THE APPARITION IN THE WOODS.
In the midst of the woods Shultz stopped to rest, seating himself upon a
log against which he had stumbled. The clouds having dispersed, the moon
was silvering the tree-tops above his head, but it had not yet risen
high enough to cast its light upon the ground of the little glade. On
every hand were the mysterious night shadows of the woods.
The boy’s legs quivered as he sat there, grateful for this respite,
although he felt that time was precious and he should waste no moments.
No longer could he hear the village bells; they had ceased to ring, and
he was glad of that.
It was a melancholy and terrible thing to feel himself an outcast and a
fugitive from justice, practically with the hand of mankind in general
turned against him. He had read stories of daring fugitives in similar
positions, and always the fugitives had seemed enfolded by a glamor of
romance, which had almost made him long to pass through such an
experience; but, now that the experience was his, it held no glamor, no
single feature of allurement or romance. It was simply a horrible
situation, to be freed from which he felt that he would willingly give
up years of his life.
That he could escape, he still had a faint hope; but it was faint
indeed, and, had he heeded sober judgment, he would have put it aside as
something false and deceptive and merely adding to his suspense and
torture. With the telephone and telegraph, the surrounding country could
be warned and every loophole stopped. With the bulk of the villagers
searching for him, it was simply a matter of time before he would be run
down.
“I’ll never give up,” he kept telling himself; “I’ll never give up till
they catch me.”
He had always thought of the night woods at this season of the year as
silent and lifeless. Now, however, resting upon that log, he became
aware of many strange sounds all around him. There seemed to be faint
rustlings and whisperings, as if the very trees were telling one another
that he was there, and pointing him out with their bare, extending arms.
Continually he kept turning his head to look first in one direction and
then in another. Several times he was startled by shadows that seemed to
move, but when he watched them more closely they were motionless enough.
Nevertheless, the fancy that something was drawing nearer, creeping upon
him bit by bit, increased with the passing moments. He could feel it
approaching silently, stealthily, steadily. He had escaped the two men
who had tried to run him down, but there was something he could not
escape, and, recalling what he had beheld through the window of his
chamber, he leaped up and resumed his reckless flight.
This way and that he turned and darted to avoid the trees and the denser
thickets. The woods seemed endless. Long ere this, he told himself, he
should have passed through them and reached the Barville road.
Presently before him the moonlight showed a broad open space, and with a
gasp of thankfulness he tottered forth from the forest. His clothes were
in tatters. There was blood on his legs from the wounds inflicted by the
barbed wire fence. His hands and his face were scratched and bruised.
Seeing him now, a stranger must surely have wondered with curiosity to
know what had brought him to such a pitiful plight.
But the woods, they were behind him. The Barville road must be near at
hand. Not far away the moonlight showed him an orchard and some
buildings.
He stopped, stood still, gazed at those buildings. There was something
familiar about them. Farther away, to the right, he could see more
houses.
“Where am I?” he muttered hoarsely. “So help me, that looks like Sage’s
home! It is! it is! I got turned round in the woods. I’ve come straight
back to the place where I entered.”
This was true. The houses down the road were the scattering ones upon
the outskirts of the village.
Sickened by this discovery, Shultz remained some moments in doubt and
uncertainty. Here and there he could see lights in the windows of the
houses. All Oakdale seemed awake. The bells had aroused the village, and
everywhere posses of men were searching. Should he attempt to follow
along the edge of the woods and pass round Turkey Hill to the south, it
would bring him dangerously near town.
“My only safety lies in the woods until I can get farther away,” he
decided. “I can get through them all right if I keep my head. With the
moon on my back, the shadows will guide me. I can get my bearings in
every little open space. I’ll do it.”
Setting his teeth, he turned about and again plunged into the timber.
Precious time had been lost through his blunder, but now, he told
himself, he would master his fears and make no false steps.
In time he came to an opening in the midst of the woods, where the
moonlight fell upon the cleared ground. Half-way across this opening
dread of the gloom at the far side made him falter. Again he was
oppressed by the conviction that something terrible and uncanny had
followed him in all his flight. Again he could feel it drawing nearer
and nearer. Something like the sound of soft footsteps caused his heart
to choke him, and, turning, he saw it coming.
In the shadows an object advanced. It was like a human body, white from
the waist upward, and this white portion, which he could plainly see,
seemed to float in the air.
But when the shadows were passed and it stepped forth into the
moonlight, he perceived that the body was supported by legs encased in
dark trousers. The moonlight revealed more than that. He was looking
into the face of Roy Hooker! Even as Roy’s eyes had stared at him
through the window of his chamber, they were now fastened upon him.
Above those staring eyes, the turban-like bandage of white still
encircled Hooker’s head.
“Hooker!” groaned Shultz. “Oh, Hooker, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do
it!”
The figure halted ten feet away. A hand was uplifted and extended
accusingly. A voice—the voice of Hooker—demanded:
“Shultz, where did that other ace come from?”
The words sounded in a low, monotonous, dead-level tone. To Shultz, the
voice seemed hollow and lifeless, like the voice of the dead.
He could not answer, but, flinging off the benumbing spell that had
chained him in his tracks, he whirled and fled again. Through the woods
he crashed and plunged like mad, almost blind with terror. Again and
again he half collided with trees. Vines and low branches tripped him.
Falling, he scrambled up and ran on, absolutely heedless of what course
he followed.
In this manner he plunged at last into a deep gully. As he fell he tried
to leap, and down he went in an upright position. When he struck the
bottom, one foot twisted beneath him, and he dropped in a heap. A pain
shot through his leg.
Getting his breath after the shock, he started to rise; but the moment
he tried to bear his weight on his right foot the pain jabbed him
frightfully, and he toppled over.
“My leg is broken!” he sobbed. “Now I’m done for, sure!”