Bucholz and the Detectives

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CHAPTER II.

_William Bucholz._--_Life at Roton Hill._--_A Visit to New York
City._

William Bucholz, the servant of the old gentleman, did not possess
the morose disposition nor the desire for isolation evinced by his
master, for, instead of shunning the society of those with whom he
came in contact, he made many acquaintances during his leisure hours
among the people of the town and village, and with whom he soon
became on terms of perfect intimacy. To him, therefore, perhaps as
much as to any other agency, was due in a great measure the fabulous
stories of the old man's wealth.

Being of a communicative disposition, and gifted with a seemingly
frank and open manner, he found no difficulty in extending his circle
of acquaintances, particularly among those of a curious turn of mind.
In response to their eager questioning, he would relate such wonderful
stories in reference to his master, of the large amount of money which
he daily carried about his person, and of reputed wealth in Germany,
that it was believed by some that a modern Croesus had settled in
their midst, and while, in common with the rest of humanity, they paid
homage to his gold, they could not repress a feeling of contempt for
the miserly actions and parsimonious dealings of its possessor.

With the young ladies also William seemed to be a favorite, and his
manner of expressing himself in such English words as he had
acquired, afforded them much interest and no little amusement. Above
all the rest, however, the two daughters of Mrs. Waring possessed the
greatest attractions for him, and the major part of his time, when
not engaged in attending upon his employer, was spent in their
company. Of the eldest daughter he appeared to be a devoted admirer,
and this fact was far from being disagreeable to the young lady
herself, who smiled her sweetest smiles upon the sturdy young German
who sued for her favors.

Sadie Waring was a wild, frolicsome young lady of about twenty years
of age, with an impulsive disposition, and an inclination for
mischief which was irrepressible. Several experiences were related of
her, which, while not being of a nature to deserve the censure of her
associates, frequently brought upon her the reproof of her parents,
who looked with disfavor upon the exuberance of a disposition that
acknowledged no control.

Bucholz and Sadie became warm friends, and during the pleasant days
of the early Autumn, they indulged in frequent and extended rambles;
he became her constant chaperone to the various traveling shows which
visited the town, and to the merry-makings in the vicinity. Through
her influence also, he engaged the services of a tutor, and commenced
the study of the English language, in which, with her assistance, he
soon began to make rapid progress.

In this quiet, uneventful way, the time passed on, and nothing
occurred to disturb the usual serenity of their existence. No attempt
was made by Henry Schulte to cultivate the land which he had
purchased, and, except a small patch of ground which was devoted to
the raising of a few late vegetables, the grass and weeds vied with
each other for supremacy in the broad acres which surrounded the
house.

Daily during the pleasant weather the old gentleman would wend his
way to the river, and indulge in the luxury of a bath, which seemed
to be the only recreation that he permitted himself to take; and in
the evening, during which he invariably remained in the house, he
would spend the few hours before retiring in playing upon the violin,
an instrument of which he was very fond, and upon which he played
with no ordinary skill.

The Autumn passed away, and Winter, cold, bleak, and cheerless,
settled over the land. The bright and many-colored leaves that had
flashed their myriad beauties in the full glare of the sunlight, had
fallen from the trees, leaving their trunks, gnarled and bare, to the
mercy of the sweeping winds. The streams were frozen, and the
merry-makers skimmed lightly and gracefully over the glassy surface
of pond and lake. Christmas, that season of festivity, when the
hearts of the children are gladdened by the visit of that fabulous
gift-maker, and when music and joy rule the hour in the homes of the
rich--but when also, pinched faces and hungry eyes are seen in the
houses of the poor--had come and gone.

To the farm-house on the "Hill," there had come no change during this
festive season, and the day was passed in the ordinary dull and
uneventful manner. William Bucholz and Sadie Waring had perhaps
derived more enjoyment from the day than any of the others, and in
the afternoon had joined a party of skaters on the lake in the
vicinity, but beyond this, no incident occurred to recall very
forcibly the joyous time that was passing.

On the second day after Christmas, Henry Schulte informed William of
his intention to go to New York upon a matter of business, and after
a scanty breakfast, accompanied by his valet, he wended his way to
the station.

They had become accustomed to ignore the main road in their journeys
to the town, and taking a path that ran from the rear of the house,
they would walk over the fields, now hard and frozen, and passing
through a little strip of woods they would reach the track of the
railroad, and following this they would reach the station, thereby
materially lessening the distance that intervened, and shortening the
time that would be necessary to reach their destination.

Placing the old gentleman safely upon the train, and with
instructions to meet him upon his arrival home in the evening,
Bucholz retraced his steps and prepared to enjoy the leisure accorded
to him by the absence of the master.

In the afternoon his tutor came, and he spent an hour engaged in the
study of the English language, and in writing. Shortly after the
departure of the teacher Mrs. Waring requested him to accompany her
to a town a few miles distant, whither she was going to transact some
business, and he cheerfully consenting, they went off together.

Returning in the gathering twilight Bucholz was in excellent spirits
and in great good humor, and as they neared their dwelling they
discovered Sadie slightly in advance of them, with her skates under
her arm, returning from the lake, where she had been spending the
afternoon in skating. William, with a view of having a laugh at the
expense of the young lady, when within a short distance of her, drew
a revolver which he carried, and discharged it in the direction in
which she was walking. The girl uttered a frightened scream, but
William's mocking laughter reassured her, and after a mutual laugh at
her sudden fright the three proceeded merrily to the house.

It was now time for William to go to the station for his master, who
was to return that evening, and he started off to walk to the train,
reaching there in good time, and in advance of its arrival.

Soon the bright light of the locomotive was seen coming around a
curve in the road, the shrill whistle resounded through the wintry
air, and in a few minutes the train came rumbling up to the station,
when instantly all was bustle and confusion.

Train hands were running hither and thither, porters were loudly
calling the names of the hotels to which they were attached, the
inevitable Jehu was there with his nasal ejaculation of "Kerige!"
while trunks were unloaded and passengers were disembarking.

Bright eyes were among the eager crowd as the friendly salutations
were exchanged, and merry voices were heard in greeting to returning
friends. Rich and poor jostled each other in the hurry of the moment,
and the waiting servant soon discovered among the passengers the form
of the man he was waiting for.

The old gentleman was burdened with some purchases of provisions
which he had made, and in an old satchel which he carried the necks
of several bottles of wine were protruding. Assisting him to alight,
Bucholz took the satchel, and they waited until the train started
from the depot and left the trackway clear. The old man looked
fatigued and worn, and directed Bucholz to accompany him to a saloon
opposite, which they entered, and walking up to the bar, he requested
a couple of bottles of beer for himself and servant. This evidence of
unwonted generosity created considerable wonderment among those who
were seated around, but the old gentleman paid no attention to their
whispered comments, and, after liquidating his indebtedness, the two
took up their packages and proceeded up the track upon their journey
home.

What transpired upon that homeward journey was destined to remain for
a long time an inscrutable mystery, but after leaving that little inn
no man among the curious villagers ever looked upon that old man's
face in life again. The two forms faded away in the distance, and the
weary wind sighed through the leafless trees; the bright glare of the
lights of the station gleamed behind them, but the shadows of the
melancholy hills seemed to envelop them in their dark embrace--and to
one of them, at least, it was the embrace of death.

CHAPTER III.

_An Alarm at the Farm-house._--_The Dreadful Announcement of William
Bucholz._--_The Finding of the Murdered Man._

The evening shadows gathered over Roton Hill, and darkness settled
over the scene. The wind rustled mournfully through the leafless
branches of the trees, as though with a soft, sad sigh, while
overhead the stars glittered coldly in their far-off setting of blue.

Within the farm-house the fire glowed brightly and cheerily; the
lamps were lighted; the cloth had been laid for the frugal evening
meal, and the kettle hummed musically upon the hob. The family of the
Warings, with the exception of the father, whose business was in a
distant city, were gathered together. Samuel Waring, the son, had
returned from his labor, and with the two girls were seated around
the hearth awaiting the return of the old gentleman and William,
while Mrs. Waring busied herself in the preparations for tea.

"Now, if Mr. Schulte would come," said Mrs. Waring, "we would ask him
to take tea with us this evening; the poor man will be cold and
hungry."

"No use in asking him, mother," replied Samuel, "he wouldn't accept."

"It is pretty nearly time they were here," said Sadie, with a longing
look toward the inviting table.

"Well, if they do not come soon we will not wait for them," said Mrs.
Waring.

As she spoke a shrill, startled cry rose upon the air; the voice of a
man, and evidently in distress. Breathless they stopped to
listen--the two girls clinging to each other with blanched faces and
staring eyes.

"Sammy! Sammy!" again sounded that frightened call.

Samuel Waring started to his feet and moved rapidly toward the door.

"It sounds like William!" he cried, "something must have happened."

He had reached the door and his hand was upon the latch, when it was
violently thrown open and Bucholz rushed in and fell fainting upon
the floor.

[Illustration: "_Bucholz rushed in and fell fainting to the floor._"]

He was instantly surrounded by the astonished family, and upon
examination it was discovered that his face was bleeding, while the
flesh was lacerated as though he had been struck with some sharp
instrument. He had carried in his hand the old satchel which
contained the wine purchased by Mr. Schulte, and which had been
consigned to his care on leaving the depot, and as he fell
unconscious the satchel dropped from his nerveless grasp upon the
floor.

Recovering quickly, he stared wildly around. "What has happened,
William, what is the matter?" inquired Samuel.

"Oh, Mr. Schulte, he is killed, he is killed!"

"Where is he now?"

"Down in the woods by the railroad," cried Bucholz. "We must go and
find him."

Meanwhile the female members of the family had stood wonder-stricken
at the sudden appearance of Bucholz, and the fearful information
which he conveyed.

"How did it happen?" inquired Samuel Waring.

"Oh, Sammy," exclaimed Bucholz, "I don't know. When we left the
station, Mr. Schulte gave me the satchel to carry, and we walked
along the track. I was walking ahead. Then we came through the woods,
and just as I was about to climb over the stone wall by the field, I
heard Mr. Schulte call out, 'Bucholz!' 'Bucholz!' It was dark, I
could not see anything, and just as I turned around to go to Mr.
Schulte, a man sprang at me and hit me in the face. I jumped away
from him and then I saw another one on the other side of me. Then I
ran home, and now I know that Mr. Schulte is killed. Oh Sammy! Sammy!
we must go and find him."

Bucholz told his story brokenly and seemed to be in great distress.

"If I had my pistol I would not run," he continued, as if in reply to
a look upon Samuel Waring's face, "but I left it at home."

Sadie went up to him, and, laying her hand upon his arm, inquired
anxiously if he was much hurt.

"No, my dear, I think not, but I was struck pretty hard," he replied.
"But come," he continued, "while we are talking, Mr. Schulte is lying
out there in the woods. We must go after him."

Bucholz went to the place where he usually kept his revolver, and
placing it in his pocket, he announced his readiness to go in search
of his master.

"Wait till I get my gun," said Samuel Waring, going up-stairs, and
soon returning with the desired article.

Just as he returned, another attack of faintness overcame William,
and again he fell to the floor, dropping the revolver from his pocket
as he did so.

Sammy assisted him to arise, and after he had sufficiently recovered,
the two men, accompanied by the mother and two daughters, started
toward the house of the next neighbor, where, arousing old Farmer
Allen, and leaving the ladies in his care, they proceeded in the
direction where the attack was said to have been made.

On their way they aroused two other neighbors, who, lighting
lanterns, joined the party in their search for the body of Mr.
Schulte.

Following the beaten path through the fields, and climbing over the
stone wall where Bucholz was reported to have been attacked, they
struck the narrow path that led through the woods. A short distance
beyond this the flickering rays of the lantern, as they penetrated
into the darkness beyond them, fell upon the prostrate form of a man.

The body lay upon its back; the clothing had been forcibly torn open,
and the coat and vest were thrown back as though they had been
hastily searched and hurriedly abandoned.

The man was dead. Those glassy eyes, with their look of horror, which
were reflected in the rays of the glimmering light; that pallid,
rigid face, with blood drops upon the sunken cheeks, told them too
plainly that the life of that old man had departed, and that they
stood in the awful presence of death.

Murdered! A terrible word, even when used in the recital of an event
that happened long ago. An awful word to be uttered by the cheerful
fireside as we read of the ordinary circumstances of every-day life.
But what horrible intensity is given to the enunciation of its
syllables when it is forced from the trembling lips of stalwart men,
as they stand like weird spirits in the darkness of the night, and
with staring eyes, behold the bleeding victim of a man's foul deed.
It seemed to thrill the ears and freeze the blood of the listeners,
as old Farmer Allen, kneeling down by that lifeless form, pronounced
the direful word.

It seemed to penetrate the air confusedly--not as a word, but as a
sound of fear and dread. The wind seemed to take up the burden of the
sad refrain, and whispered it shudderingly to the tall trees that
shook their trembling branches beneath its blast.

I wonder did it penetrate into the crime-stained heart of him who had
laid this harmless old man low? Was it even now ringing in his ears?
Ah, strive as he may--earth and sky and air will repeat in chorus
that dreadful sound, which is but the echo of his own accusing
conscience, and he will never cease to hear it until, worn and weary,
the plotting brain shall cease its functions, and the murderous heart
shall be cold and pulseless in a dishonored grave.

CHAPTER IV.

_The Excitement in the Village._--_The Coroner's Investigation._--_The
Secret Ambuscade._

Samuel Waring knelt down beside the form of the old man, and laid his
trembling hand upon the heart that had ceased to throb forever.

"He is dead!" he uttered, in a low, subdued voice, as though he too
was impressed with the solemnity of the scene.

Bucholz uttered a half articulate moan, and grasped more firmly in
his nerveless hand the pistol which he carried.

One of the neighbors who had accompanied the party was about to
search the pockets of the murdered man, when Farmer Allen, raising
his hand, cried:

"Stop! This is work for the law. A man has been murdered, and the
officers of the law must be informed of it. Who will go?"

Samuel Waring and Bucholz at once volunteered their services and
started towards the village to notify the coroner, and those whose
duty it was to take charge of such cases.

Farmer Allen gazed at the rigid form of the old man lying there
before him, whose life had been such an enigma to his neighbors, then
at the retreating forms of the two men who were slowly wending their
way to the village, and a strange, uncertain light came into his eyes
as he thus looked. He said nothing, however, of the thoughts that
occupied his mind, and after bidding the others watch beside the
body, he returned to his own home and informed the frightened females
of what had been discovered.

The news spread with wonderful rapidity, and soon the dreadful
tidings were the theme of universal conversation. A man rushed into
the saloon in which the old man and Bucholz had drank their beer, and
cried out:

"The old man that was in here to-night has been murdered!"

Instantly everybody were upon their feet. The old gentleman was
generally known, and although no one was intimately acquainted with
him, all seemed to evince an interest in the cause of his death.

Many rumors were at once put in circulation, and many wild and
extravagant stories were soon floating through the crowds that
gathered at the corners of the streets.

Samuel Waring and Bucholz had gone directly to the office of the
coroner, and informing him of the sad affair, had proceeded to the
drug-store in the village, with the view of having the wounds upon
his face dressed. They were found to be of a very slight character,
and a few pieces of court-plaster dexterously applied were all that
seemed to be required.

By this time the coroner had succeeded in impanneling a jury to
accompany him to the scene of the murder, and they proceeded in a
body toward the place. The lights from the lanterns, held by those
who watched beside the body, directed them to the spot, and they soon
arrived at the scene of the tragedy.

The coroner immediately took charge of the body, and the physician
who accompanied him made an examination into the cause of his death.

Upon turning the body over, two ugly gashes were found in the back of
his head, one of them cutting completely through the hat which
covered it and cutting off a piece of the skull, and the other
penetrating several inches into the brain, forcing the fractured
bones of the skull inward.

It seemed evident that the first blow had been struck some distance
from the place where the body had fallen, and that the stunned man
had staggered nearly thirty feet before he fell. The second blow,
which was immediately behind the left ear, had been dealt with the
blunt end of an axe, and while he was prostrate upon the ground.

Death must have instantly followed this second crushing blow, and he
had died without a struggle. Silently and stealthily the assassins
must have come upon him, and perhaps in the midst of some pleasant
dream of a boyhood home; some sweet whisper of a love of the long
ago, his life had been beaten out by the murderous hand of one who
had been lying in wait for his unsuspecting victim.

From the nature of the wounds the physician at once declared that
they were produced by an axe. The cut in the back of the head, and
from which the blood had profusely flowed, was of the exact shape of
the blade of an instrument of that nature--and the other must have
been produced by the back of the same weapon. The last blow must have
been a crushing one, for the wound produced was several inches deep.

An examination of the body revealed the fact that the clothing had
been forcibly torn open, as several buttons had been pulled from the
vest which he wore, in the frantic effort to secure the wealth which
he was supposed to have carried upon his person.

In the inner pocket of his coat, which had evidently been overlooked
by the murderers, was discovered a worn, yellow envelope, which, on
being opened, was found to contain twenty thousand dollars in German
mark bills, and about nine hundred and forty dollars in United States
government notes. His watch had been wrenched from the guard around
his neck, and had been carried off, while by his side lay an empty
money purse, and some old letters and newspapers.

Tenderly and reverently they lifted the corpse from the ground after
this examination had been made, William Bucholz assisting, and the
mournful procession bore the body to the home which he had left in
the morning in health and spirits, and with no premonitory warning of
the fearful fate that was to overtake him upon his return.

The lights flashed through the darkness, and the dark forms, outlined
in their glimmering beams, seemed like beings of an unreal world; the
bearers of the body, with their unconscious burden, appeared like a
mournful procession of medieval times, when in the solemn hours of
the night the bodies of the dead were borne away to their final
resting-place.

They entered the house and laid their burden down. The lids were now
closed over those wild, staring eyes, and the clothing had been
decently arranged about the rigid form. The harsh lines that had
marked his face in life, seemed to have been smoothed away by some
unseen hand, and a smile of peace, such as he might have worn when a
child, rested upon those closed and pallid lips, clothing the
features with an expression of sweetness that none who saw him then
ever remembered to have seen before.

After depositing the body in the house, several of the parties
proceeded to search the grounds in the immediate vicinity of the
murder. Near where the body had fallen a package was found,
containing some meat which the frugal old man had evidently purchased
while in the city. Another parcel, which contained a pair of what are
commonly known as overalls, apparently new and unworn, was also
discovered. An old pistol of the "pepper-box" pattern, and a rusty
revolver, the handle of which was smeared with blood, was found near
where the body was lying. No instrument by which the murder could
have been committed was discovered, and no clue that would lead to
the identification of the murderers was unearthed. They were about to
abandon their labor for the night, when an important discovery was
made, which tended to show conclusively that the murder had been
premeditated, and that the crime had been in preparation before the
hour of its execution.

By the side of the narrow path which led through the woods, stood a
small cedar tree upon the summit of a slight rise in the ground. Its
spare, straggling branches were found to have been interwoven with
branches of another tree, so as to form a complete screen from the
approach from the railroad, in the direction which Henry Schulte must
inevitably come on his way from the depot. Here, undoubtedly, the
murderer had been concealed, and as the old man passed by,
unconscious of the danger that threatened him, he had glided
stealthily after him and struck the murderous blow.

These, and these only, were the facts discovered, and the question as
to whose hand had committed the foul deed remained a seemingly
fathomless mystery.

Midnight tolled its solemn hour, and as the tones of the bell that
rang out its numbers died away upon the air, the weary party wended
their way homeward, leaving the dead and the living in the little
farm-house upon the "Hill," memorable ever after for the dark deed of
this dreary night.

CHAPTER V.

_The Hearing before the Coroner._--_Romantic Rumors and Vague
Suspicions._--_An Unexpected Telegram._--_Bucholz Suspected._

The next day the sun shone gloriously over a beautiful winter's day,
and as its bright rays lighted up the ice-laden trees in the little
wood, causing their branches to shimmer with the brilliant hues of a
rainbow's magnificence, no one would have imagined that in the gloom
of the night before, a human cry for help had gone up through the
quiet air or that a human life had been beaten out under their
glittering branches.

The night had been drearily spent in the home which Henry Schulte had
occupied, and the body of the murdered man had been guarded by
officers of the law, designated by the coroner who designed holding
the customary inquest upon the morrow.

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