“Again the hermit made his appearance with the vicious looking dog as his companion, and warned them to keep off. They attempted to parley with him, but the effort was discouraged, as that of the winter fishermen had been.
“For almost five years Old Lonely, as he was dubbed for want of another name, lived there with his dog on Spirit Island. Two or three times a year, silent and unapproachable, he appeared in Pemstock and bought certain absolutely necessary essentials of life that could be obtained in no other manner. Clothing, ammunition for his gun, fishing tackle, a little hardware and a few simple cooking utensils, together with salt, sugar, coffee, flour and tobacco made up, in the main, all of his purchases, which were paid for with spot cash. Where he got it no one could surmise, but the hermit always seemed to have enough money in his pocket to pay for what he bought. He engaged a man regularly to deliver the stuff at the foot of the lake, where Old Lonely received it, loaded it into his crude flat-bottomed boat and rowed away.
“Upon every occasion when seen he was accompanied by his dog, a snarling, tooth-threatening creature, who seemed even less friendly toward human beings in general than did his master. There were fake stories and surmises afloat concerning the hermit of Spirit Island, but none of these hints or tales when followed up seemed to have any real foundation of truth. All were apparently the figments of some speculative or imaginative mind.”
At this point Piper smothered a cough, but the narrator did not even glance in Sleuth’s direction. Absorbed in the story he was relating, he continued without a break.
“Naturally, some of these speculative ones were inclined to picture Old Lonely as having a dark and terrible past. Others said he was a man who had been betrayed by a friend and deserted by his wife. The latter declared that, having watched him when he came into Pemstock, they had observed that he always turned his eyes away whenever a woman drew near. At any rate, living that lonely life, the man swiftly aged. When first seen there had been no sign of gray in his long hair or his ragged beard, but soon the white began to show, and on his last visit to town both hair and beard would have been almost snowy white only for the fact that they seemed soiled and dirty through the general negligence which marked his entire person. His clothing he wore patched again and again, until it almost dropped from his body.
“Once, having watched the island a long time and finally seen Old Lonely leave it in his boat, two men went on and saw his crude clay-chinked log hut; but, fearing his return and believing he might make good his threat to shoot any who trespassed, they did not linger long.
“Late in the autumn, something like five years ago, some hunters heard Old Lonely’s dog howling dolefully on Spirit Island. The howling continued for two full days, although it grew less frequent in its outbreaks and seemed to become weaker, as if the dog was losing strength. And during those two days not a sign of smoke was perceived rising from the island. That something had happened to Old Lonely became the conviction of the hunters, but the man’s reputation prevented them from making haste to investigate. Finally, however, they ventured to put out and land upon the island. The hermit did not put in an appearance to oppose them.
“Approaching the hut by way of a path made by the feet of the recluse, they beheld the door standing ajar. About the dismal place there was a silence and desolation that bespoke tragedy. When they peered in at the door two gleaming eyes met their gaze, and the warning snarl of a dog greeted their ears. In that inner gloom they saw the animal, gaunt and weak, lift itself upon its trembling legs to stand glaring at them, its teeth exposed. More than that, upon a dirty bunk they perceived the silent figure of Old Lonely, his ghastly, stony face framed in a tangle of white hair and whiskers. They called to him repeatedly, but he did not answer and he made no move. Then they knew he was dead.
“The dog, however, weak and starving though he was, would not let them enter the hut, and finally, in order to perform what they believed to be their duty to the dead, they shot the creature. In its dying throes it howled once in such a terrible manner that the listeners shuddered and turned cold.”
“Ge wilikens!” breathed Crane. “I’ve heard the story before, but yeou sartainly can put in the fancy touches and thrills.”