A SUPERNATURAL OCCURRENCE

This story deserves to have been written by, say, Ambrose Bierce in his most persuasive way of lending verisimilitude to the uncanny and the incredible. I, who but recite the It was decided to send the body to Phoenix the next night, and two of the boys declared they wanted to have a weekend in the city badly enough to be willing to drive in the light truck that would serve as a hearse.

truth as it came to me, from what source I shall not disclose, am likely to cause the incident to seem humorous as it seemed to me.

Bierce would have had to title this: "The Corpse That Delivered Itself." Not such an unreasonable title as for two of the principals, the incident has never admitted logical and sane explanation.

The scene is Arizona. This state, not long since the Great American Desert, is still full of wide-open spaces, where armies could lose themselves. Along the newly built main arteries of traffic there are towns sprung up, and service stations by the hundreds. But the branch roads are still mostly trails, leading in general to nowhere. State and national governments are developing secondary highways into these marvelous back areas, destined to be famous as scenery someday.

The state was put together by the Original Architect in a grand and haphazard way. The advertised sections are the irrigated oases free from snow and the rigors of winter. But on a shelf overlooking the warm lowlands is a region where the snows pile higher than a man's head, and a traveler can run into misery and danger and death overnight, that is, if he strays from the main highway.

There is one short-cut through forest and Indian reservation where the road is still a trail though it will soon be a broad highway. Last year a good many miles from Phoenix, two high steel bridges were built across box canyons to help this government trail. One of the workers, Joe Larson his name was, fell and was mortally injured. Before expiring he told the engineers that he had a brother in Phoenix.

It was decided to send the body to Phoenix the next night, and two of the boys declared they wanted to have a weekend in the city badly enough to be willing to drive in the light truck that would serve as a hearse. Neither would have done it alone, but together they would feel sufficiently brave, even for a night trip. So, come night, they prepared a soft couch for the dead man, with numerous blankets, as the air was chilly enough in the back of the truck. They donned their own heavy coats and were off, to follow the trail down over the rim and to the Indian summer warmth of the lowlands. They would be in Phoenix about midnight.

weekend in the city badly enough to be willing to drive in the light truck that would serve as a hearse. Neither would have done it alone, but together they would feel sufficiently brave, even for a night trip. So, come night, they prepared a soft couch for the dead man, with numerous blankets, as the air was chilly enough in the back of the truck. They donned their own heavy coats and were off, to follow the trail down over the rim and to the Indian summer warmth of the lowlands. They would be in Phoenix about midnight.

A card with the name of the mortuary where they were to deliver the body was stuck to the cab inside just over their heads as both were comparative strangers to Phoenix.

A couple of miles on their way, they stopped at a contractor's camp for 10 minutes while they secured a couple of drinks of liquor apiece. We come now to Mortimer Jenks, once a native of Pittsburgh, who had decided to "go west and go to hell with the country," in the current naive paraphrase of Horace Greeley's famous advice. He had accomplished this most literally. His car was of antiquated vintage, and only by a miracle served to get him into Arizona. His itinerary had been vague, his plans fortuitous. Golden promises of the warmth of the Arizona deserts had urged him on, and well-meant but unfortunate advice from fellow travelers had led him to take a short-cut from somewhere in New Mexico to reach the heart of Arizona the more quickly. The flivver had given its expiring gasp amid scenic grandeur of pine and spruce and aspen near some great lumber camps, undoubtedly Arizona but chilly and in no way resembling the desert he was headed for with its gardens and orange groves.

Reluctantly, but with no illusions, he finally abandoned his car, made a pack of his few possessions, and started ahead on foot. It was not so far to where one came to the desert, he believed, and there was always the chance of picking up a ride.

His spirits rose after a while. The air was invigorating, the scenery inspiring, water was still to be found at frequent intervals. He would camp out if necessary. He gave the customary thumb signal to a number of passing cars, but with no success, which made him rather bitter toward his fellow men. He decided that a man has to get along any way he can in this hard, ruthless modern world. He would show them he was hard, too.

At dusk he came to a contractor's camp. He was hungry and saw men leaving what was evidently the mess house. He approached the door after the gang had dispersed. A flunky was clearing the tables. "Could I get something to eat?" he inquired, politely.

The flunky looked him over rather scornfully.

"Hey, cook, here is a bindle stiff wants a handout!" he called.

"Give him anything left on the table," came back in muffled accents from the rear.

So, Mortimer, swallowing his resentment at being designated in such an uncouth way, made out a fair repast on the substantial camp fare. The flunky, relenting a little, vouchsafed the information that it was quite a way to Phoenix and a ride would be hard to get at night but might be easy in the daylight.

Mortimer gave him a quarter and stepped outside stopping under a tree to consider his case. Presently a light truck drove up, with two men in the seat and a great pile of blankets in the bed of the truck. From a remark one man made to the other, it was evident that they were going to Phoenix that night.

He climbed into the truck bed and drew some blankets over himself as he stretched out in a reclining position. There was a long bulky package to one side, but he was comfortable.

Mortimer, with his freshly gained wisdom, pondered on how nice it would be to ride with them, and how unlikely that they would agree. His idea, instantly conceived, was easily executed. He climbed into the truck bed, covered his bundle with the corners of the blankets and drew some blankets over himself as he stretched out in a reclining position. This would not be bad. There was a long bulky package to one side, but he was comfortable.

The two boys from the bridge crew returned, started the truck, and soon were bumping merrily along in the darkness.

Some little time passed, and Mortimer was getting drowsy, when the driver spoke: "Wonder how our stiff is getting along?"

Mortimer was paralyzed. So they had seen him crawl in after all! But he might as well make the best of it, as they were evidently reconciled to his presence. He stirred, threw back the blankets, lifted him-

self on an elbow, and replied:

"Oh, very well, thank you."

He was not at all prepared for what happened next. The driver and his companion, uttering wild shrieks, dove out of the truck and ran back up the road at a speed equal to that of a jackrabbit closely pursued by a hungry coyote.

Mortimer climbed out and onto the seat of the vehicle. The engine was running, the lights illuminating the road ahead. He pondered.

The card in front of his eyes attracted his notice. "Deliver to Wheeler's Mortuary," it said. A ghastly thought struck him. A brief search verified his suspicion.

Adversity has its different effects on different persons. Mortimer now showed his mettle for he presently laughed, a rather wild Homeric laughter which ended in a chuckle. "Who am I," he inquired of the surrounding solitude, "to rail at what Fate provides?"

Whereupon he let in the clutch and proceeded on his way.

The road being well-marked, he came, after two hours to the main paved highway, and after another longer interval, to Phoenix in the small hours of the morning. The most pronounced element of coincidence that enters into the whole thing is that as he drove toward the heart of the city he presently passed a building with a sign that said "Wheeler's Mortuary."

As no one was in sight, he stopped a half block past it, beside the curb, retrieved his bundle and proceeded on foot to the lighted street ahead where he would find an all-night eating house. The incident has remained until now an intriguing mystery to all those concerned except Mortimer Jenks.M