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THURSDAY, MAY 29th, 1930 THE HAILEYBURIAN Page 7 ale lin alle ll aii "ohe Red. Gn >. By Leslie McFarlane he Haileyburian"s New Serial Story SLs Adventure comes seldom, if ever, to a country boy on a lonely farm, and it is quite possible that I shall spend the rest of my days in placid peace. Chapter I The Corpse on the Shore When I think of the red-headed man [| often wonder what sort of fellow he was in life: whether he was affable or morose, good- natured or surly, dependable or erratic. J imagine, as one builds up impressions of one he has never known, that he must have been a cheerful, reckless young madcap without an ounce of fear or timidity in his make-up; quick tempered, perhaps, and maybe a bit too ready with his fists, as ready to accept a challenge ffom life itself as from another man. I imagine, too, that he had a bubbling effervescence of spirit, a cheerful insouciance even in mis- fortune, and a ready smile under all corcumstances. Didn't he meet death with a grin? Somehow, I can never think of that grin, frozen, on his dead, handsome face, without being convinced of the immortality of the soul. They could kill his body but they could not kill that defi- ant flame that burned within' him. Dead though he was, he brought into my life the only pulsing epi- sode of wild adventure that I have ever known. Adventure comes seldom, if ever, to a coun- try boy on a lonely farm, and it is quite possible that I shall spend the rest of my days in placid peace; but, at any rate, I can look back upon a day and a night of swift events, of mystery, and of threatening death. Some people, such as the red-headed man, have adestiny of violence, and others are fated for the ruts of serenity. I like to believe that when the red-headed man came into my life he tossed me a fragment. of his own destiny, a few hours of the sort he would have enjoyed. I live on a farm on the coast of Lake Huron, so far to the south that on clear days one can see the Ontario shore. My father is dead, and after his passing I remained at the farm with my mother. When the raging waves of a stormy night cast the red-headed man into my life I was twenty- three years of age, and in that time I had known nothing more exciting than the novelty of an occasional trip to the city. Then I was plunged abruptly into a stimulating bath of melodrama. It was a crisp fall morning, with the sun shining and the lake sparkling with a thousand little smiles, when I found the body on the shore. I have seen few dead people in my time, and until then none who had died by violence. _This man lay sprawled on the shingle, his arms flung wideand his rigid face upturned to the 'sky, while the little waves broke about his inert legs. He was a young man, lean of face, and his strong white teeth were bared in a grin of de- fiance that even death could not erase. He seemed to have met his fate with a sardonic scorn that persisted even beyond the supremacy of defeat. The water had plastered his red hair to his skull, but a limp strand had fall- en back to disclose a neat blue hole in the centre of the fore- head. It seemed strange, unbelievable that this young man should be dead. Even the flight of his soul had not robbed his young body of an impression of virility and strength. I stood there and gap- ed, as though in momentary ex- pectation that he would struggle to his feet and stand erect. But he lay there on the desolate beach under the immensity of the sky, and the water lap-lapped a- bout his legs. The waves chop- ped against the rocks. At last I bent down, gingerly grasped the shoulders of the blue pea-jacket and dragged the dead man farther up on the beach. He was incredibly heavy. When Trelinquished my hold he slump- ed back on the pebbles, and _ his head turned slowly until his cheek rested on the shore, as though he had stirred in slumber. The blue hole in his white fore- head fascinated me. This man had not been, drowned; no capri- cious accident had contrived his death. He had been murdered and his body had been cast to the waves. I looked over thé restless blue waters, far across the haze that masked the Ontario shore, and I stood motionless under the golden sun. The fair lake seem- ed to mock me in the smiling in- nocence of its beauty. The dead man seemed to mock me in the terrific wisdom of that sardonic grin. Their common secret was wrapped in silence. I turned and slowly moved a- way in the direction of the farm- house. After a few paces I look- ed back, impelled by all the fas- cination of the horrible and the macabre. The dead man lay as I had left him, his arms flung back in that defiant gesture of resig- nation; but he seemed very lonely and smalt on that great expanse of beach, by the wide acres, uf water, beneath the empty enor- mity of the sky. I turned again and hurried toward home. My mother was washing dishes in the kitchen, for it was but a little after breakfast, and she looked up, humming softly to herself, as I came in. For a few "He was shot through the head. e "Don't! Don't tell me. I don't want to hear about it. It's those tum-runners, I'll be bound, and no one can tell me different. We'll never know a minute's peace «in these parts until they're driven off the lake and I've always said so. I've known all along some- thing llike this would happen. I predicted it from the start." This was true enough, and she looked at me so challengingly that I minutes I didn't know just whatihodded in agreement. "You know to say. I took a drink of water, shuffled about, looked out the 'window, got up again, wondering how to break the news. At last, abrutly : "T think I'll go into town." "To town?" The dish-rag was suspended in mid-air, dripping water over the floor. "At this hour of day? ~What on earth would you be going to town for, lad?" mae I just found something down on the beach." Mother returned the dish-rag to the pan and dried her hands on her apron with great deliberation. "What have you found?" she asked quietly. "A man." Mother sat down in the nearest chair and dried her hands all oyer again. Then she rubbed her spectacles mechanically. "Dead?" she _ interrogated faintly. I nodded. "For Heaven's sake! How? Where?" "He was shot," I explained. "TI guess his body was washed a- shore in' the night." "Yes, it was rough last night," she observed, as though that were the, important thing. "Mercy me! A dead man! Are you sure?" She looked at me quite severely, as though suspecting I might have been mistaken. I predicted it, John. Just two nights ago I dreamed of a wed- ding, and now a man'up and gets himself murdered right at our front door. Where is he?" "Down the beach a little way. I guess I'd better go to town and tell the police." "The police! Lord bless us! They'll be prowling around' all over the farm, asking: questions and bothering everyone. And us that's always been so law-abid- ing! But, then, we can't let the poor man lie there. What does he look like?" "Just a young lad." "Mercy me! I knew when I dreamed of that wedding some- thing would happen: Just a young lad, is he? . . . Yes, I sup- pose you'd better get the police. A murder! Get the police, John" I went out and cranked the car, my mother following with a running fire of exelamations and interrogations. As I drove away she was calling out to me that I mustn't be long, because she couldn't bear to stay alone on the farm with a dead man so close by. I turned out of the lane onto the State road, reflecting that my mother was right in her intuitive assumption that the crime was the work of rum-runners. For some time past there had been a busy traffic in liquor be- tween Ontario and the Michigan side, and it had continued in spite of all the activities of customs authorities and prohibition forces. Night after night I had heard the drumming of launches out in the lake. Often I had seen moving lights offshore, the lights of liq- uor-laden craft or of revenue boats. Smugglers down on Lake St. Clair and the Detroit River had found things too hot fori them and had transferred their activities farther north. Accord- ing to one tale, this whole terri- tory was under the domination of one man, who seemed to have an uncanny faculty for guessing or learning in advance the plans of the forces of the law. It was said that Moberly, the little town three miles to the south of us, was a favorite point of entry, but the rum-runners had heretofore evaded all traps set to catch them there. Other rumors were that the smugglers landed in the coves and bays to the north, transferring their car- goes to trucks that hastened to its ranks many young men to south by the main road. whom the illegal occupation was These were lawless men, and it,4 game rather than a crime. was not surprising that violence, Well, whoever he was, the game and death should arise from their! had earned him a bullet, and the activities. Recollection of the fascingtion of adventure had bec- dead man as he lay on the beach} kKoned with the finger of death. in the morning sunlight brought; He was beyond helping now. It home the whole ugly business to temained for the police to wrest me. more emphatically than all the story of his end from the the vague rumors in the world.: mystery that shrouded his fate. Who was he? Asmuggler? A Iwas approaching the lane that prohibition agent? The red- led from the South Road down to headed youth had not looked like the Kent farm, adjoining ours. acriminal type, but IT was aware My heart gave one of those queer that rum-running had attracted (Continued on Page 8) Follow Me, Girls! I'm going to invest A quarter in a Haileyburian Want Ad. They rent or sell Houses, find lost articles, hire men or maids and assist generally in solving many problems. THE HAILEYBURIAN BROADWAY STREET PHONE 24 Fea Tg ; : Across (ANAD LOCK - Dean Sinclair Laird's Seventh Annual All Expense Tour Leaves MONTREAL - JULY 20--22 Days Leaves TORONTO - - JULY 21--21 Days All Expense Rate From MONTREAL - - - From TORONTO - - - Other points quoted on application You will travel by rail, steamer and motor ... through Canada's industrial and agricultural regions... through the Rockies with their crowning jewels, Banff, Lake Louise and Emerald Lake -+. to Vancouver and Victoria ... west by one highway ... east by another... 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