MORE STORIES Exorcism denied: Sentencing set for 13-year-old in slaying -- April 2, 1987 More than one Gallagher ghost may haunt mine near Leadville -- May 26, 1991 Ghouls that labor -- October 14, 1889 Shooting at ghosts -- May 7, 1876 Cultists may follow drug routes into state -- September 15, 1989 Ghostly stories liven up history of Colorado with eerie, tricky twists -- October 31, 1988 Moviemaker's tale is stuff from which horror flicks sprout -- October 26, 1986

For nights last week, commencing with Monday and concluding Thursday, mysterious transactions have taken place on one of the principal business streets in the heart of the city, that have caused the friends of a prominent man to inquire into his sanity, and even caused Chief Farley to for a moment doubt the word of two of his most trusted officers. To those who retire before the hour of midnight the story of the singular occurrence will read like a wild fiction, but that it can be substantiated those who toil while the city slumbers stand ready to testify.

Passing the corner of Seventeenth and Arapahoe streets in daylight no one would ever dream that of four consecutive nights seven strange forms have moved hither and thither in the full glare of the electric light and have performed manual work. A gentleman, who lives on Logan avenue near Sixteenth street, was entertaining a party of friends at the Windsor Monday night and of course, as in the custom on such occasions, he drank more than his usual quantity, and it was 12 o'clock before he started home. Seventeenth street being his nearest route, he turned and walked up on the left side of the street. All absorbed in the meaning meant to be conveyed in a confidential chat bearing up on the election, he suddenly notice a red light at his feet. In fact, he had overturned a lantern. He glanced up and in front of him saw an excavation in the center of Arapahoe street, commencing at the crossing and ending at the car track on Seventeenth street, about four feet deep and two feet in width. While six men near busily engaged in throwing out the loose sand, the foreman stood beside the trench. He was compelled to walk around the pile of dirt, and continued his way up Seventeenth street.

The event made an impression on his mind, and when he came down town at 7 o'clock in the morning, he looked again, and reaching for the bell cord stopped the car. He walked over to the point where the trench was dug and could not even see a sign of work having been done there. He spoke to a man sweeping the dust out of the curves in the car tracks and received only a stare for a reply. When he informed his friends, they laughed suggestively.

GETTING THICKER.

That evening he was in a down-town saloon, and while talking the affair over concluded he would go home, and has he passed the same corner he was the identical men digging at the intersection of the streets, and to the end that no mistake should be make this time he stepped to the place and standing on the car track, looked down into the hole. It was excavated fully five feet and the men, who were evidently Italians, were digging it deeper and deeper. He smiled to himself the following morning as he approached the corner, but on stepping off the car, was astonished not to see the earth piled up beside the tracks. Not the slightest evidence that the earth had ever been disturbed was visible, and he walked to his office on Lawrence street is a dazed condition.

Wednesday night he returned home and saw the men digging what looked as though it might be intended for a grave, and in a puzzled, perplexed frame of mind he went home and rolled and tumbled in his bed, only to find the street in the same condition Thursday morning as he had on the three preceding days. That night he resolved to watch. In company with a friend he passed the corner at 11:30. Not a soul could be seen. It was 11:58 when they returned. All they could see was a Broadway car, the last in tearing down the street, and as it passed seven men walked out of the shadows on Arapahoe street, and approaching the corner, threw down their picks and shovels. Not a word was spoken, not a sign made, and under the sleuch hats, pulled well down on their foreheads, it was impossible to see their eyes. From whence came these men and what their mission? Each seemed to know his place and each performed a pre-arranged function. There was a foreman, but he directed them in nothing. A small box was suddenly by some legerdomain presented and the men fell to work. Commencing at the out car track at the corner on the left-hand side of Seventeenth street looking toward the depot, they dug a trench across Seventeenth to the crossing in front of the Clifton house, a man between each track and three men to the right, while the foreman paced around, a silent sentry. No man spoke. Where on minds act in unison with another and men work in conjunction, words are meaningless and hence not used. No language could tell them more explicitly how to act than the magnetic manner, the mute method they had of exchanging their opinions. They dug deeper, down six feet and still going deeper. The man who had seen the apparition before walked out to the tracks and spoke to the foreman; and he - it - turned a pair of dark eyes toward him and walked away.

A SPECTRAL INTERVIEW.

"Here, come there, get out your lights!"

Both watchers stared. It was the voice of one of two policemen who hurried up. "Stick up your red lights there! Suppose there was a fire and an apparatus came tumbling down the street, and into this hole. Get 'em out and no funny business about it."

Without a word, and with evident reluctance the red lanterns were taken out of the box and a match applied to the wicks by the police. Four men saw the seven.

It was then 4 o'clock in the morning. The officers lurked about the neighborhood until nearly 5 to see that the ordinance regarding lamps was not disregarded, and before going home the gentleman who watched the men asked one of the officers how long it would take them to cover it.

"To complete the hole, take out the timber under the tracks and cover it, four hours."

The sound of the sergeant's whistle announced the hour of 5, and all went home, leaving the men at work.

When Chief Farley passed the same corner at 7 o'clock that morning on his way to headquartered, he met one of his detectives and stopped to talk a few moments, and while there marked the peculiar actions of a man who was gazing intently at the street, and who acted as though he was intoxicated. As he passed the chief his cheek was pale, his lips quivered, his eyes were wild with excitement. The chief looked at the road and seeing nothing peculiar walked away. Ten minutes later in the station he read the following report from one of his officers:

"Excavation twenty feet long, two side and eight deep. Seven men working, Seventeenth and Arapahoe. No red lights. Lights placed at 4 o'clock a.m."

The chief had but just come from that corner, and saw nothing of the sort, so he called the officer in question, who was trying a case in the police court and asked him.

AN UNEXPLAINED MYSTERY.

"Did you write this as a joke?"

"No, sir; a fact."

"Positive?"

"Yes, sir."

"Witness?"

"Yes, sir."

Policemen use no unnecessary words, and speak shortly. He called the officer with him at the time, to prove it.

"Come with me, gentlemen," said the chief. Seated in the pony patrol, they drove to the corner. Not the remotest evidence that the pick had ever been struck in the street was seen. Nonplussed the police could but say, "It was here at 5 o'clock."

An hour later the gentleman reported the matter to the chief. He spoke of the two officers and was mystified beyond measure. Farley instructed the night sergeant to keep particular watch of that corner.

A curious thing in connection with the affair is that the men never dug in the same spot the second time and each time they dug tremendous holes, and have been seen at work up to within twenty minutes of daylight. The questions now is, where do they go? why do they dig? and how do they manage to cover up the evidences of their work? No one ever saw them put the trenches to any practical use, and four men are prepared to swear that they have seen the streets torn up four consecutive nights last week, and thousands of people who have crossed that place during the day can swear that they have noticed it, have not seen it and will probably not credit it. But the report lays in Chief Farley's office. The police man saw with his own eyes, he spoke but was not answered, through his order was obeyed. A watch was kept Friday night, but the apparition failed to materialize.

The gentleman referred to is now in bed, confined by a raging fever brought on by the mental strain. Chief Farley is unable to explain, and the more it is investigated, the more mysterious it becomes. Every step the detectives take seem to lead them further away from the main facts of the case.