the highway and into the Farmer Brown's cross cut. They went diligently guarding their prisoner, who, with the lanterns lighting up his haggard face, walked among them with the lagging step of utter hopelessness. That's a good tree! Their leader said presently stopping and pointing out the spreading oak. When the slip knot was adjusted and steadman had stepped on the box, he added, If you've got anything to say, you'd better say it now! I am innocent, I swear before God! The do man answered. I never took the life of Margaret Kelsey, give us your proof, cheered the leader, and when steadman kept a despairing silence, he laughed. Shortly. Ready men, He gave the order! The box was kicked aside, and then only a writhing body swung to and fro in the gloom. In front of the men stood their leader, watching the contortions of the body with silently. I tell you a secret, boys, he said suddenly. I was after that poor murdered girl myself. A damn little chance I had! But by God he had just as little a pause. Then he shunted this earth. Cut him down, you fellows! It's no use, son! I'll give up the blasted thing as a bad job! There's something queer about that there tree! Do you see how its branches balance it? We have to cut the trunk nearly in two, but it won't come down. There's plenty of others around. We'll take one of them! If I had a long rope with me, I'd get that tree down, and yet the way the thing stands it would be risking a fellows life to climate. It's got the devil in it. Sure! So old Farmer Brown shuttered his ax and made for another tree his son following. They had sawed and chopped and chopped and sawed, and yet the tall white oak, with its branches juddering out almost as regularly as if done by the work of a machine stood straight and firm. Farmer Brown, well known for his weak cowardly spirit who in beholding the murderer of Albert Kelsey's daughter had, in his fright mistake in the criminal! Now in his superstition let the oak stand, because it's well balanced position, saved it from falling when other trees would have been down. And so this tree, the same one to which an innocent man had been hanged, was left for other work. It was a bleak rainy night, such a night as can be found only in central California. The wind howled like 1000 demons, and lashed the trees together in wild embraces. Now and then. The weird hoot hoot of an owl came softly from the distance. In law, walls of the storm, while the barking of coyotes woke the echoes of the hills into sounds like fiendish laughter in the wind and rain. A man fought his path through the bush and into farmers. Brown's crosscut as the shortest way home. Suddenly he stopped trembling, as if held by some unseen impulse before him, rose the white oak, wavering and swaying in the storm. Good God! It's the tree I swung steadman from! He cried, and a strange fear thrilled him. His eyes were fixed on it, held by some undefinable fascination. Yes, they're on one of the longest branches. A small piece of rope still dangled, and then to the murderers excited vision. This rope seemed to lengthen to form at the end into a slip knot. A not that encircled a purple neck, while below it right and swayed the body of a man. Damn him! He muttered, starting toward the hanging form, as if about to help the rope in its work of strangulation. Will he forever follow me? And yet he deserved it! The black hearted villain! He took her life! He never finished the sentence. The white oak, towering above him in its strength, seemed to grow like a frenzied living creature. There was a sudden splitting sound. Then came a crash, and under the fallen tree lay steadman's murderer, crushed and mangled from between the broken trunk and the stump that was left. A gray dim shape sprang out and sped past the man, still form away into the wild blackness of the night. End of recording.