Though well by Julian Kilman. Jeremiah Hubbard toiled with a team of horses in
a piece of ground some distance down the road from his dwelling. When it
neared five o'clock in the autumn afternoon, he unwound the lines from his waist,
unhooked the traces, and started home with his horses. He was a
heavy man, a bit under middle aged, with a dish shaped face and
narrow set eyes. He walked with vigor. One of the horses lagged a
trifle, and he struck it savagely with a short whip. They came presently
to the Eldridge dwelling, abandoned and tumbled down on the opposite side of the
road. The farm was being worked on shares by a man named Simpson,
who lived five miles away, and drove a tin Lizzie. An ancient oak
tree, the tremendous circumference of its trunk, marred by signs of decay,
reared splendid narled branch's skyward. These branches shaded a disused well well that had
been the first one in Nicholas County, having been dug in the early fifties
by the pioneering Eldridge family. It went forty feet straight down into the residual
soil characteristic of the locale, but owing to improve drainage, it had become
dry. Nothing remained of the old pump house save the crumbling circle of stonework
around the mouth to give evidence of its one time majesty. A child of
eight ran from the rear of the premises. Hubbard frowned and stopped his team.
You better get away from there, he growled, or you'll fall into
the well. The girl glanced at him impishly. Ian missus Hubbard, don't
speak to each other, do you. Hubbard's face went black. His whip
sprang out and caught the girl around the legs. She yelped and ran an
eighth of a mile further along the road. Hubbard turned in and drove his
team to a big barn he fed his stock. It was after six when
he entered the house. This was a structure that, by comparison with the
gigantic barn in the rear, seemed pigmy like. A sallow, flat chested
woman with a wisp of hair twisted into a knot, took from Hubbard the
two pails of milk he carried. She set them in the kitchen. The
two exchanged no words. Hubbard strode to the washstand, his boots thumping the
floor, and performed his evolutions. He rumpled his hair and beard, using
much soap and water and blowing stenerously. In the dining room, a girl
of twelve sat with a book. As her father came in. She glanced
at him timorously. He gave no heed to her as he slumped down into
a chair, standing before a death. The desk was littered with papers,
among which were typewritten sheets of a sort referred to as pleadings. There was
a title search, much bethumbed and black along the edges where the setouts had
been scanned with obvious care, the man adjusted a pair of antiquated spectacles to
his dish face. To do this, he was compelled to pull the ends
of the bows tight back over the ears, as his nose afforded practically no
bridge to support the glasses. Presently, he spoke to the girl, tell
your mother to bring on supper. The girl hastened out, and shortly thereafter
the mother appeared carrying dishes. Food was disposed around the table in silence.
The farmer ate gustily and in ten minutes finished his meal. Then he addressed
his daughter, keeping his eyes averted from his wife. Tell your mother,
he said that I'll want breakfast at five o'clock tomorrow morning. Where are you
going, paw, asked the girl. I'm going to drive to the county
seat to see lawyer Simmons. Hubbard's gaze followed the girl as she helped clear
the table. Look at here, he said, you've been a talkin to
the Harper child. No, returned the daughter with a trace of spirit.
But I just saw her father over by the fence. What was he had
doing there? I didn't stay. I was a feared he'd catch me watching
him. Hubbard glowered and reached for his hat. I'll find out, he
snarled. Walking rapidly, he crossed a field of wheat stubble, keeping his
eyes fixed sharply ahead. It was dusk, but presently at the northern extreme
of his premises, he made out the figure of a man. Hey,
Harper, he shouted, you let that fence be ran forward swiftly. The
men were now separated by two wire strand fences that paralleled each other only three
feet apart. These fences matching one another for a distance of about two hundred
yards. Each farmer claimed title to the fence on the side furthest from his
own represented the basis of the litigation over the boundary claim that had gone on
between them for four years. The odd spectacle of the twin fences had come
to be one of the show places in the county. It had been photographed
and shown in agricultural journals. I don't trust you, Harper, announced Hubbard,
breathing hard. You got the inside track with Jedge Bissell, and the
two of you was a scheman to beat me. A laugh broke from the
other. I'll beat you, all right, he said coolly. But it
won't be because Judge Bissell is unfair. His manner enraged Hubbard, who rushed
swiftly up to the fence and threw himself over With equal celerity. He clambered
over the second fence. Startled by the sudden outburst of temper. Harper had
drawn back. He held aloft to spade. Hubbard leapt at him. The
spade descended. Harper was slightly built, However, the force of the blow
did not halt the infuriated man, now swinging at him with all his might.
They clinched. Hauberd's fingers caught at the throat of the smaller man,
and the two stumbled to the ground. Hubbed atop the fall, broke his
grip with his huge fists. He began to hammer the body. He continued
until it was limp Then his rage suddenly appeased. He drew back and stared
at the inert figure lying strangely quiet, so he gasped. There came the
sound of someone singing, the voice floating distinctly through the night air. Hubbard
recognized it for that of an itinerant free Methodist minister whose church in Ovid he
and his family occasionally attended. The song rolled forth as the Man of God
drove along the highway. In his rig was Jesus, Lover of my soul.
For the moment, Hubbard shielded his face with an arm as to ward
off an invisible thing. Then, bending over the prostrate form, he ran
his hands inside the clothing to test the action of the heart. He performed
the act mechanically because he knew he had killed his man. He discovered the
handbag. Evidently, Harper was on his way to Ovid to catch the train
to the county's seat for the trial on the morrow. This meant that he
would not be missed by his wife for at least twenty four hours. The
murderer studied his next move where to secrete the body. A piece of wood
lay back of him, but he was aware that it was constantly combed by
squirrel hunters. He thought of the railroad. Why not an accident killed by
the very train he was bound for. He started to lug the body toward
the track, which passed half a mile to the north. Realizing, however,
that for the time at hand the distance was too great, he let
the body slide to the ground. Next, he stole along the twin fences
to the highway and peered both ways. No one seemed abroad. He came
back on the dead run, and in twenty minutes he had carried the body
to the Eldridge premises and flung it down the ancient well. When he returned,
he found his wife and daughter together in the parlor, where, with
the itinerant preacher, all three were kneeling on the floor in prayer. Hubbard
unceremoniously nudged the clergyman. That'll do, he said. The minister rose,
his tall, lanky frame towering over hubbard brother. He began in an orotone
voice. Come with the lord. Yes, I know, returned Hubbard with
the patience that surprised his wife. But I've got something to talk over with
my family, he paused. Here, he added, feeling in his pocket
and producing a small coin. Take this and go. When the preacher had
left, Hubbard called to his daughter. Harper was gone when I got over
to the fence. What kept you so long? I walked over to the
woods. There's a nesta coons. They're going to play havoc with the corn,
he smiled, unnaturally, look a here. If we catch him,
I'll give you the money their pelts bring. Hubbard divined that his acting was
poor. Both the girl and his wife were frankly regarding him well. He
shouted, what's the matter with you? Oh nothing, thought nothing, whimpered
the girl. Then go to bed, the two of you. Next morning,
Hubbard started for the county seat, a ten mile drive. He returned
that evening and complained that the case had been adjourned because Harper had failed to
appear in court. The following day, he went back to his field far
down the road for more plowing. Twice he was called to the roadside by
a passer by to discuss the disappearance of Harper. One morning a week later,
when he came along the road with his team, he discovered the Harper
child on the Eldridge premises. She was sitting at the edge of the well
with a suppressed oath. He dropped the lines and half walked, half ran
to where the little girl sat. Didn't I tell you to stay away from
there, he exploded. The girl stared at him but made no move,
though her lips quivered. Hubbard glanced back to observe the road. Then he
caught her arm. Go home, he shouted. He spun her roughly.
She continued to stare at him as she retreated homeward. All that morning,
Hubbard worked his horses hard. He realized that he was eager to go back
by the Eldridge dwelling promptly at twelve o'clock. Therefore, he tied his team
and started up the road. A flash of relief came to him when he
did not observe the little girl. It left him cold, However, eating
dinner, he mumbled. He moved off without looking into the well until four
o'clock that afternoon. He labored. On the way home, he discovered the
girl again, seated by the well. She was bending over and acting queerly.
Hurrying his horses to the roadside, he looped the lines over one of
the posts in the old snake fence. As he approached, he saw her
toss a piece of stone down the hole. Hubbard waited until he was sure
of his voice. Come with me, he said, Gripping the girl,
he started with her toward her home a short distance away. When they arrived,
the front door was a jar. A woman with red eyes from weeping
looked at Hubbard in silence. Here, he said gruffly, this child ought
to be kept home. She'll fall into the well. Missus Harper merely reached
out her arms for her daughter. Hubbard remained standing awkwardly. Have you heard
anything of Harper yet? He asked. I don't want to talk to you,
replied the woman. Hubbard turned on his heel. Waiting for him by
his horses was a deputy sheriff. The two of them further discussed the disappearance.
If you yourself wasn't so well known, Jeremiah finally declared the official they'd
be a thinking you was in it. Some way, why, grunted the
farmer as he untied the lines. Well, everybody knows you and Harper been
a lawn at it for years. Over the boundary line, Hubbard achieved a
laugh. I'll tell you where Harper is. He cleared out, that's what
I think. Deserted his family. That night and many following nights, Hubbard
did not sleep. Some weeks later, a tremendous electrical storm broke in the
night. One peculiarly heavy clap so startled the wakeful Hubbard that he leapt from
his bed and dressed. In the pouring rain, he started out. Inevitably,
his steps took him toward the well. It was black. He could
not see it first, but another flash came and he observed the strange thing.
The huge oak standing at the side of the well had been split in
two by lightning, and one portion of the tree had fallen over the mouth
of the hole. Next morning, Simpson, the man with the tin Lizzie,
stopped at Hubbard's place. He was a blunt spoken, red faced man
whom Hubbard hated. That was a bad storm last night, he said.
The lightning struck the big oak tree by the well. What of it?
Snapped Hubbard. There was a skeleton in the center of that tree, explained
Simpson. I was talking this morning with the sheriff over the telephone. He
said. Seventy five years ago a man was murdered in Ovid and they never
found his body. This skeleton must be his. Hubbard cleared his throat,
sharply, what did you do with it? The skull and one of the
leg bones fell down into the well when I tried to gather him up.
I want to borrow some ropes so I can climb down in there for a
bare second. Hubbard was silent. What you ought to do, he said,
gathering himself, is to fill up that hole. It's dangerous. Yeah,
that's so, But I'm gonna get the skull first. It'll be a
good exhibit. I'm wonderin whether we'll ever find harper skeleton. Wait a moment,
said Hubbard, huskily, starting for the barn. I'll get some rope
and help you. The two returned to the Eldridge farm. They found there
the dead man's child. She had perched herself on the fallen tree. Damn
fool, muttered Hubbard. Her mother let her play around here. A Pulley
was rigged over the branch and the rope inserted with a board for a rest.
I'll go down, vouchsafed Hubbard. Simpson looked his surprise as he assented.
He took Hubbard five minutes or so to retrieve the missing skeleton parts.
He brought them up, the leg bone and the grinning skull. He was
pale when he hauled himself over the edge. I'm going to fill up that
hole myself, he said. All right, retorted Simpson, handling the skull
curiously, go to it. The word traveled of the finding of the ancient
skeleton, and the inhabitants began driving thither to see the sight. Simpson,
a man of some ingenuity, had wired the bleached white bones together and suspended
them from one of the branches of the fallen tree. The skeleton dangled and
swung in the wind. Hubbard, maddened by the delay and publicity, felt
himself wearing away. He had become obsessed with conviction that if the hole were
filled, his mind would be at rest. The knights of continued sleeplessness were
ragging his nerves, and he was by this time unable to remain in bed.
He would throw himself down fully dressed, waiting until the others were asleep,
then he would steal out. At first, he had merely walked to
the rows, swinging his arms and mumbling, but as the night progressed,
his stride would quicken, and frequently he would take to running. He would
run until his lungs were bursting and a slaver fed from his mouth. Late,
travelers began to catch glimpses of the fleeting figure, and the rumor grew
that a ghost was haunting the locality of the well that the skeleton walked.
Hubbard grew haggard, but he found himself unable to discontinue his nocturnal prowls,
some of which took him miles, but all of which invariably wound up in
one place the well. Here, fagged and exhausted, he would sit until
the approach of dawn, staring at the skeleton, mouthing incoherencies, praying,
singing hymns beneath his breath, Laughing. At the approach of dawn, he
would steal home. At last, after the interest in the skeleton has subsided
and Simpson had consented to its removal, Hubbard loaded his wagon with stones and
small boulders and started for the well. The first four afternoon he made three
trips, dumping each time a considerable amount of stones. Next morning he worked
in an additional trip. He began to experience circes, but on the afternoon
of the second day, when he made another trip, Simpson came over from
his work in the adjoining field. I wanted to see you yesterday, he
said quizzically, regarding Hubbard. Missus Harper was here. She said, her
little girl was playing around here and dropped a pair of adirons the well.
What of it, Hubbard jerked out. You gotta get him out? Why
because them aderans is relics. But you gave me permission to fill the hole.
I was kidding, you, laughed Simpson. I'm only renting the farm.
I ain't got nothing to do with the house in the yard. Without
a word, Hubbard returned to his wagon. He got into the seat and
drove off. In an hour, he came back with the same rope that
had been used to recover the missing portions of the skeleton. Also, he
brought with him a farm laborer who did occasional work for him. Simpson regarded
Hubbard amusingly. As the latter adjusted once more, the pulley arranged the bucket
and then hitched his team to the end of the rope. Patiently, bucketful
by bucketful, the stones were elevated and dumped down below. In the black
interior. Hobbed labored for an hour. At six o'clock he had not found
the Aderans. Twice he had been compelled to come up for fresh air.
His last trip left him so white faced and weak he was forced to go
home that night. He resorted to sleeping powders, but he lay and tossed
wide eyed through the dark hours. Sometime after midnight he got up a light
was still burning in his wife's room, and tiptoeing down the hall, he
paused at her door. He in low voices. The mother and daughter were
conversing. To his heated imagination, it seemed certain they were talking of Harper's
disappearance. Mumbling to himself, he left the house. He ran down the
lane to the highway, and along this until he came to the Eldridge place.
He determined not to stop, and succeeded in running by like a frightened
animal. His gait accelerated it was one best described as scurrying. As he
ran, crouched and low, he thought he saw someone approaching. This turned
him back. He fled with the speed of the wind. Drawn by an
irresistible force, he made straight for the Eldridge pathway. He came to the
well, the entrance of which gaped at him. For a moment he stood
with eyes wide open, staring into the black depths. Then screaming, he
plunged in head first. His cry, long drawn and eerie, hung quivering
in the night air. In the Hubbard home a of a mile away.
The mother and daughter heard it. The two listened with palpitating hearts. They
caught one another's hand in a hoarse whisper. The mother exclaimed, what's that?
The End of the Well by Julian Kilman.