The low, flat bridge was about fifty feet from the corner of the
dividing line, and less that distance from the scene of one of the
murders. Near to it ran the path my friend had to pursue on his
return at night. In my walks, before the murders, I had passed over
this bridge almost daily, and afterward, during the sealed week,
I had not interrupted my habit, though probably I did not go that
route as often as before, for the weather was getting intensely hot,
and kept me to the woods nearer the house. In these walks, however
frequent or seldom, I was accompanied by old Jack; and though the
body of the boy, at one part of the track, lay not more than ten or
fifteen feet away on our left, hidden in the shrubbery, the dog never
attempted to approach it. I remembered afterward, when everything
was revealed, that as soon as we got over the bridge, he would walk
quietly at my heels, keeping as close to me as possible; but when I
had advanced to the denser wood, that clothed the base of the hill,
he was all alive, plunging in every direction, and opening with a
courageous vigor upon the up-tree, defying squirrels. I blamed him
much for his reticence; for I felt assured that both he and his
namesake had, before that, perhaps on the very day of the deed,
gone into that dense mass and gazed upon the slain. Be it as it
might, his manner changed completely whenever we passed by that red
resting-place.
On the morning of the murders—the 12th of June—I had prepared myself
for sketching (I have that gift, moderately to be sure, but yet
with wonderful kindness extended to me by a beneficent Providence),
intending to make a memorandum in oil colors of a group of rocks a
hundred yards or so beyond (eastward) the murder-rock, and to which I
have already referred. These gray rocks, that I intended to sketch,
can be seen from the road leading up to the hill, by which you reach,
from the direction of the railroad, the outer scarp of the ridge
behind which the girl was found. And this is the route by which the
children may have reached the wood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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