pretor obtain from the people some profession as to whether or not they had had anything to do with the crime. When this request was rendered into Gaelic, it came out as "Confess, whether you have committed the crime or not!" As indicated, the second inquest led to the arrest and imprisonment of a man, his wife, and his son on suspicion of murder. The chief evidence against the family appears to have been the fact the grubbing hoe — the murder weapon — belonged to them. How¬ ever, the Examiner (July 4, 1859) reported that "In the case of the parties who were charged with the murder of Ann Beaton ... no Bill was found" Moreover, there seems to have been no lasting suspicion in the settlement that the family initially apprehended for the murder had had anything to do with it. The Highlanders, somewhat distrust¬ ful of the government's methods of criminal investigation, applied a more rigid criminal test of their own. Murdoch Lamont wrote: According to an old Highland super¬ stition, blood would flow from the wounds whenever the murderer placed his hand on the body; and at the inquest every adult in the district placed his or her hand on the remains, but no blood appeared. Macphail said that "... a certain woman was under suspicion to the end." Local tradition has it that this woman absented herself from that most rigid of all criminal tests. Neither the traditional Highland test of guilt nor the government's method of investigation produced evidence that pointed to the criminal or criminals responsible. The uncertainty generated by the knowledge that a murderer lurked in the settlement created a great uneasiness among the people. Macphail wrote: For years after, a woman would not go out in the dark to take, washed clothes from the line. A man who was compelled to visit his own bam by night would awaken a child from sleep for the sake of human com¬ pany. And Murdoch Lamont described the hollow where the murder occurred as ... a deep, winding gully, like the caved-in bed of a prehistoric river. 34 The woods were dense on both sides, and although there was a footpath through it, the children would avoid it when going for the cows; and when they heard the familiar cow-be U go clang! clang! in the weird hollow, they were willing to forego their sweet supper of bread and new milk. They must not tell a lie, but — that could not have been their Brindle's bell, it sounded so deep and dismal — "couldn't find the cows to-night." He added: For years afterwards the Goblin's Hollow was a sort of courage test with the little boys of Lyndale . They would go in the broad daylight, and tie a handkerchief in which a penny was knotted up to a little tree near the spot which had drank [sic] the human blood, and the lad who would go ct dead of night and take the penny was entitled to hold it. In the fifth verse of his song, Donald Lamont also alluded to the disquiet created in the area as darkness ap¬ proached: The lassies that live there in Lyndale , Will milk before twilight will dwindle. And they'll cast wary eyes at the cross where she lies, Where sounds are heard there unearthly, they say. Where sounds are heard there unearthly. When local inhabitants left the Island for other parts of the continent, the event which fascinated and terrified several generations of children was not easily forgotten. Macphail described an encounter in an office in Oregon be¬ tween a travelling Islander and a former resident of Lyndale . After the formalities of greeting one another and establishing identities, the traveller proceeded with the following reminiscence: When he was a boy the scene was familiar to him, and he had often to pass the spot, riding on the bare back of a horse. As he came over the rise of ground even by day he "would shut his eyes, put the whip to the horse," and never open his eyes until he had traversed the valley and reached the hill on the opposite side. Another native of Lyndale , still living, reports being thrown from the wagon as she and her husband were passing through the hollow late one night. They were returning from a visit to a neighbour's house where they had been singing hymns. The husband believed that only the possession of the sacred book had spared him from a similar tumble. What motive lay behind a deed so foul that it has haunted a community for over a hundred years? The newspapers of the day do not offer any clues. We must then turn to other sources. Donald Lamont , in the verses quoted earlier, alluded to Ann Beaton as a maiden "light in her way"; and there is also a hint of a furtive meeting with a lover: Perhaps she was happy to meet him, And smiled on him gaily to greet him. Murdoch Lamont reconstructed the events leading to the fatal scene as he believed it may have happened: Ann Beaton , poor girl, had been a mother without being a wife. One night she was spending the evening at a neighbour's house. The woman of the house felt sympathy for her, and as Ann arose about ten o'clock to leave, she gave her a few herring to carry home. When the woman said "good night" and closed the door, Ann stood outside alone. It was dark. Across the clear fields to the north was her home. She could safely reach it in ten or fifteen minutes. To the northwest was Cur- rie's Forge, where the occasional clink, clink, clink, showed that the sturdy blacksmith was still at work. Further on, in the same direction, were the brook, the dark woods, and the Goblin's Hollow. Why did she not go home? Who allured her out of her way, past the forge, over the pole-bridge across the brook, and on, on, to the lonely hollow? Were there kind words, fair promises, pledges of constant affection, as the pair trod along over the carpet of dried hardwood leaves that covered the path? And was there, as some affirm, a jealous third party (a wo¬ man) shadowing them with set teeth and a hatchet uplifted, listening to the loud whispering that could be heard through the unfolding leaves, not yet large enough to rustle? At a pleasant spot where the hollow widened and where there was a little knoll they ]o4