A HAUNTED MAN.
After retiring to his room in the hotel, Benton Hammerswell found
himself in a condition that was almost certain to banish slumber for
some time from his eyes. Flinging off his coat and removing his collar
and necktie, he brought forth from a closet a bottle of whisky and some
glasses. Having taken a heavy drink, he lighted a fresh cigar and paced
the floor of his room.
“Blazes take it!” he muttered, “why didn’t Grimes wait a day or two
longer before coming here? Had he done so, he would have had his trip
for his pains. Confound him, he has set my nerves on edge! He’s the only
person who can prove anything serious against me, and as long as he
lives I’ll never be wholly safe. Of course I may dodge him for a time,
but he’s liable to turn up anywhere I go. If I could silence him in the
same way I silenced Sullivan!”
Somehow these words caused to rise before his mental vision a vivid
picture of the meeting on High Bluff. He saw Hop Sullivan standing at
the edge of the bluff, eagerly tearing open a package that was supposed
to contain a thousand dollars in banknotes. He saw the moon dive through
a flotilla of clouds and burst forth to shine brightly just as Sullivan
ripped the package open. Again he heard the man’s snarl of
disappointment on discovering the contents of that package. Then
followed the deadly impulse that caused him to leap forward and thrust
Sullivan over the brink of High Bluff with a terrible push.
He saw the doomed wretch whirl over in the air and heard the splash that
rose from Rapid River as the man’s body struck it. Then once more the
moon veiled her face in horror behind a heavy cloud.
Hammerswell remembered how he had dropped on hands and knees at the edge
of the bluff and stared downward into the chasm through which the
swirling river hurried toward the falls below. He remembered all too
plainly that, as the tiny cloud passed from the face of the moon, he
caught a glimpse of a white, ghastly face rising for a moment in the
current, saw two helpless hands upflung, and then saw nothing more save
the triumphant water that had quenched a human life.
But the memory of what followed was distressing and harassing. When he
rose to his feet, muttering his satisfaction over his frightful deed,
Luke Grimes had confronted him on that spot. Through it all Grimes had
been hidden near at hand, where he could hear and see what transpired.
Grimes was armed with a pistol, and, fearing the man who had destroyed
Sullivan, he kept it cocked and ready in his hand. Hammerswell
remembered how he had been compelled to acquiesce to the terms proposed
by the engineer. He had maintained his determination to deceive Grimes,
leading the fellow at last to agree to a scheme by which Merriwell was
to be put out of baseball. The engineer promised to break Dick’s arm.
Then came the trip of Grimes to Fairhaven Island and the burning of the
naphtha launch on which he crossed from the mainland. His life had been
saved by Dick and Brad Buckhart.
On the island the engineer was recognized as the fellow who had once
made a vicious attack on young Merriwell, and when he attempted to
escape the villagers arose in a mob and pursued him. He was captured and
dragged beneath a tree, with a noose about his neck and a rope flung
over a stout limb.
Only by the swift work of Dick Merriwell and his comrades was Grimes
saved. He was turned over to an officer and locked up.
On arriving at Fairhaven that day Hammerswell was informed of all that
had taken place, and he lost not a moment in hastening to the lockup.
In a manner never satisfactorily explained, Luke Grimes escaped from the
lockup while Benton Hammerswell was talking to the guard.
The fugitive was hotly pursued, but made his way out of town to the
north, where he was cornered in a swamp and finally found himself stuck
fast in the mire.
While Grimes was in this helpless condition, Hammerswell discovered him
and, under pretense of offering assistance, crept nearer, club in hand,
to beat down the poor wretch.
But Dick Merriwell’s ability as a trailer enabled him to follow Grimes,
and Dick reached the spot just in time to baffle Hammerswell.
Later, Grimes had been aided in escaping, and since that day no one in
that vicinity, with the exception of Benton Hammerswell, had seen the
fugitive engineer. Hammerswell saw him and gave him some money, urging
him to hasten away to Canada, inducing him to start immediately by
promising to send him a thousand dollars, which was to reach him at an
address in Montreal.
At the time of making this promise the chief rascal had entertained no
intention of forwarding the money. Thinking Grimes was badly frightened
and would not dare return after going away, he had felt satisfied he
would thus get rid of the fellow.
Now here was Grimes back again and threatening to make further trouble.
“I am a bad man to crowd!” Hammerswell snarled when he had finished
thinking this matter over. “How infernally hot it is!”
With this exclamation, he flung wide open one of the windows of his
room, which had hitherto been but partly raised.
This window opened onto the flat roof of the hotel veranda. Benton sat
down near it, smoking a cigar and fanning himself with a fan he had
picked up.
“Little sleep for me to-night,” he growled. “Of course I know I’m not
going to be beaten on all my bets to-morrow, still I’m nervous. I have
the team to win both those games, with proper pitching. Yes, and I have
the pitchers to win. They arrived in Rockford to-day. No one but myself
knows of it. Slocum and Bretton are a pair to draw to. Slocum might be
in the American League if he wished to play professional baseball, and
he could command his own salary. Bretton has a record that makes him
well known—too well known. I’ll run both these fellows in under fake
names, in order not to let Fairhaven know what she’s up against. My team
is onto both their pitchers. Even Merriwell can be batted at times, and
the boys will go after him red-hot to-morrow.
“No, it’s impossible that I should lose all my bets, and it’s quite
likely I’ll win them all. If Rockford defeats Seaslope, Fairhaven must
win both games in order to be tied for first place. It’s hardly possible
Rockford will lose. Being at the head now, she’ll fight fiercely to keep
that position. If she wins to-morrow and we take one of the two games
from Fairhaven, I’ll win all my bets. In order for me to lose, Rockford
must be defeated and Fairhaven must take both games from Maplewood. As
far as that matter goes, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t roll into bed
and sleep like a baby. Ah! but it’s impossible for me to sleep that way
any more! The time is past when I can sleep straight through the night
without my rest being broken. Ever since my encounter with Sullivan I’ve
been troubled by bad dreams.
“When they told me about finding him, when I knew he had been brought
back here to Maplewood, when I saw the wretched little funeral
procession as he was being taken to the grave, it all added to the
cursed disturbance that is breaking me up and making me afraid of my own
shadow. Hang it! I used to have nerve enough. Now I awake in the night
and seem to see Sullivan’s eyes fastened on me! I see his white face in
the darkness of my room! I started up last night and saw in yonder
corner his arms upflung, just as I saw them last when he went down into
the current of Rapid River. Resting on my elbow, I remained staring at
those upheld arms until I found that it was nothing but the legs of my
own trousers hanging over the back of a chair. Just the same I could not
sleep until daylight came creeping in at my window. There’s a nasty
feeling troubling me to-night. I am a-quiver all over. I need another
drink. I’ll have another drink.”
He rose quickly and poured out a brimming glass of liquor, which he
dashed off as if it had been so much water.
“If I get enough of that into my skin I may be able to sleep,” he
growled. “Got to keep these windows open. Don’t like it, but I’d smother
with them closed. Confound the luck! I’d like to know what became of my
revolver! Missed it to-day for the first time. If I had it I’d put it
under my pillow to-night.”
He searched the room, but did not find the weapon for which he was
looking.
After another drink, he finished undressing and slipped on a suit of
pajamas. Wearing this suit, he sat by the window, his light
extinguished, until he had finished his cigar.
Once as he sat there, from far, far away in the night there came a low,
awesome sound that was not unlike a human cry of pain and horror. It
came from the direction of the little village cemetery, and Benton
Hammerswell felt his entire body grow cold. To his excited fancy it
seemed that this eerie cry had been sent forth by the spirit of Hop
Sullivan, which could know no rest until Sullivan’s murder had been
avenged.
Although he listened breathlessly for a long time after that, and his
cigar went out in his fingers, the sound was not repeated. The night was
awesomely still, without even a breath of air stirring.
“Just my fool imagination,” he whispered. “Another drink and I will get
to bed.”
After retiring he turned and twisted for nearly an hour. At last he fell
into troubled slumber.
How long he slept he did not know. In the night he was awakened by a
horrible sensation, as if he were smothering.
With a choking sound, he started up. Somehow he seemed to feel a person
near him. He fancied he was not alone in that room.
“Who’s there?” he cried.
Then, to his unspeakable distress and agitation, a low, hollow voice
answered:
“I’m here—I, the spirit of the man you murdered!”
Out of the gloom advanced a white, ghostly figure.
Uttering a shriek, Hammerswell leaped erect. As his feet touched the
floor something fluttered over him. Instantly he was entangled in the
folds of a blanket that had been cast over his head. Then a power that
seemed something more than human hurled him to the floor.
It was some seconds before the man succeeded in freeing himself from the
folds of the blanket. When he finally did so, he sat up and looked
around, fully expecting to again behold that ghostly figure.
He seemed to be quite alone.
“Is it gone?” he chokingly whispered, fearing that once more it would
confront him.
Having risen weakly to his feet, he found with shaking fingers the
matches and struck one of them. As the flame blazed up, the match fell
to the floor. Three matches he struck before he succeeded in holding one
of them. Lifting the blazing match above his head, he stared around into
all the corners, but saw nothing of an alarming nature. At last he
succeeded in lighting a lamp, and with this in his hand he searched the
room.
Save for the blanket lying in the middle of the floor, there was no sign
of his ghostly visitor.
“But I heard the voice!” he muttered. “I saw the thing! I felt its
power! I am a haunted man!”
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