All night long the invalid lay awake; at times tranquil, at times giving
way to a paroxysm of unconscious passion.
All night long the hunter sate by his bedside, and listened to his
incoherent utterances.
They but confirmed two points of belief already impressed upon Zeb's
mind: that Louise Poindexter was beloved; that her brother had been
murdered!
The last was a belief that, under any circumstances, would have been
painful to the backwoodsman. Coupled with the facts already known, it
was agonising.
He thought of the quarrel--the hat--the cloak. He writhed as he
contemplated the labyrinth of dark ambiguities that presented itself to
his mind. Never in his life had his analytical powers been so
completely baffled. He groaned as he felt their impotence.
He kept no watch upon the door. He knew that if _they_ came, it would
not be in the night.
Once only he went out; but that was near morning, when the light of the
moon was beginning to mingle with that of the day.
He had been summoned by a sound. Tara, straying among the trees, had
given utterance to a long dismal "gowl," and come running scared-like
into the hut.
Extinguishing the light, Zeb stole forth, and stood listening.
There was an interruption to the nocturnal chorus; but that might have
been caused by the howling of the hound? What had caused _it_?
The hunter directed his glance first upon the open lawn; then around its
edge, and under the shadow of the trees.
There was nothing to be seen there, except what should be.
He raised his eyes to the cliff, that in a dark line trended along the
horizon of the sky--broken at both ends by the tops of some tall trees
that rose above its crest. There were about fifty paces of clear space,
which he knew to be the edge of the upper plain terminating at the brow
of the precipice.
The line separating the _chiaro_ from the _oscuro_ could be traced
distinctly as in the day. A brilliant moon was beyond it. A snake
could have been seen crawling along the top of the cliff.
There was nothing to be seen there.
But there was something to be heard. As Zeb stood listening there came
a sound from the upper plain, that seemed to have been produced not far
back from the summit of the cliff. It resembled the clinking of a
horse's shoe struck against a loose stone.
So conjectured Zeb, as with open ears he listened to catch its
repetition.
It was not repeated; but he soon saw what told him his conjecture was
correct--a horse, stepping out from behind the treetops, and advancing
along the line of the bluff. There was a man upon his back--both horse
and man distinctly seen in dark _silhouette_ against the clear sapphire
sky.
The figure of the horse was perfect, as in the outlines of a skilfully
cast medallion.
That of the man could be traced--only from the saddle to the shoulders.
Below, the limbs were lost in the shadow of the animal though the
sparkle of spur and stirrup told that they were there. Above, there was
nothing--not even the semblance of a head!
Zeb Stump rubbed his eyes and looked; and rubbed them and looked again.
It did not change the character of the apparition. If he had rubbed
them fourscore times, he would have seen the same--a horseman without a
head.
This very sight he saw, beyond the possibility of disbelieving--saw the
horse advancing along the level line in a slow but steady pace--without
footfall--without sound of any kind--as if gliding rather than walking--
like the shifting scene of a cosmorama!
Not for a mere instant had he the opportunity of observing the spectral
apparition; but a period long enough to enable him to note every
detail--long enough to satisfy him that it could be no illusion of the
eye, or in any way a deception of his senses.
Nor did it vanish abruptly from his view; but slowly and gradually:
first the head of the horse; then the neck and shoulders; then the
shape, half ghastly, half grotesque, of the rider; then the
hind-quarters of the animal; the hips; and last of all the long tapering
tail!
"Geehosophat!"
It was not surprise at the disappearance of the headless horseman that
extorted this exclamation from the lips of Zeb Stump. There was nothing
strange about this. The spectacle had simply passed behind the
proscenium--represented by the tope of tree tops rising above the bluff.
"Geehosophat!"
Twice did the backwoodsman give utterance to this, his favourite
expression of surprise; both times with an emphasis that told of an
unlimited astonishment.
His looks betrayed it. Despite his undoubted courage, a shiver passed
through his colossal frame; while the pallor upon his lips was
perceptible through their brown priming of tobacco juice.
For some time he stood speechless, as if unable to follow up his double
ejaculation.
His tongue at length returned to him.
"Dog-gone my cats!" he muttered, but in a very low tone, and with eyes
still fixed upon the point where the horse's tail had been last seen.
"If that ere don't whip the hul united creashun, my name ain't Zeb'lon
Stump! The Irish hev been right arter all. I tho't he hed dreemt o' it
in his drink. But no. He hev seed somethin'; and so hev I meself. No
wonner the cuss war skeeart. I feel jest a spell shaky in my own narves
beout this time. Geehosophat! what kin the durned thing be?"
"What _kin_ it be?" he continued, after a period spent in silent
reflection. "Dog-goned, ef I kin detarmine one way or the tother. Ef
't hed been only i' the daylight, an I ked a got a good sight on't; or
eft hed been a leetle bit cloaster! Ha! Why moutn't I git cloaster to
_it_? Dog-goned, ef I don't hev a try! I reck'n it won't eet me--not
ef it air ole Nick; an ef it _air_ him, I'll jest satersfy meself
whether a bullet kin go custrut thro' his infernal karkidge 'ithout
throwin' him out o' the seddle. Hyur go for a cloaster akwaintance wi'
the varmint, whatsomiver it be."
So saying, the hunter stalked off through the trees--upon the path that
led up to the bluff.
He had not needed to go inside for his rifle--having brought that weapon
out with him, on hearing the howl of the hound.
If the headless rider was real flesh and blood--earthly and not of the
other world--Zeb Stump might confidently count upon seeing him again.
When viewed from the door of the _jacale_, he was going direct towards
the ravine, that permitted passage from the higher level to the bottom
lands of the Alamo. As Zeb had started to avail himself of the same
path, unless the other should meantime change direction, or his tranquil
pace to a trot or gallop, the backwoodsman would be at the head of the
pass as soon as he.
Before starting, Zeb had made a calculation of the distance to be done,
and the time to do it in.
His estimate proved correct--to a second, and an inch. As his head was
brought nearly on a level with the upland plain, he saw the _shoulders_
of the horseman rising above it.
Another step upward, and the body was in view. Another, and the horse
was outlined against the sky, from hoof to forelock.
He stood at a halt. He was standing, as Zeb first came in sight of him.
He was fronting towards the cliff, evidently intending to go down into
the gorge. His rider appeared to have pulled him up as a measure of
precaution; or he may have heard the hunter scrambling up the ravine;
or, what was more likely, scented him.
For whatever reason, he was standing, front face to the spectator.
On seeing him thus, Zeb Stump also came to a stand. Had it been many
another man, the same might have been said of his hair; and it is not to
be denied, that the old hunter was at that moment, as he acknowledged
himself, "a spell shaky 'beout the narves."
He was firm enough, however, to carry out the purpose that had prompted
him to seek that singular interview; which was, to discover whether he
had to deal with a human being, or the devil!
In an instant his rifle was at his shoulder, his eye glancing along the
barrel; the sights, by the help of a brilliant moonlight, bearing upon
the heart of the Headless Horseman.
In another, a bullet would have been through it; but for a thought that
just then flashed across the brain of the backwoodsman.
Maybe he was about to commit _murder_?
At the thought he lowered the muzzle of his piece, and remained for a
time undecided.
"It mout be a man?" muttered he, "though it don't look like it air.
Thur ain't room enuf for a head under that ere Mexikin blanket, no how.
Ef it be a human critter he hev got a tongue I reck'n, though he ain't
much o' a head to hold it in. Hilloo stronger! Ye're out for a putty
lateish ride, ain't ye? Hain't yo forgot to fetch yur head wi ye?"
There was no reply. The horse snorted, on hearing the voice. That was
all.
"Lookee hyur, strenger! Ole Zeb Stump from the State o' Kintucky, air
the individooal who's now speakin' to ye. He ain't one o' thet sort ter
be trifled wi'. Don't try to kum none o' yer damfoolery over this hyur
coon. I warn ye to declur yur game. If ye're playin possum, ye'd
better throw up yur hand; or by the jumpin' Geehosophat, ye may lose
both yur stake an yur curds! Speak out now, afore ye gits plugged wi' a
piece o' lead!"
Less response than before. This time the horse, becoming accustomed to
the voice, only tossed up his head.
"Then dog-gone ye!" shouted the hunter, exasperated by what he deemed an
insulting silence. "Six seconds more--I'll gie ye six more; an ef ye
don't show speech by that time, I'll let drive at yur guts. Ef ye're
but a dummy it won't do ye any harm. No more will it, I reckun, ef ye
_air_ the devil. But ef ye're a man playin' possum, durn me ef ye don't
desarve to be shot for bein' sech a damned fool. Sing out!" he
continued with increasing anger, "sing out, I tell ye! Ye won't? Then
hyur goes! One--two--three--four--five--six!"
Where "seven" should have come in, had the count been continued, was
heard the sharp crack of a rifle, followed by the sibillation of a
spinning bullet; then the dull "thud" as the deadly missile buried
itself in some solid body.
The only effect produced by the shot, appeared to be the frightening of
the horse. The rider still kept his seat in the saddle!
It was not even certain the horse was scared. The clear neigh that
responded to the detonation of the rifle, had something in it that
sounded derisive!
For all that, the animal went off at a tearing gallop; leaving Zeb Stump
a prey to the profoundest surprise he had ever experienced.
After discharging his rifle, he remained upon his knees, for a period of
several seconds.
If his nerves were unsteady before the shot, they had become doubly so
now. He was not only surprised at the result, but terrified. He was
certain that his bullet had passed through the man's heart--or where it
should be--as sure as if his muzzle had been held close to the ribs.
It could not be a man? He did not believe it to be one; and this
thought might have reassured him, but for the behaviour of the horse.
It was that wild unearthly neigh, that was now chilling his blood, and
causing his limbs to shake, as if under an ague.
He would have retreated; but, for a time, he felt absolutely unable to
rise to his feet; and he remained kneeling, in a sort of stupefied
terror--watching the weird form till it receded out of sight far off
over the moonlit plain. Not till then did he recover sufficient
courage, to enable him to glide back down the gorge, and on towards the
_jacale_.
And not till he was under its roof, did he feel sufficiently himself, to
reflect with any calmness on the odd encounter that had occurred to him.
It was some time before his mind became disabused of the idea that he
had been dealing with the devil. Reflection, however, convinced him of
the improbability of this; though it gave him no clue as to what the
thing really was.
"Shurly," muttered he, his conjectural form of speech showing that he
was still undecided, "Shurly arter all it can't be a thing o' the tother
world--else I kedn't a heern the _cothug_ o' my bullet? Sartin the lead
struck agin somethin' solid; an I reck'n thur's nothin' solid in the
karkidge o' a ghost?"
"Wagh!" he concluded, apparently resigning the attempt to obtain a
solution of the strange physical phenomenon. "Let the durned thing
slide! One o' two things it air boun' to be: eyther a bunnel o' rags,
or ole Harry from hell?"
As he re-entered the hut, the blue light of morning stole in along with
him.
It was time to awaken Phelim, that he might take his turn by the bedside
of the invalid.
The Connemara man, now thoroughly restored to sobriety, and under the
impression of having been a little derelict in his duty, was ready to
undertake the task.
The old hunter, before consigning his charge to the care of his
unskilled successor, made a fresh dressing of the scratches--availing
himself of the knowledge that a long experience had given him in the
pharmacopoeia of the forest.
The _nopal_ was near; and its juice inspissated into the fresh wounds
would not fail to effect their speedy cure.
Zeb knew that in twenty-four hours after its application, they would be
in process of healing; and in three days, entirely cicatrised.
With this confidence--common to every denizen of the cactus-covered land
of Mexico--he felt defiant as to doctors; and if a score of them could
have been procured upon the instant, he would not have summoned one. He
was convinced that Maurice Gerald was in no danger--at least not from
his wounds.
There was a danger; but that was of a different kind.
"An' now, Mister Pheelum," said he, on making a finish of his surgical
operations; "we hev dud all thet kin be dud for the outard man, an it
air full time to look arter the innard. Ye say thur ain't nuthin to
eet?"
"Not so much as a purtaty, Misther Stump. An' what's worse thare's
nothin' to dhrink--not a dhrap lift in the whole cyabin."
"Durn ye, that's _yur_ fault," cried Stump, turning upon the Irishman
with a savage scowl that showed equal regret at the announcement. "Eft
hadn't a been for you, thur war licker enough to a lasted till the young
fellur got roun' agin. What's to be dud now?"
"Sowl, Misther Stump! yez be wrongin' _me_ althegither intirely. That
same yez are. I hadn't a taste exciptin what came out av the little
flask. It wus thim Indyins that imptied the dimmyjan. Trath was it."
"Wagh! ye cudn't a got drunk on what wur contained i' the flask. I know
yur durned guts too well for thet. Ye must a had a good pull at the
tother, too."
"Be all the saints--"
"Durn yur stinkin' saints! D'you s'pose any man o' sense believes in
sech varmint as them?
"Wal; 'tain't no use talkin' any more beout it. Ye've sucked up the
corn juice, an thur's an end o't. Thur ain't no more to be hed 'ithin
twenty mile, an we must go 'ithout."
"Be Jaysus, but it's bad!"
"Shet up yur head, durn ye, an hear what I've got to say. We'll hev to
go 'ithout drinkin'; but thet air no reezun for sturvin' ourselves for
want o' somethin' to eet. The young fellur, I don't misdoubt, air by
this time half starved hisself. Thur's not much on his stummuk, I
reck'n, though thur may be on his mind. As for meself, I'm jest hungry
enough to eat coyoat; an I ain't very sure I'd turn away from turkey
buzzart; which, as I reck'n, wud be a wusser victual than coyoat. But
we ain't obleeged to eet turkey buzzart, whar thur's a chance o' gettin'
turkey; an thet ain't so dewbious along the Alamo. You stay hyur, an
take care o' the young fellur, whiles I try up the crik, an see if I kin
kum acrosst a gobbler."
"I'll do that, Misther Stump, an no mistake. Be me trath--"
"Keep yur palaver to yurself, till I've finished talkin' to ye."
"Sowl! I won't say a word."
"Then don't, but lissen! Thur's somethin 'bout which I don't wait ye to
make any mistake. It air this. Ef there shed anybody stray this way
dyurin my absince, ye'll let me know. You musn't lose a minnit o' time,
but let me know."
"Shure I will--sowl, yis."
"Wal, I'll depend on ye."
"Trath, yez may;--but how Misther Stump? How am I to lit yez know, if
you're beyant hearin' av me voice? How thin?"
"Wal, I reck'n, I shan't need to go so fur as thet. Thur ought to be
gobblers cloast by--at this time o' the mornin'.
"An yit there moutent," continued Zeb, after reflecting a while. "Ye
ain't got sech a thing as a gun in the shanty? A pistol 'ud do."
"Nayther wan nor the tother. The masther tuk both away wid him, when he
went last time to the sittlements. He must have lift them thare."
"It air awk'ard. I mout _not_ heer yur shout."
Zeb, who had by this time passed through the doorway, again stopped to
reflect.
"Heigh!" he exclaimed, after a pause of six seconds. "I've got it.
I've treed the eydee. Ye see my ole maar, tethered out thur on the
grass?"
"Shure I do, Misther Stump. Av coorse I do."
"Wal, ye see thet ere prickly cacktis plant growin' cloast to the edge
o' the openin'?"
"Faith, yis."
"Wal, that's sensible o' ye. Now lissen to what I say. Ye must keep a
look out at the door; an ef anybody kums up whiles I'm gone, run
straight custrut for the cacktis, cut off one o' its branches--the
thorniest ye kin see--an stick it unner the maar's tail."
"Mother av Moses! For what div yez want me to do that?"
"Wal, I reck'n I'd better explain," said Zeb, reflectingly; "otherwise
ye'll be makin' a mess o' it."
"Ye see, Pheelum, ef anybody interlopes durin' my absince I hed better
be hyur. I ain't a goin' fur off. But howsomediver near, I moutn't
hear yur screech; thurfore the maar's 'll do better. You clap the
cacktis under her tail, cloast up to the fundament; and ef she don't
squeal loud enuf to be heern by me, then ye may konklude that this coon
air eyther rubbed out, or hev both his lugs plugged wi picket pins. So,
Pheelum; do you adzactly as I've tolt ye."
"I'll do it, be Japers!"
"Be sure now. Yur master's life may depend upon it."
After delivering this last caution, the hunter shouldered his long
rifle, and walked away from the hut.
"He's a cute owld chap that same," said Phelim as soon as Zeb was out of
hearing. "I wonder what he manes by the master bein' in danger from any
wan comin' to the cyabin. He sed, that his life moight depend upon it?
Yis--he sed that."
"He towlt me to kape a luk out. I suppose he maned me to begin at
wance. I must go to the inthrance thin."
So saying, he stepped outside the door; and proceeded to make an ocular
inspection of the paths by which the _jacale_ might be approached.
After completing this, he returned to the threshold; and there took
stand, in the attitude of one upon the watch.