For a few tense moments they stood, staring and unmoved, as if glued to
the very spot. The apparition had disappeared within the hollow and it
seemed to them that, perhaps after all, it was only a spirit they had
seen hovering over the precipice. Suddenly Artie broke the spell.
“Spirits don’t generally use ropes, do they?” he asked naively, as if he
had been thinking it over seriously.
“No, and spirits don’t make a noise running through the Pass at night
either!” Westy exclaimed. He then explained to them the weird sight he
had witnessed. How he had first discovered the figure hurrying in the
moonlight beyond, and then gradually becoming enveloped in the darkness,
coming through the Pass. “I didn’t imagine it either, for I could hear
him breathing as he ran past me. When I started after him and we got to
the Fork, he went straight up to the cliff!”
Artie was wide-eyed with excitement when Westy revealed to them the
possibility of it being a lowly mortal who was causing this furore, but
Uncle Jeb listened rather skeptically to the detailed account of this
unusual adventure, and preferred believing his own way, irrespective of
any other proof, no matter how convincing it might seem.
“I reckon we hain’t got no call ter be meddlin’ aroun’ with ghosts,”
Uncle Jeb put in. “I guess we jes’ better leave him ter his spooky
bizness up thar, so long as he hain’t hurtin’ anything o’ ourn. We’ll
jes’ git along pronto ter the Inn!”
Taking his rifle, they started off, Uncle Jeb going it as fast as they.
Reaching the Fork, Westy was seized with a most inordinate desire to lag
behind a little. He looked longingly up the trail and wondered if he
could chance it.
Uncle Jeb and Artie, running along, kept silent so as to keep what
strength they had for some later, unseen need. But so preoccupied were
they with the shadow of disaster ahead that they were not aware of their
missing member.
Westy stood rigid at the Fork as they went on, until he ceased to hear
the steady patter of their shoes along the trail. Then, he turned and
went up the trail, swiftly but quietly, stepping as much as possible on
the moss-covered ground and paying strict attention that he was keeping
well out of the limelight.
Breathless, his nerves tingling with the thrilling excitement of the
mysterious, he got down flat on his stomach as he made the Cliff.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he dragged his body over the cold, rough stones.
Directly in the moonlight, he approached the precipice cautiously and
looked over.
The hollow was dark and Westy could not see anything to satisfy his
curiosity. He listened intently, having covered his nostrils with his
handkerchief to muffle the sound of his own breathing. Gradually, he was
rewarded. Sounds; some one inhaling as if under intense strain. Then
there reached his keen ears the monotonous chip, chip, that a metal
instrument would make coming in direct contact with stone.
Whoever it was, thought Westy, they were well within the enclosure,
carrying out some dark, hidden purpose in selecting such an hour as
this. But what for?
Hadn’t Artie been imprisoned in there long enough to know every inch of
that dank, gloomy place? He certainly didn’t overlook a spot on that
smooth surface anywhere in his frenzied attempts to get out.
That something was in the wind was a certainty. Westy resolved then and
there to find out what it was before another sun had set upon the
horizon. He was never more sure of anything in his whole life than he
was right now, that a human being was concerned in all this and not any
ghost, as Uncle Jeb would have it.
It wasn’t just the sporting thing to do, this fearless scout thought, to
be poking into things that perhaps wouldn’t turn out to be his affair
after all. He chided himself for having let Uncle Jeb and Artie go on
unknowingly, and perhaps have to bear the brunt of the danger that was
threatening and even at the present moment might have already invaded
the Inn.
And so, as he started to draw back as cautiously as he came, his hand
came in contact with something rough, just under the weedy growth that
sprouted wild between the rocks. Westy stopped and divided the weeds and
saw that it was a rope that he had touched. It ran right over the
precipice, just as the watchers had seen the figure descend on it. Fate
was surely on his side at least, he thought, secretly smiling.
Following the course of the rope he came to a large pine tree, quite a
way back on the cliff, where it was tied ever so securely, to the bottom
of the trunk. With a deep sigh of satisfaction, he turned and ran
pell-mell on down to the Pass and so into the black night again.
His heart contracted with dread when he came stumbling out of the Pass
into the open trail once more. There ahead of him was a sight formidable
enough to put fear into the heart of any one. It actually looked as
though the country around for miles was a seething furnace, the glare in
the sky was so great. Westy drew the cool night air into his lungs and
started a fresh pace.
Coming nearer and nearer, and at last leaving the mountain trail behind,
he took the open road, dashing across fields now and then to save
whatever time he could. As he rested for a few precious seconds, almost
within calling distance of the Inn, he could feel the force of the heat
even there that this raging inferno was expelling over the surrounding
countryside. This fact spurred him on considerably, and at last he
reached there pretty much out of breath.
The outbuildings were all ablaze and the stable was now a mere memory of
its former glory, the crimson embers being the only thing left to
identify the spot. One end of the Inn had already caught fire and was in
a fair way to continue with fury.
Nothing could be seen of either Artie or Uncle Jeb in the front at all.
Darting around to the back, shouting at the top of his voice all the
while, he came upon them, also trying to make themselves heard and
pounding frantically on the back door. Westy realized why they hadn’t
heard him, between the deafening roar of the flames and the noise of
their own voices.
Uncle Jeb and Artie looked at Westy as though he were a ghost also.
“Wha-ar hev yuh been, lad?” he asked quickly, but with deep concern.
“Yuh shure gave us one scare. Never missed yuh ’til we got yonder. Artie
’n I went a ways back agin, ’n cudn’t find ye nohow. Jes’ got here a
minit back, ’n we find all them durn shutters barred from t’ inside, ’n
both doors bolted too. Nary a one o’ them hez answered yit, ’n ye can’t
git them doors down even with a hatchet.”
In their present excitement, Uncle Jeb and Artie forgot about Westy’s
disappearance, for which he was glad. Time enough for that later, he
thought.
The heat was becoming unbearable in the back and, unable to stand it
further, they went around to the front again. They went over each
individual window on the way around and shook the doors with all their
might. Why the windows were shuttered and barred at this time of year
Uncle Jeb could not conceive. His anxiety was plainly visible through
the deep emotion in his voice. He said they had called at the front and
back both until they were hoarse. There wasn’t any way that they could
break in downstairs. Doors and shutters were both of logs, and even with
a hatchet it would take one half the night to make even a dent in one of
them. The upper windows were likewise fortified and the frenzied trio
stood there helpless, wondering how two people could sleep through all
this.
The lower part of the building was built entirely of logs and the upper
part of frame. A slate-covered shed over the veranda ran straight up to
the bedroom windows in such a way that it would be a difficult thing for
one to try and balance himself upon it.
Westy was taking note of all this while Uncle Jeb was talking and he was
also thinking fast.
“I can’t fer my life know what Ol’ Pop’s a-thinkin’ o’, a-barrin’
himself in like thet on a hot night. Never knew him ter do it afore
’cept in winter, o’ course,” Uncle Jeb said, plainly puzzled.
“The whole back is afire now!” exclaimed Artie, who came running around
from the side of the Inn.
“Well!” said Westy decisively, as if he had told them in detail before
what he contemplated doing. “I’ll have to take the nine-hundredth
chance, I guess.”
“What?” asked Artie excitedly.
“Just give me a boost from the railing, that’s all!”
“You’re not----” Artie and Uncle Jeb both spoke simultaneously.
Before they finished what they had started to say, Westy had hopped on
the porch railing and was making ready to climb the pillar supporting
it.