A SHOT IN THE DARKNESS.
The Duquettes took possession of the farm.
They were quiet, inoffensive people.
Donald had been seen moving about between Marsden and Lake Megantic wearing an air of disquietude.
Something was impending. In a vague way the people felt that something sinister was going to happen.
'Twas about midnight in the village of Marsden. Darkness enveloped it as a mourning garment. Painful effort, and strife, and sorrow were all forgotten in that deep sleep which, as the good Book says, is peculiarly sweet to the laboring man.
The Duquettes had not yet retired to rest. Mrs. Duquette had been kept up by an ailing child. She was sitting with her little one on her knee.
Suddenly there was a detonation and a crash of glass. A whizzing bullet lodged in the face of the clock above Mrs. Duquette's head. Who fired the shot? And what was the motive? Was it intended that the bullet should kill, or only alarm?
Was it intended that the Duquettes should recognize the desirability of vacating the farm?
Who fired the shot?
Nothing was said openly about it; but the old people shook their heads, and hinted that cowboys, with pistols ostentatiously stuck in their belts, were not the most desirable residents of a quiet village like Marsden.