CANINE VAGARIES
The last stage of the girls' journey--the ride home from the
ranch--was like some horrible nightmare. It was as though recollection
had suddenly turned itself into a hideous, tangible form which was
pursuing them over the dark expanse of prairie. Even their horses
seemed to share something of their riders' fears, for their light
springing stride never slackened during that ten miles' stretch, and
they had to be literally forced down to a walk to give them the
necessary "breathing." Like their riders, the animals' one idea seemed
to be to reach the security of the farm with all possible dispatch.
The farm dogs heralded their approach, and when the girls slid down
from their saddles Hephzibah was at the threshold waiting for them.
The rest of the evening was spent in recounting their adventures.
Hephzibah listened to their narrative, filled with superstitious
emotion whilst endeavouring to treat the matter in what she deemed a
practical, common-sense manner. She was profoundly impressed. Hervey
was there, but chose to treat their story with uncompromising
incredulity. So little was he interested, although he listened to what
was said, as to rouse the indignation of both girls, and only his
sudden departure to bed saved a stormy ending to the scene.
It was not until the house was locked up, and Prudence and Alice were
preparing to retire--they shared the same bedroom--that Hephzibah
Malling dropped her mask of common-sense and laid bare the quaintly
superstitious side of her character. The good farm-wife had not lived
on the prairie all her life without contracting to the full the
superstitions which always come to those whose lives are spent in such
close communion with Nature. She could talk freely with these two
girls when no one else was present. She had heard a hundred times the
legends pertaining to the obscure valley of Owl Hoot, but this was the
first time that she had heard the account of these things from
eye-witnesses.
She came into the girls' bedroom arrayed in a red flannel dressing-gown,
which had shrunk considerably under the stress of many washings, and
her night-cap with its long strings, white as driven snow, enveloped her
head like a miniature sun-bonnet. She came with an excuse upon her
lips, and seated herself in a rigid rush-bottomed chair. Prudence was
brushing her hair and Alice was already in bed.
"My dears," she said, as she plumped herself down; she was addressing
them both, but her round eyes were turned upon Alice, who was
sitting up in bed with her hands clasped about her knees, "I've been
thinking that maybe we might ask young Mr. Chillingwood out here.
It's quite a time since I've seen him. He used to come frequent-like
before--before--" with a sharp glance over at her daughter, "a few
months back. He's a good lad, and I thought as he'd make quite a
companion for Hervey. An' it 'ud do 'em a deal of good to air them
spare rooms. I'm sure they're smelling quite musty. What say?"
Alice blushed and Hephzibah's old eyes twinkled with pleasure.
Prudence answered at once--
"That's a good idea, mother, I'll write to him at once for you." Then
she turned her smiling face upon the old lady and shook a forefinger
at her. "You're an arch-plotter, lady mother. Look at Alice's face.
That's not sunburn, I know."
"Maybe it isn't--maybe it isn't," replied Mrs. Malling, with a
comfortable chuckle, whilst her fat face was turned up towards a
gorgeous wool-worked text which hung directly over the head of the
bed, "though I'll not say but what a day in the sun like she's just
had mightn't have redded the skin some."
"I am very sun-burnt," said Alice consciously.
"Why, we've been in the forest, where there's no sun, nearly all day,"
exclaimed Prudence quickly.
"Ah, them forests--them forests," observed Hephzibah, in a pensive
tone of reflection. "Folks says strange things about them forests."
"Yes," put in Alice, glad to turn attention from herself, "usually
folks talk a lot of nonsense when they attribute supernatural things
to certain places. But for once they're right, mother Hephzy; I shall
never disbelieve in ghosts again. Oh, the horror of it--it was awful,"
and the girl gave a shudder of genuine horror.
"And could you see through 'em?" asked the old lady, in a tone of
suppressed excitement.
"No, mother," chimed in Prudence, leaving the dressing-table and
seating herself on the patchwork coverlet of the bed. "They seemed
quite--solid."
"But they wore long robes," said Alice.
"Did they now?" said Mrs. Malling, wagging her head meaningly. "But
the lore has it that spectres is flimsy things as ye can see
through--like the steam from under the lid of a stewpan."
"Ye--es," said Alice thoughtfully.
"All I can say is, that I wonder George Iredale can live beside that
graveyard. I tell you, mother, there's no arguing away what we saw.
They came up out of one of those graves and marched in a procession
into the ruined dead-house," said Prudence seriously.
"And my mare nearly threw me in her fright." Alice's face had paled at
the recollection.
Hephzibah nodded complacently. She was thoroughly enjoying herself.
"True--true. That's just how 'tis. Animals has an instinct that ain't
like to human. They sees more. Now maybe your horses just stood of a
tremble, bimeby like? That's how it mostly takes 'em."
Under any other circumstances the two girls would probably have
laughed at the good lady's appreciation of the supposed facts. But
their adventures were of too recent a date; besides, they believed
themselves. The gloom of the forest seemed to have got into their
bones, and the horrid picture was still with them.
"The Haunted Hill," said Prudence musingly. "I don't think I ever
heard in what way the valley was haunted. Have you, mother?"
"Sakes alive, girl, yes. It's the way you have said, with fantastic
fixin's added accordin' to taste. That's how it come I never believed.
Folks disagreed about the spooks. They all allowed as the place was
haunted, but their notions wasn't just alike. Your poor father, child,
was a man o' sense, an' he argued as plain as a tie-post. He said
there was fabrications around that valley 'cause of the variating
yarns, and I wouldn't gainsay him. But, as Sarah says, when the
washing don't dry white there's mostly a prairie fire somewheres
around. Your father was that set on his point that he wouldn't never
go an' see for himself, although, I do say, I urged him to it for the
sake of truth."
Prudence yawned significantly and Alice had snuggled down on to her
pillow. The former clambered in beneath the clothes.
"Well, mother, all I can say is, that never again, unless I am forced
to, will I visit Owl Hoot. And under any circumstances I will never
run the risk of getting benighted there."
"Well, well," said the farm-wife, rising heavily to her feet and
preparing to depart, "maybe George would like to hear about the thing
you've seen when he comes back." She paused on her way to the door,
and turned an earnest face upon the two girls. "Say, children, you
didn't see no blue lights, did ye?"
"No, mother Hephzy," said Alice sleepily. "There were no blue
lights."
"Ah," in a tone of relief. "There's no gainsaying the blue lights.
They're bad. It means death, children, death, does the blue
light--sure." And the good lady passed out of the room with the
shuffling gait which a pair of loose, heelless slippers contrived to
give her.
"Prue," said Alice, when the door had closed, "when are you going to
ask Robb to come?"
"As soon as possible, if you like."
"Thanks. Good-night, dear; mother Hephzy is a sweet old thing."
The two girls turned over, and in a few moments were sleeping soundly.
It would have taken more than the recollections of their adventures to
banish sleep from their tired eyes. They slept the sweet refreshing
sleep of those who have passed their waking hours in the strong,
bracing air of the prairie.
Two days later Hervey was abroad early. He was cleaning his guns
outside the back door of the house. Two weapons were lying upon a
large dust sheet which was spread out upon the ground. The guns were
in pieces, and each portion had been carefully oiled and wiped. He was
now devoting his attention to a heavy revolver.
Prudence was standing in the kitchen doorway watching her brother.
Andy was over by the barn superintending the dispatch of the teams to
the harvest fields; the hands were preparing to depart to their work.
Prudence's early morning work was in the creamery.
Hervey looked up from the weapon he was cleaning, and turned his great
eyes upon his sister.
"When is this fellow coming out here?" he asked in a tone of
irritation. His question was merely the result of his own train of
thought. He had not been speaking of any one in particular.
"Who? Robb Chillingwood?"
"Yes, of course. I've not heard of any one else's coming."
"We've asked him for a fortnight to-day. Why?"
Hervey ran the cleaning-rod through a couple of the chambers of the
pistol before he spoke again. The rag jammed in the barrel and
entailed a hard pull to extract it.
"Who asked him to come?" he went on, as he re-adjusted the piece of
rag in the eye of the rod.
"Mother did. He's a very nice fellow." Prudence looked over at the
parade of "Shire" teams as they started for the fields. "Alice and he
are engaged to be married, you know."
"And I suppose he's coming out here to 'spoon' her--ugh! It's
sickening."
"Don't be so brutal," the girl replied sharply.
"Brutal?" Hervey laughed coarsely. "You're getting particular. The
house won't be a fit place to live in with an engaged couple in it. I
should have thought mother would have known better than to have asked
him."
"Don't be absurd."
Prudence moved from her stand. The dog, Neche, had slowly emerged from
round the corner of the barn, and was now mouching leisurely towards
her. She went over to meet him and caress his great ugly head.
"I'm not absurd." Hervey followed her movements with no very friendly
gaze. He hated with an unreasonable hatred to see her go near the dog.
"I know what engaged couples are. Look at the way some of the clowns
around here carry on with their girls. When Mr. Robb Chillingwood
takes up his abode here, I shall depart, I tell you straight. I think
mother should have consulted me first. But, there, I suppose that
little vixen Alice arranged it all. I hate that chum of yours."
"There's nothing like mutual regard, whatever its quality," laughed
Prudence; but there was a look of anger in her deep brown eyes. "You
are at liberty to please yourself as to your goings or comings--they
make no difference to the work of the farm."
The girl's face was turned defiantly upon her brother. Hervey spun
the chambers of the pistol round. His eyes remained upon the
weapon, and his forefinger pressed sharply upon the trigger. He
looked thoughtfully over the fore-sight and rested the pistol in the
crook of his upraised, bent left arm. His attitude was one of taking
steady aim. He made no reply.
Suddenly Prudence felt the bristling of Neche's mane under her hand.
And she sought to soothe him. This dog's displays of sudden temper
were as unaccountable as they were fierce.
"What are you going to do to-day?" she asked, as her brother did not
speak and the dog quietened.
"Going over to Iredale's place. Why?"
"When shall you return?"
"Don't know." Hervey turned; his pistol was pointing towards his
sister.
"Well, what about the 'thresher'? You and Andy were going to get
it----Look out!"
Her exclamation came with a shriek. The great husky had dashed from
her side and made a charge towards its master. Its lips were drawn up,
and its fearful, bared fangs gleamed in the morning light. Hervey
lowered his weapon with a laugh. The dog paused irresolute, then, with
a wicked growl, it turned back and sought again the girl's caressing
hand.
"One of these days I'll give you something to snarl at, you d----d
cur," Hervey said, between his clenched teeth. Then he turned at the
sound of his mother's voice. The old lady was standing in the kitchen
doorway.
"What's all the fuss about?" she asked, turning her round eyes from
one to the other. "Quarrelling again, I'll be bound. Breakfast's
ready, so just come in, both of you, or the 'slap-jacks' 'll all be
spoiled."
Prudence glanced covertly in the dog's direction as she obeyed the
summons. She was fearful that the brute contemplated a further attack
upon its master. In spite of the constant bickerings which took place
between these two, the girl had no desire that her brother should be
hurt.
Hervey spoke not a word during the morning meal, except to demand the
food he required, and his surliness had a damping effect on those
about him, and it was with a sigh of relief that his mother at last
rose from the table and began to gather the plates preparatory to
clearing away. Once, as Hervey moved slowly towards the door to return
to his guns, she looked as though she were going to speak. But the
words died on her lips, and she ambled off to the wash-house without
speaking.
The atmosphere cleared when Hervey mounted his horse and rode off. His
mother looked after him, sighed and shrugged; then she went on with
her work with a touch of her old cheerful manner about her. No
complaint ever passed her lips, but, to those who knew the kindly old
face, the change that had come over it was very apparent. The smooth
forehead was ploughed deeply with wrinkles which were new to it, and
the eyes had lost something of their expression of placid content.
But Hervey travelled his own road at his own gait. His thoughts he
kept to himself. The man was more or less inscrutable to those about
him.
To-day he had taken his dog with him. He had at length made up his
mind to rid himself of the brute. The exhibition of that morning had
decided him upon a course which he had long meditated, but had always
failed to carry out when the critical moment arrived.
The hound limped along beside its master's horse as they plunged into
the deep woods of the Owl Hoot Valley. Nor did he show the least sign
of wishing to wander from "heel." He followed on the beaten track,
stubbornly keeping pace with the horse in spite of the fact of only
possessing three legs.
Arrived at the ranch Hervey handed over his horse to Chintz and
proceeded into the woods on foot. To-day he meant to move out in a new
direction. The valley beyond the Haunted Hill had been done regularly
by him; now he was intent upon the hills on the south. Access to this
region was obtained by the one other practicable exit from the valley;
namely, the Haunted Hill, and then by bearing away to the right. He
breasted the steep slopes of the hill and soon came upon the narrow
overgrown trail which at some period had been hewn by the early
settlers of the district.
Here he tramped along steadily, the hound limping at his heels. He
walked slowly, with that long, lazy gait of a man accustomed to
walking great distances. He gave little heed to his surroundings as
far as the beauties of the place were concerned. He was not the man to
regard Nature's handiwork in the light of artistic effects. His great
roving eyes were never still; they moved swiftly from side to side,
eagerly watching for the indication of game either furred or
feathered. It seemed as though this sport was as the breath of life to
him. Now and again his gaze would turn upon the hound behind him, and,
on these occasions, the movement was evidently the result of some
sudden, unpleasant thought, and had nothing to do with the sportsman's
watchfulness which makes him seek to discover, in the alert canine
attitude, some keener instinct of the presence of game than is
possessed by the human being.
Almost without forewarning the road, after rounding an abrupt
bend, suddenly opened out on to the graveyard clearing. It was the
first time in Hervey's many wanderings in these regions that he had
actually come across this obscure little cemetery. For a moment, as
he gazed upon it, he hardly realized what it was. Then, as he noted
the ruined hut in the middle, the wooden fencing broken and tumbled
about the place, and the armless and sadly leaning crosses and the
various-shaped slabs of stone which marked the graves, he remembered
the weird story his sister and her friend had told, and, advancing,
he leant upon one of the fence posts and looked about him curiously.
He stood for some moments quite still. The place was silent with the
peaceful calm of a sweltering August day. Hervey's eyes moved from one
vaguely outlined grave to another, and unconsciously he counted them.
Thirteen graves in all were visible amongst the long grass. Then his
eyes turned upon the ruined hut. The roof had fallen in, and broken
rafters protruded above the still standing walls of pine logs. The
casing of the doorway remained, but the door had gone, and in its
place hung a piece of tattered sacking. There was one small window,
but this had been boarded over. The building was largely covered with
lichen, and weeds had grown out of the mud-filling daubed in between
the logs. There was something very desolate but wondrously peaceful
about the place.
The master's curiosity seemed to have communicated itself to the
hound, for the animal slowly, and with uncertain tread, moved off
within the enclosure. Neche's movements were furtive; strangely so.
But though Hervey's eyes now followed the dog's actions, it was merely
the result of the attraction of the one moving object within the range
of his vision, and not with any purpose of his own. In fact, it is
doubtful if, at first, the animal's movements conveyed any meaning to
the watching man. The moments slipped away and the dog snuffed
inquiringly at the various curious objects its wolfish eyes beheld.
It stretched out its neck across one grave and snuffed at the
projecting arm of a wooden cross. Then it drew back sharply with its
little upstanding ears twitching with a motion of attention and canine
uncertainty. Then the wolf head was turned in the direction of its
master, and its unblinking gaze was fixed upon his face. The animal
stood thus with ears constantly moving, turning this way and that,
listening for any strange sound that might chance upon the air. Then
with a dignified movement, so expressive of ill-concealed curiosity,
it turned away to continue investigations in other directions.
The dog's show of indifference only lasted for a moment. In limping
towards the central hut the animal stepped on to the only path which
was not overgrown with rank vegetation. The instant its foot touched
the sandy soil its head went down until its nose touched the ground.
Then followed a loud snuff. The dog's great mane bristled ominously,
and a low growl sounded significantly upon the still air. Now Hervey's
gaze instantly became one of keen intelligence. His thoughts no longer
wandered, but were of the present. He watched the movements of the
hound with the profoundest interest.
The dog moved a step or two forward. Its attitude was as though it
wished to make no mistake. The snuffing came short, quick and
incisive. Then the great head was raised, and the snuffing continued
upon the air. Now the nose turned in the direction of the hut, then it
turned back to the opposite direction of the path. Hervey remained
motionless where he stood, and his thoughts were filled with wondering
speculation.
Suddenly the dog darted off down the path, away from the hut. There
was something very like the sleuth in its attitude. Nor did it pause
until the path terminated at a stone-covered grave. Here the brute's
eagerness was displayed to the full. Its excitement was intense. The
low growls became more frequent and tense. The bristling mane, so
thick and wolfish, fairly quivered in its rigidity. Balancing itself
on its one hind foot it tore away at the baked earth around the stone
with its huge fore-paws, as though it would tear up the whole grave
and lay bare the mouldering bones it contained.
Hervey encouraged the eager hound.
"See--ek 'em," he hissed, in an undertone.
The dog responded, making the earth fly beneath its sharp claws.
The animal's excitement had communicated itself to its master, and
the man's great eyes glowed strangely. He now moved from his position
and came over to the dog's side. He stooped down and examined the
place where the dog had been working. He pushed his fingers deep into
the hollow which the vigorous claws had made. The next instant he
drew them back sharply, and a faint ejaculation escaped him. He
straightened himself up and pushed the dog roughly away from the
spot.
"Come here, you cur," he muttered. "Come over to the hut."
The dog obeyed with reluctance, and Hervey had to keep a clutch upon
the beast's mane to hold him to his side. He half dragged him and half
led him up the path until they neared the ruin. Then with a bound the
dog leapt forward and rushed in beneath the sacking which covered the
doorway, giving tongue to little yelps of eagerness as he went.
Hervey was about to follow, but a strange sound beneath his feet
attracted him and made him pause. He listened. The noise went on. It
was very faint but quite distinct, and very like the regular fall of a
hammer. He called instantly to the dog. Neche's head appeared from
beneath the canvas, but he showed unusual signs of disobedience.
Instantly, Hervey seized him by the mane, then, subdued and sulky, the
animal allowed himself to be dragged from the building. Hervey did not
relax his hold until he and the dog were well clear of the place, and
were once more buried from view within the depths of the woods.
For a moment, when the hound regained its freedom, it stood still and
turned its head back towards the place they had just left, but a
threatening command from the man brought him to heel at once, and
there was no further bother. It was strange the relations which
existed between this curiously-assorted pair. There could be no doubt
that Hervey hated the dog, and the dog's regard for its master was of
doubtful quality. As a rule, it would fawn in a most servile manner,
but its attitude, the moment its master's back was turned, was always
morose and even truculent. Hervey had told his sister that the dog was
as treacherous as an Indian. But Hervey was not a keen observer, or he
would have added, "and as wicked as a rattlesnake."
The two tramped on all that day, but there was little shooting done.
Hervey also seemed to have utterly forgotten his intention to shoot
the dog. Time after time jack-rabbits got up and dashed off into the
woods, but there followed no report of the gun. Prairie chicken in
the open glades whirred up from the long succulent grass, but Hervey
paid no heed, and when several deer trotted across the man's path, and
the gun remained tucked under his arm, it plainly showed the
pre-occupied state of his mind.
The truth was that Hervey was thinking with a profundity that implied
something which must very nearly affect his personal interests. And
these personal interests, at the moment, centred round George Iredale
and--the graveyard. He had discredited the story the girls had told as
he would discredit anything which pertained to the supernatural. But
now he had learned something which put an entirely different meaning
to the adventures the two girls had related. It is easy enough to
mystify the simple human mind, but dogs' instincts are purely
practical, and, as Hervey argued, ghosts do not leave a hot scent.
Neche had lit upon a hot scent. At first the man had been doubtful as
to what that scent was. Graveyards on the prairie are places favoured
by the hungry coyote, and he had been inclined to believe that such
was the trail which the dog had discovered. But his own investigations
had suggested something different.
The grave which the dog had attacked so furiously was no ordinary
grave, for, in thrusting his hand into the hole the dog had made at
the edge, he had found that beneath the stone was a cavity. Then had
come the recollection of the faint pounding he had distinctly heard
beneath the ground. And instantly the story the girls had related
assumed a human aspect. Without hesitation he told himself that they
had not seen spectres marching in procession through the mysterious
graveyard, but real, live, human beings. What, he asked himself, was
the meaning of it? What strange occupation was George Iredale's in
this lonely valley? Where was Iredale now? Where did he go to when he
moved out of the district on business, and what was the nature of the
business? To Hervey it was no great step from questions of this sort
to a general answer. And, when he reviewed the isolation, the secret
nightly doings, the unsuitability of the district to cattle-raising,
and the great wealth of the owner, all made since his sojourn in the
country, it was no difficult task for his thoughts to suggest some
felonious undertaking. But the one question for which he could find no
reasonable reply was that which asked the nature of the doings which
seemed to go on at night in the shadow of those dense forests.
He tramped on heedless of the passing time. His discovery had roused
him to a pitch of excitement which swayed his thoughts in the
direction they would naturally incline. In what manner could he turn
his discovery to account? His sense of proportion quickly balanced his
ideas. He must at all costs learn the secret of the graveyard, and if
it was, as he believed, some "crooked" dealings upon which Iredale was
engaged, the rest would be easy. All he wanted was money, and the
owner of Lonely Ranch had plenty and to spare.
The sun was quite low over the horizon when he at length turned his
steps again in the direction of the ranch. He was hungry; he had eaten
nothing since breakfast.
Hervey was not the man to be disturbed by any scruples with regard to
the hospitality of the owner of Lonely Ranch. He partook of the ample
supper which Chintz had prepared for him without the slightest
compunction. And when it was finished he idled the time away smoking
one of Iredale's best cigars with the utmost enjoyment. He watched the
shadows grow and deepen. He waited until the blue vault of the sky had
changed its hue to the indescribable shadow which follows in the wake
of the daylight, and the sparkling diamonds of night shone out upon
its surface; then he called for his horse and set out ostensibly for
Loon Dyke.
He rode away down the valley until he was clear of the woods; then,
leaving the prairie trail, he turned away to the right, and,
describing a wide semi-circle, doubled back into the woods again,
taking a course which lay to the eastwards, parallel to the valley of
the ranch. Now he quickened his pace, and the hound, limping
laboriously at his horse's heels, had difficulty in keeping up with
him. Nor did he draw rein until he reached the wide hollow which
backed the graveyard hill. Here, however, he dismounted, and secured
his horse to a tree. Then he removed the reins from his horse's
bridle, and proceeded to secure the hound in an adjacent position. The
night had quite closed in and the darkness of the woods was profound
when he started to make his way up the side of the hill in the
direction of the graveyard.
Hervey paused for nothing. His mind was clearly made up. Whatever
weakness may have been his there was none to be traced in his actions
now. He saw ahead of him the possibilities of furthering his own
interests, and he revelled in the thought of George Iredale's wealth.
The despicable methods he was adopting troubled him not in the least.
Iredale should pay dearly if his work partook of the nature of crime.
Hervey entertained no friendship for any one. The greed of gold was
his ruling passion. He cared nothing from whom it was obtained, or by
what means. If things were as he believed them to be, then was this a
truly golden opportunity. And he would bleed Iredale to the very
limits of his resources.
He reached the outskirts of the clearing, but he did not leave the
obscurity of the forest. The black recesses served him for a
hiding-place from which he could obtain a perfect view of the ghostly
enclosure. The tumbled hut and the weirdly-outlined graves with their
crowning monuments showed up distinctly in the starlight. And he
settled himself for a long vigil.
An hour passed without result. It was weary work, this waiting. He
dared not move about, for at every movement of his feet upon the
ground the rotting vegetation crunched and crackled loudly in the
profundity of silence. The man's patience, however, was long-enduring
under such circumstances. He told himself that the result would more
than recompense him for the trouble. He had everything to gain, and
the task appealed to him. Two hours passed and still not a sound broke
the awful stillness. Then came the first sign. Suddenly a bright light
shone out down in the valley in the direction where Iredale's house
stood. It gleamed luridly, almost red, in its depth of yellow. Hervey
held his breath, so deep was his excitement and the feeling of
anticipation.
The sudden appearance of the light was the signal for further
demonstration. The prolonged screech of an owl replied to it. The
screech, so shrill and ear-piercing, gave the watcher such a
nerve-racking moment as to almost urge him to beat a hasty retreat.
But the cry died away, and, as the echoes grew fainter and eventually
became silent, he recovered himself. A moment passed and another cry
split the air, only this time it came from across the valley on the
opposite heights. Hervey stood with ears straining. He had detected
something curious in the sound of those cries. Then as the second died
away a single word muttered below his breath voiced his discovery.
"Human!" he said to himself, and a feeling of unholy joy swept over
him, and he drew a pistol from his pocket and his hand gripped its
butt significantly.
His eyes were still turned in the direction of the house where the
light was burning when a scraping noise suddenly drew his attention
to the graveyard before him. The scraping continued, and sounded like
the grinding of an axe upon a whetstone. It distinctly came from
one of the graves, and, for a moment, he experienced a shudder of
superstitious fear. The next moment he suppressed a chuckle as he
realized that the sound came from the grave at the side of which Neche
had made such a demonstration that morning. He gazed in the direction,
his great eyes burning with the lurid fires of pent-up excitement and
speculation. What was the secret he was about to learn? He longed
to draw closer to the spot, but he knew that he dared not move.
Suddenly a vague shadow loomed up from amongst the grass which grew so
rankly in the cemetery. Up, up it rose, black even against the
background of utter darkness in which the forest was bathed. Hervey
leaned forward, his eyes straining and every nerve tense-drawn. What
was this--thing?
The shadow paused. Then it rose higher. It seemed to suddenly
straighten up, and Hervey permitted a deep breath to escape him. The
black figure had assumed the shape of a man, and the form moved
forward towards the log dead-house. Then the waiting man saw that
other figures were following the first in rapid succession. Each
figure was bearing its burden. Some seemed to be carrying bundles,
some carried that which appeared to be boxes, and others carried small
square packages. As Hervey's eyes became used to the strange scene he
was able to distinguish something of the habiliments of these denizens
of the grave. He noted the long, dark, smock-shaped garment each
figure wore, and, after a while, in the starlight, he was able to note
that most of them wore on their heads little skull-caps. Then a
muttered exclamation broke from his lips, and in his tone was a world
of satisfaction.
"Chinese!" he whispered. Then: "Traffic in yellow, by all that's
holy!"