Speaker 1: Though well by Julian Killman 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 branches skyward. These
branches shaded a disused well, a 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 pumphouse, 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.
You and 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 life les. 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 abolitions. 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 tidal 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, pa, 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 talking 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 afeared 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. He 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 ya, Harper, announced Hubbard, breathing hard. You got
the inside track with Jedge Bissell, and the two of
you as a schemen 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 Bissel 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 a spade. Hubbard
leaped 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.
Hobbard's fingers caught at the throat of the smaller man,
and the two stumbled to the ground. Hubbard, a top
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 itinerate 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
hand bag. Evidently, Harper was on his way to Ovid
to catch the train to the county's seat. Or 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 itinerate 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
orotoned voice. Come with the lord. Yes, I know, returned
Hubbard with a 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 here, if we catch him, I'll give you the
money they're pelt to 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 paught 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, eat and 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 Ajar, 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 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 and 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's 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 letting 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. It 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 bleach 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 nights of continued sleeplessness were ragging his nerves, and
he was by this time unable to rein 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 rose, 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 swiminging 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 aderons on the well. What of it, Hubbard
jerked out. You gotta get him out? Why? Because them
aderons 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. Hubbard labored
for an hour. At six o'clock, he had not found
the Aderons. 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. Some time 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. 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 headfirst. His cry,
long drawn and eerie, hung quivering in the night air.
In the Hubbard home 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 Kilmen