A New Story by Julian Kilman,
Master of Weird Fiction
THE WELL
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 age, 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 gnarled 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 improved 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 keep away from there," he growled, "or you'll fall into the well."
The girl glanced at him impishly.
"You an' Missus Hubbard don’t speak to each other, do you?"
Hubbard's face went black. His whip sprang out and caught the girl about the legs. She yelped and ran.
An eighth of a mile farther 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 ablutions. He rumpled his hair and beard, using much soap and water and blowing stertorously. 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 desk. The desk was littered with papers, among which were typewritten sheets of the sort referred to as "pleadings"; there was a title-search much bethumbed and black along the edges, where the "set-outs" 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 the supper."
The girl hastened out, and shortly thereafter the mother appeared carrying dishes. Food was disposed about 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 you goin', Pa?" asked the girl.
"I'm goin' to drive to the county seat to see Lawyer Simmons."
Hubbard's gaze followed the girl as she helped clear the table.
"Look-a here," he said. "You been a-talkin' to that Harper child?"
"No," returned the daughter, with a trace of spirit. "But I jest saw her father over by the fence."
"What was he a-doin' there?"
"I didn't stay. I was afeard he'd catch me watchin' 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 extremity 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 claiming title to the fence on the side farthest 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 ye, Harper," announced Hubbard, breathing hard. "You got the inside track with Jedge Bissell, an' the two of you are a-schemin' 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 at the first fence and threw himself over. With equal celerity, he clambered over the second fence.
Startled at 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, and the force of the blow did not halt the infuriated man, now swinging at him with all his might. They clinched. Hubbard's fingers caught at the throat of the smaller man, and the two stumbled to the ground, Hubbard 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
