THE TRAIL OE THE SERPENT
“Alice, have you seen Esther McCleary lately?” Mark asked abruptly as he
entered the house.
“No, I have not. She seems to avoid us since Elinor and Tibby came. I
wonder if it is on account of Donald? Why does she act so?”
“I am afraid, Alice, there has been, or will be, a tragedy in Esther’s
life, which will wreck it,” Mark answered.
“Why, what do you mean? What can have happened?”
“Have you heard nothing about her mysterious wanderings away from home
lately?”
“No.”
“Well, it seems she has been given to somnambulancy. She has gotten up
in the middle of the night and left the house upon more than one
occasion. Last night, when I was coming home from the fort, I came upon
her walking alone upon the prairie, wringing her hands and sobbing
bitterly. I called to her, and she at first tried to run from me, but at
last she allowed me to put her upon my horse and bring her home. I
questioned her, and finally the poor child told me the cause of her
wanderings. It seems Russell’s power did not end with his presence, but
after hypnotizing her a number of times he could control her, even
though absent. He never tried to use this baneful power until recently,
or since he was here the last time before now.”
“But when did he come back? I didn’t know he had returned,” said Alice,
a troubled look upon her face.
“The Lord only knows!” replied Mark, with a scowl. “I hoped we’d seen
the last of him.”
“I did too, Mark. I really did. I have been so much happier since Elinor
and Tibby came, and now, when it is most time for them to go, to think
he’s come again.”
“He must not come here—after they have gone away, at any rate. I don’t
mind it much if they are here, for Tibby, I think, will be a match for
him. But afterwards, if I catch him here I’ll shoot him like the vermin
he is!”
“But, Mark, they’d hang you for it.”
“’Twould be in a good cause. But really I don’t think he’ll come again
after I have interviewed him once. This affair of Esther’s is going to
make the place too hot for him.”
“O, yes, you were telling me. Go on. What about Esther?”
“Why, it appears he willed her to meet him in the cotton-wood grove that
borders the canon. The poor child swears that she knew nothing and was
conscious of nothing until she found herself face to face with this
arch-fiend, alone and beyond the call of friends. She tried to flee from
him, but could not. He seemed to hold her, powerless to help herself.”
“You horrify me, Mark!”
“I am myself so enraged I can hardly exercise self-control. Think of
having a man in the community with the power to call his victims to him
at will.”
“Does Donald know of this?”
“No, I think not yet. I am afraid that when he does it will end
everything between him and Esther, if there has been anything, which I
doubt. I believe Don has a friendly interest in Esther, but I suspect he
is growing fond of Tibby.”
“Indeed! Well, I don’t see how he could help it. But Esther is such a
good girl.”
“Yes, before she became the nervous wreck she is, because of
that—Russell.” Mark ground his teeth.
“O Mark, this is dreadful, dreadful! What can be done?”
“The hound must be driven from this community, now and forever. This
poor girl’s obsession is sufficient excuse for a mob with tar and
feathers. Were it not for the publicity of the thing, and the pain
Esther would experience should these night wanderings be made public, I
would organize a posse myself, to-night, and ride the fellow out of the
territory on a rail.”
“Ah, Mark, you must not go against the laws of the land. Mob violence
can never be right.”
“I don’t know, Alice—when one has a case like this which the law would
not touch.”
“Will not the law touch it?”
“I don’t know. I am going to town to-morrow to find out if there is not
some way in which he may be held under the law. As for Esther, I wish
she might be sent away from this place—away from his hateful influence
and pestiferous power.”
“Ah, could she get away from it? Is there any place where it might not
follow her? Mark, wouldn’t it be well for you to see Mrs. McCleary?
Surely she could not sanction such possession of her daughter.”
“That is a good idea, Alice. I will go to see her to-day—now. If there’s
a heart in that woman I’ll try to find it. This is a mission for which
you are better suited, but in your nervous state it may be more than you
could do.”
“I would rather trust you,” Alice replied.
Mark rapped at Mrs. McCleary’s door a half hour later, and asked the
child who admitted him if he might see her mother.
“Well, well! Oi declare, Mr. Mark, Oi’m delighted if you’ve found toime
an’ inclination to give us a little of yer society,” cried Mrs.
McCleary, coming forward. “Oi told Esther Oi didn’t see why some of the
neighbors didn’t call oftener. We’re always glad to see ’em. And how is
Alice, and that noice sister, and the perty girl with her? Oi am shure
Alice must enjoy their company so much.” As she paused to take breath,
Mark interposed.
“We do both enjoy them very much. But where is Esther, Mrs. McCleary?”
“Esther? O, she is giving the children their baths. Oi have to leave all
such work to her now. But she’ll be through varry soon, Oi’m shure. Just
help yourself to some of them plums on the table, Misther Mark.”
“Thank you. They are very nice, and I always enjoy eating them. This
fruit makes up to us for the lack of apples and other fruits of the
East, which we have not started here yet. Nature is compensative. But I
want to talk to you, Mrs. McCleary, rather than Esther, and upon a
somewhat delicate subject.”
“Yes?” Mrs. McCleary’s voice slid upward interrogatively. “Oi waant ter
know.”
“Do you know the extent of Professor Russell’s power over your
daughter?”
“Why, to be shure, Mr. Cramer. Who should know, if not her mother?”
“And do you approve of his compelling her to walk in the fields at
night? Believe me, Mrs. McCleary, I ask this from no idle motive. I am
interested in your daughter’s welfare and good name.”
“He compel her? Professor Russell compel her? Why, ye’re crazy, Mark
Cramer!” The woman’s Irish temper was rising.
“But it is true she has gotten up in the night and wandered away, alone,
is it not?”
“It is thrue Esther has walked in her shlape once or twice.”
“But is he not the cause, when she goes to meet him?”
“Mr. Cramer, what d’ye mean, insinuating such things of my Esther?”
“Mrs. McCleary, this is a painful revelation I must make you. But I know
that this has occurred, at least once, and I know that Esther was
constrained to go to this meeting by other power than her volition.”
“Oi don’t belave ye, Mark Cramer,” said the now thoroughly angry woman.
“Oi don’t know what yer object is in coming here and defaming moy poor
girrl. Oi don’t belave Professor Russell would use any power he has to
hurt moy child’s good name. It’s all along of yer prejudice of the maan,
that yer thryin’ to make trouble.”
“But, Mrs. McCleary, listen to me, I beg of you, for Esther’s sake. You
don’t want me to believe that Esther would go of her own free will to
such an appointment?”
“If she has gone, it’s the sperits as has led her. And Oi can’t belave
they would harm a hair of her head, aither. When the sperits used to
come here first, McCleary used to say, ‘Ye’ll lose all yer friends,
Miranda, av ye toike ony sthock in these sperits,’ and Oi sez, sez Oi,
‘If moy friends can’t sthand the sperits, they’re not moy friends at
all, an’ I can get along without thim.’”
Mrs. McCleary was thoroughly aroused, and her hands trembled as she
clasped the arms of her rocking-chair.
“You are willing, are you, that the spirits should compromise your
daughter? Mrs. McCleary, there is not a man, woman, or child in this
community that would not grieve to hear this thing of Esther, and would
gladly shield and protect her from such influences; but her own mother
will not listen nor try to save her.”
“Ye don’t know what ye’re talking about, Mark Cramer. If the sperits—but
I don’t belave it at all, at all.”
“Mother!” It was Esther herself who interrupted them, Esther standing in
the doorway, her face white to chalkiness, her dark-lined eyelids heavy
with their burden of tears, her voice thrilling with its passionate
intensity. “Mother, Mr. Cramer speaks the truth. It is no spirit that
controls me, but the wicked, black one—oh, blacker than hell
itself!—which lodges in the breast of that dreadful man, Russell. I have
prayed to you, O my mother, to save me from him. I have prayed to Heaven
as well, upon my bended knees, but Heaven and my own mother have been
deaf to my prayers. You would not hear me, you would not believe me.
Yes, you, you, mother, have made me see him, forced me against my own
will to see him, until he now controls me, body and soul. If he bade me,
I should walk into the bottomless pit. And I hate him, hate him, hate
him! O mother, mother, mother!” Esther’s voice ended in a shriek and her
slender body swayed as she staggered forward toward the woman whose
breast should have been her safe and sure refuge.
Mark caught the half-fainting girl and supported her to a chair.
“Try to calm yourself, Esther,” said Mark.
“Yes, Esther, do be calm! Ye’ve upset moy nerves complately. What does
make ye take on so? Oi nivver saw ye in sich a state, nivver.”
“Mrs. McCleary, in view of all this, will you not promise me that
Russell shall never again enter this house?” Mark asked with resolution.
“Oi—oh—what can Oi promise? Where is Mr. McCleary. It seems to me ye’re
all afther drivin’ me crazy!” And putting her handkerchief to her face
she sobbed and waved one hand despairingly.
Fortunately the hesitating, shuffling, uncertain step of Mr. McCleary
was heard coming up the path, and in a few moments he entered the room.
He looked from one to the other in a helpless, bewildered manner, then
turned to his wife.
“Mr. McCleary, will you try to keep Professor Russell from your house?
This is all trouble of his making. He has gained possession of your
daughter’s will until she is obliged to wander out upon the prairie at
night if he bids her to do so. She is completely in his power, poor
girl. Only careful watchfulness upon your part and the expulsion of the
villain from the community can avail. Look at your child, Mr. McCleary,
and see if you will permit him to destroy her!” said Mark, with feeling.
He pointed to the sobbing face of Esther, now pressed against the back
of the chair, and ghastly in its grief.
The little man looked helplessly at his wife, then at his stricken
child, and his head shook with agitation.
“Yes, I’ll try—I’ll try. We will, won’t we, Miranda? We’ll try to keep
him away from Esther. I say, Esther, do you want him kept away?” he
continued, going to her side and lifting her poor head in his arms. “My
little girlie, do ye want him kept away?” he quavered.
“Yes, yes! O papa, if he had never come here!” she moaned, pressing her
forehead against his breast. “Papa—papa!”
Mr. McCleary blew his nose and coughed uneasily.
“I’ll promise yer, Mr. Cramer. I’ll promise he sha’n’t. He sha’n’t come
if I can prevent it. Poor Esther—there, little girl! He sha’n’t come
here again if I can help it.”
For a wonder, Mrs. McCleary said nothing, but with her face concealed in
her handkerchief, rocked back and forth in her chair to the
accompaniment of her sobbing; and feeling that Esther was finding
comfort in the paternal arms, with the old man’s promise, Mark took his
leave.
“Nor if I can prevent it, shall he come here again!” he muttered as he
walked away. “And I think I can—I think I can.”