1900_09_NormalRecord.010 |
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THE NORMAL RECORD. place his thumb to his ear and after slightly rubbing it, would again gaze earnestly at the knot-hole. It was one rainy afternoon, when all the men had gathered in the general gossip- room, to talk over anything that happened to stray into their miuds, that Jim first made an effort to entertain. Such an effort was prompted by the tale of a heinous murder case which evoluted out of the story of Lincoln's funeral that the old man with tobacco stained whiskers had just been telling. Jim drew his eyes from the floor, puffed a gust of breath from his cheeks, slapped his knee and said: "Speaking of murders: I'll tell you a story of one which I can never forget. "My brother owned a small plantation in southern Virginia. He had worked on it for years, developed it from almost nothing, and was just about to take life easy when the, tragedy occured." Here he paused and looked at the floor. The listeners glanced at each other, struck with the contrast of his personal appearance and his language. "One night," he continued, "after Frank (that's my brother), had returned from the town with a sack of money, for the purpose of making improvements about the houses and gardens, he was murdered. "This is the way it was: He was the only one in the house at the time. As it was rather a warm night, all the men had hunted the coolest places out of doors. My brother said he had some business to look after, so we left him. "Next morning Frank did not appear, so I went into the little room they called the office to find him. There, with his head resting on! his left shoulders, one arm .on the table and the other dangling at his side, he sat with a bullet hole through the back of his head. "Before calling any one I thought it best to discover what I could alone. He had evidently been dead forsome time. The murderer must have entered by way of the kitchen, through the "little hall and then into the office, tip-toed up behind my brother and then fired the shot. There had been no struggle because he stilljield his pen. "After being sure he was dead the mur derer went forward to the table, for all valuables were gone and three blood prints of the ball of the foot pointed in the direction of the kitchen. "Other tiny drops could be traced from the pool at his side to the upper roam over his head, where I had been in the habit of sleeping. After getting the situation clearly and to my satisfaction, I notified all the men but Billy, the trusted old slave, who could not be found. Three days after he 'showed ' up,' and grieved more over the death of his master than any of the others. Although it . was known that he left the night of my brother's death, we could prove nothing against him. But somehow, everyone suspected that he was the criminal. "After this awful tragedy, someway I couldn't stay there, sol just mosied off one night and have been traveling ever since. His death left me alone in the world, and I tell you, men—" With this he slapped his knee, put his right hand to his ear, sighed again and looked steadily at the zinc under the stove, "—someway I can't get over it. It's as vivid to me now as it was eight years ago to-day, when it happened." "How about the tracks upstairs?" asked one. "Oh, they proved to be the old house cats." "And what became of the property?" was queried. "Oh, hang the property. I don't care—I don't know anything about it." It was now dusk. The fire crackeled and flickered a light over Jim Crogan's features. All the listeners looked at him and felt in their generous hearts a pity for the poor fellow. The rain pelted on the roof and trickeled through with a measured drip—drip—drip—' and every man shuddered as he thought of the blood of the murdered brother. Jim brought his chair forward with a click as the front legs hit the floor, rose and walked steadily to the door. "Did they ever ' ketch ' the sneakin' scoundrel who done it, Crogan?" asked the man as he screwed the stem from his pipe, and went behind the door for a broom straw. "Only one man knows who the fiend is that did it and that man is Jim Crogan."
Object Description
Title | The Normal Record. September 1900 |
Original Date | 1900-09 |
Description | The Record. Published by the Associated Students of Chico State College. |
Creator | Chico State College |
Location of Original | Archives |
Call Number | LD723 C57 |
Digital Collection | The Record: Chico State Yearbook Collection |
Digital Repository | Meriam Library, California State University, Chico. |
Description-Abstract | The Record served as both a student magazine and a commencement program for Chico Normal School. In the year 1900 it was published almost monthly. |
Date Digital | 2013 |
Language | eng |
Rights | For information on the use of the images in this collection contact the Special Collections Department at 530.898-6342 or email: specialcollections@csuchico.edu |
Format | image/tiff |
Filename | index.cpd |
Description
Title | 1900_09_NormalRecord.010 |
Original Date | 1900-09 |
OCR- Transcript | THE NORMAL RECORD. place his thumb to his ear and after slightly rubbing it, would again gaze earnestly at the knot-hole. It was one rainy afternoon, when all the men had gathered in the general gossip- room, to talk over anything that happened to stray into their miuds, that Jim first made an effort to entertain. Such an effort was prompted by the tale of a heinous murder case which evoluted out of the story of Lincoln's funeral that the old man with tobacco stained whiskers had just been telling. Jim drew his eyes from the floor, puffed a gust of breath from his cheeks, slapped his knee and said: "Speaking of murders: I'll tell you a story of one which I can never forget. "My brother owned a small plantation in southern Virginia. He had worked on it for years, developed it from almost nothing, and was just about to take life easy when the, tragedy occured." Here he paused and looked at the floor. The listeners glanced at each other, struck with the contrast of his personal appearance and his language. "One night," he continued, "after Frank (that's my brother), had returned from the town with a sack of money, for the purpose of making improvements about the houses and gardens, he was murdered. "This is the way it was: He was the only one in the house at the time. As it was rather a warm night, all the men had hunted the coolest places out of doors. My brother said he had some business to look after, so we left him. "Next morning Frank did not appear, so I went into the little room they called the office to find him. There, with his head resting on! his left shoulders, one arm .on the table and the other dangling at his side, he sat with a bullet hole through the back of his head. "Before calling any one I thought it best to discover what I could alone. He had evidently been dead forsome time. The murderer must have entered by way of the kitchen, through the "little hall and then into the office, tip-toed up behind my brother and then fired the shot. There had been no struggle because he stilljield his pen. "After being sure he was dead the mur derer went forward to the table, for all valuables were gone and three blood prints of the ball of the foot pointed in the direction of the kitchen. "Other tiny drops could be traced from the pool at his side to the upper roam over his head, where I had been in the habit of sleeping. After getting the situation clearly and to my satisfaction, I notified all the men but Billy, the trusted old slave, who could not be found. Three days after he 'showed ' up,' and grieved more over the death of his master than any of the others. Although it . was known that he left the night of my brother's death, we could prove nothing against him. But somehow, everyone suspected that he was the criminal. "After this awful tragedy, someway I couldn't stay there, sol just mosied off one night and have been traveling ever since. His death left me alone in the world, and I tell you, men—" With this he slapped his knee, put his right hand to his ear, sighed again and looked steadily at the zinc under the stove, "—someway I can't get over it. It's as vivid to me now as it was eight years ago to-day, when it happened." "How about the tracks upstairs?" asked one. "Oh, they proved to be the old house cats." "And what became of the property?" was queried. "Oh, hang the property. I don't care—I don't know anything about it." It was now dusk. The fire crackeled and flickered a light over Jim Crogan's features. All the listeners looked at him and felt in their generous hearts a pity for the poor fellow. The rain pelted on the roof and trickeled through with a measured drip—drip—drip—' and every man shuddered as he thought of the blood of the murdered brother. Jim brought his chair forward with a click as the front legs hit the floor, rose and walked steadily to the door. "Did they ever ' ketch ' the sneakin' scoundrel who done it, Crogan?" asked the man as he screwed the stem from his pipe, and went behind the door for a broom straw. "Only one man knows who the fiend is that did it and that man is Jim Crogan." |