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Chapter X. I Build A Wall · The House of Skulls

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  Chapter ten of the House of Skulls by H. Bedford Jones. This libribox
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  recording is in the public domain. Read by Ben Tucker, Chapter ten,
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  I build a wall. On the morning after my encounter with John Toalksa,
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  I was working like a beaver on the skull wall in front of my house.
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  I had been working there since dawn. In front of the wall,
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  I had a solid framework of staked boards edge to edge, six inches from
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  the wall's face. The inn spaces were closed with other boards. From the
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  shore, I had toted barrow loads of sand until my palms were blistered,
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  and from the barn behind the house, I had brought a couple of sacks
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  of cement which had lain there unmolested. For lack of a mixing bed,
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  I was utilizing a depression in the rock at the head of the path.
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  Boulders of all sizes were handy, and with these I had partially filled the
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  space in front of the wall enclosed by the boards. I mixed my concrete
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  rapidly, and after four or five batches had been shoveled into the gap,
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  my work was done. The former face of the wall, together with the
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  protruding skull, was nicely buried behind six inches of concrete. I was lighting
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  my pipe and vastly admiring my handiwork when I heard a voice, Mercy,
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  what on earth is the matter with your telephone here? I've walked all the
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  way over here just to see if the pterodactyl had eaten you. Up.
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  It was Martha J. Balliol, flushed and laughing. Hooray, I exclaimed,
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  I've been building a wall. Sure the phone is wrecked, but I
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  have a few things to show you, important things too. Come up to
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  the veranda and sit down while I explain. But you are a mason,
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  no, I said, I'm a pterodactyl, and I can prove it.
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  When she was sitting in one of my porch chairs, which I placed in
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  the middle of the veranda floor, I excused myself and got the bucket and
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  basket which John Toxo had left behind after departing the previous afternoon. Now shut
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  your eyes, miss Balliol, promised not to peep cross my heart. She
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  returned gaily. I slowly crossed the floor to her, then stepped away a
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  pace or two. Open Her wondering gaze fell upon the concrete floor from the
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  door of the living room to the side of her chair extended a line of
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  fresh muddy pterodactyl tracks. She almost jumped. Then her blue eyes went to
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  me. Exhibit A, I said, holding up the bucket of muddy water
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  and in the other hand the plaster of Paris cast which had made the tracks.
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  John Toxo was here yesterday, so was the sheriff. Toso left these
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  things behind, and he's not coming back. Her face sobered. What do
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  you mean, mister Desmond Well, I explained this. Tokso was an educated
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  chap He knew what a pterodactyl was, you see, and he knew that
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  the other men knew. Then he left some other things. Typical of them
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  was a set of twelve pieces of round crimson glass. These, when placed
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  in the eyes of those skulls, made a fine crimson effect when seen from
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  the lake. You get the idea. Her eyes widened. Toso, that
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  man, But what about my brother. I'm coming to that. Between the
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  sheriff and Tokso, we got the whole thing straightened out yesterday afternoon. After
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  telling her something of what had happened, I explain, your brother, Miss
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  Balliol, had peculiar notions of what to do with Indian relics and building this
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  house, he uncovered the so called graves of the former chiefs of the Indian
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  tribe which inhabited this valley and which still inhabits it in places. Your brother
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  used the skulls for decoration, and once set in concrete, the skulls could
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  not be removed without destroying the foundation wall of the house. You see,
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  she nodded, watching me with eager absorption. Well, I pursued this John
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  Talkso found out about it. He came after your brother in a rage,
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  and there was a fight on the spot, in which Talksau got worsted.
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  Then he set to work to drive your brother off. Invented some clever stage
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  stuff, such as the pterodactyl tracks and the red glass and the skull sockets.
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  He also had some other tricks in his basket, and all of them
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  clever. He had managed to make everyone believe that this house was haunted.
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  He had once or twice attempted your brother's life. But why broke in?
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  The girl astounded? Whatever made the man act so? Was he mad?
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  Not a bit of it. He was sane. He was also well educated,
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  but marked this. He was not a white man. He was a
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  half breed Indian, and he was the last of the Indian chiefs in this
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  particular valley. He had all the Indian's sense of outrage at seeing the skulls
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  of his forefathers ornamenting this house. So naturally he tried to drive out the
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  desecrators, your brother and me. He did not go in for murder in
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  cold blood yesterday. He merely entered the room behind you and gave you a
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  shove for example. In general, he contented himself with such things. But
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  when I met him at mc gray's tavern and beat him up, he lost
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  his head. He hiked over another road from mc gray's, a shorter road
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  east of the river, and got here ahead of me. But the sheriff
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  and another man were hunting, and they saw tocso deliberately ambush my car.
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  It was an assault with intent to kill, right enough, and it meant
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  the coop for mister Talkso but that while you were building, exclaimed Martha Balliol.
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  Now that's the sheriff's idea. Our sheriff is a bright man, I
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  returned, laughing. The skulls, you note are now buried completely, yet
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  the foundation of the house is not damaged. Thus the feelings of John talksa
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  have been smoothed over, particularly as he faced the penitentiary. If they were
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  not smoothed over, he and his family are rich ranchers across the lake,
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  and beyond having him bounded to keep the peace, I'll not punish him further.
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  Then you think sure everything's all right. A little later that day,
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  Martha Balliol was bidding me farewell. There was nothing to keep her here further,
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  she said, at least she knew of nothing, nor did I.
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  Unhappily, she would go back east and take up the broken threads again.
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  But I proffered, will you not let me take you as far as lake
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  Port? It will be very kind, mister Desmond. Of course it's a
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  promise. I anxiously inquired word of honor. Eh, the blue eyes inspected
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  me with surprise. Why, of course it is good. I lighted my
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  pipe and pulled contentedly to tell you the truth. The car is useless.
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  I failed to fix my tires a fix. There's no gas to run the
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  launch on. I forgot to fill up when we left Lakeport. I was
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  so excited over your arrival. Naturally, we do not want to walk,
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  so, miss Balliol, we must go by canoe by canoe, she echoed,
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  Why Lakeport is miles and miles away and I can't paddle a stroke,
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  We never get there, well, I said, inquiringly. She met my
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  eyes. Slowly, a rosy glow crept into her cheeks. Then she turned
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  and passed toward the canoe. End of Chapter ten, end of the House
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  of Skulls by H. Bedford Jones