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Charles Ashmore's trail by Ambrose bears.
The family of Christian Ashmore consisted of his

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wife, his mother, two grown
daughters, and a son of sixteen years.

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They lived in Troy, New York, were well to do, respectable

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persons, and had many friends,
some of whom reading these lines will doubtless

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learn for the first time the extraordinary
fate of the young man. From Troy,

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the Ashmore Is moved in eighteen seventy
one or eighteen seventy two to Richmond,

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Indiana, and a year or two
later to the vicinity of Quincy,

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Illinois, where mister Ashmore bought a
farm and lived on it. At some

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little distance from the farmhouse was a
spring with a constant flow of clear,

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cold water, whence the family derived
its supply for domestic use at all seasons.

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On the evening of the ninth of
November eighteen seventy eight, at about

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nine o'clock, young Charles Ashmore left
the family circle about the hearth, took

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a tin bucket, and started toward
the spring. As he did not return,

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the family became uneasy, and going
to the door by which he had

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left the house, his father called, without receiving an answer, He then

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lighted a lantern, and with the
eldest daughter, Martha, who insisted on

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accompanying him, went in search a
light. Snow had fallen, obliterating the

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path, but making the young man's
trail conspicuous. Each footprint was clearly defined.

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After going a little more than half
way, perhaps seventy five yards,

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the father, who was in advance, halted and elevating his lantern, stood

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peering intently into the darkness ahead.
What is the matter, father, the

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girl asked. This was the matter. The trail of the young man had

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abruptly ended, and all beyond was
smooth, unbroken snow. The last footprints

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were as conspicuous as any in the
line. The very nail marks were distinctly

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visible. Mister Ashmore looked upward,
shading his eyes with his hat held between

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them and the lantern. The stars
were shining. There was no cloud in

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the sky. He was denied the
explanation, which had suggested itself doubtful,

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as it would have been a new
snowfall with a limit so plainly defined.

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Taking a wide circuit round the ultimate
tracks so as to leave them undisturbed for

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further examination, the man proceeded to
the spring the girl following, weak and

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terrified. Neither had spoken a word
of what both observed. The spring was

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covered with eyes hours old. Returning
to the house, they noted the appearance

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of the snow on both sides of
the trail its entire length. No tracks

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led away from it. The morning
light showed nothing more smooth, spotless,

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unbroken. The shallow snow lay everywhere. Four days later, the grief stricken

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mother herself went to the spring for
water. She came back and related that

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in passing the spot where the footprints
had ended, she had heard the voice

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of her son, and had been
eagerly calling to him, wandering about the

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place as she had fancied the voice
to be now in one direction, now

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in another, until she was exhausted
with fatigue and emotion. Questioned as to

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what the voice had said, she
was unable to tell, yet aver that

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the words were perfectly distinct. In
a moment, the entire family was at

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the place, but nothing was heard, and the voice was believed to be

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an hallucination caused by the mother's great
anxiety and her disordered nerves. But for

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months afterwards, at irregular intervals of
a few days, the voice was heard

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by several members of the family,
and by others, all declared it was

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unmistakably the voice of Charles Ashmore.
All agreed that it seemed to come from

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a great distance, faintly, yet
with entire distinctness of articulation. Yet none

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could determine its direction, nor repeat
its words. The intervals of silence grew

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longer and longer, the voice fainter
and fainter, and by Midsummer it was

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heard no more. If anyone knows
the fate of Charles Ashmore, it is

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probably his mother. She is dead. The End of Charles Ashmore's Trail by Ambrose Bearce