There is a legend connected with Robeson Hills, a weird, gruesome story, founded on the facts of an actual occurrence – in which quite a few people formerly passed great credence. Between two of the most prominent of these hills is a deep dark ravine that the rays of the sun never penetrate. It has a luxurious growth of vegetation, the verdure of which ferns endless variety intensify and on the sultriest days of summer, there issues from its mouth, that opens in full view of the river road, a delightfully cooling breeze with a sweet refreshing fragrance. This locality is known as Dark Hollow and on beholding it, one cannot fail to note the appropriateness of the name. Many years ago a lone traveler, who was making his way on horseback through the howling wilderness, was set upon in the night time by a band of migrating Indians, led a captive into the hollow and decapitated. Singularly, the Indians never scalped their victim, neither did they take his horse, the animal having been discovered by a party of hunters two weeks later grazing near the headless body of its master. Of course, the hunting party took the horse in charge, leaving the mutilated and badly decomposed body of the man to remain as a feast for the buzzards. And so the legend goes, on every Thursday after midnight, the nocturnal spectacle of a headless rider, mounted on a fractious steed, is the phantom picture which the cavernous depths of Dark Hollow reveal. Whether in jest or because their overwrought imaginations made a vision like this possible, some people have solemnly declared that they have been confronted with such an apparition.
The Messrs. Robeson, who own about 1300 acres of land in a body, where on the clubhouse and lake are situated, are very generous in their charges for the limited tract lease to the club and make no extra charges for the natural scenery accessories, without which the clubhouse would lose all its magnetic attractiveness. Other features of the Hills which finish out a beautiful pastoral picture, are large herds of Angora goats roaming up and down the ranges of these miniature mountains upon the apex of the highest of which is located elevator and granary, probably the most capacious establishment of the kind built for private use to be found in the state of Illinois. The Messrs. Robeson are progressive farmers but the seasons are never too busy for them to suspend agricultural pursuits for a limited time and enter with zest into any extraordinary social functions scheduled for the clubhouse or Lake. By the grace of these gentlemen it seems that the Old Post Country Club is destined to live a long life.