I dropped my uncle’s feet and rushed furiously at Glitch, but was quickly
seized and overpowered by two stalwart farmers.
The professor, however, was more calm. He laid my uncle gently on the
floor and faced the men.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “may I ask the reason for this sudden and
unwarranted intrusion in a peaceful home?”
“Ve are going to bury dot vampire corpse mit a stake t’rough its heart.
Dot’s vot,” replied Glitch.
“What would you do if I were to tell you that this man is not dead, but
alive?” asked the professor.
“Alive or dead, he’s gonna be buried tonight,” said a burly ruffian,
stepping up to my uncle. “One o’ you guys help me get this in the coffin.”
A tall, lean farmer stepped up and leaned his gun against the casket.
Then the two of them roughly lifted my uncle into it and screwed down the
lid.
In the meantime, another had discovered the wrapped logs, to which he
called the attention of his companions.
“Well, I’ll be blowed!” he said. “Thought yuh was pretty slick, didn’t
yuh? Thought yuh could fool us with a coupla logs? Just for that we’ll
take yuh along to the party so yuh don’t try no more fancy capers.”
“Gentlemen,” said the professor, “do you realize that you will be
committing a murder if you bury this man’s body?”
“Murder, hell!” exclaimed one. “He killed my boy.”
“He sucked my daughter’s blood,” cried another.
“An’ my brother is lyin’ in his death bed on account of him,” shouted a
third.
“Come on, let’s go,” said the burly ruffian. “Some o’ you boys grab hold
o’ them handles, an’ we’ll change shifts goin’ out.”
“Yah. Ve vill proceed,” said Glitch. “Vorwarts!”
“If you will permit me, I will go and reassure my daughter before
accompanying you,” said the professor. “She is very nervous and may be
prostrated with fear if I do not calm her.”
“Go ahead and be quick about it,” said the ruffian. “Don’t try no funny
stunts, though, or we’ll use the stake on you, too.”
The professor hurried upstairs and, on his return a moment later, the
funeral cortege proceeded.
It was pitch dark outside, and therefore necessary for some of the men to
carry lanterns. One of these led the way. Immediately after him walked
six men bearing the casket, behind which the professor and I walked with
an armed guard on either side of us.
Following, were the remainder of the men, some twenty-five all told.
There was no talking, except at intervals when the pall-bearers were
relieved by others. This occurred a number of times, as the burden was
heavy and the way none too smooth.
I walked as one in a trance. It seemed that my feet moved automatically,
as if directed by a power outside myself. Sometimes I thought it all
a horrible nightmare from which I should presently awaken. Then the
realization of the terrible truth would come to me, engendering a grief
that seemed unbearable.
I mentally reviewed the many kindnesses of my uncle. I thought of his
generous self-sacrifice, that I might be educated to cope with the world;
and now that the time had come when I should be of service to him—when
his very life was to be taken—I was failing him, failing miserably.
I cudgeled my numb brain for some way of outwitting the superstitious
farmers. Once I thought of wresting the gun from my guard and fighting
the mob alone, but I knew this would be useless. I would merely delay,
not defeat, the grisly plans of these men, and would be almost sure to
lose my own life in the attempt. I was faint and weak, and my broken ribs
pained incessantly.
All too soon, we arrived at the pine grove, and moved toward a point from
which the rays of a lantern glimmered faintly through the trees. A few
moments more, and we were beside a shallow grave at which the six grim
sextons, masked like their companions, waited.
The casket was placed in the grave and the lid removed. Then a long,
stout stake, sharply pointed with iron, was brought forward, and two men
with heavy sledges moved, one to each side of the grave.
Here a discussion arose as to whether it would be better to drive the
stake through the body and then replace the lid, or to put the lid on
first and then drive the stake through the entire coffin. The latter plan
was finally decided upon, and the lid replaced, when we were all startled
by a terrible screaming coming from a thicket, perhaps a hundred yards
distant. It was the voice of a woman in mortal terror.
“_Help!_ Save me—save me!” she cried. “Oh, my God, will nobody save me?”
In a moment, all was confusion. Stake and mauls were dropped, and
everyone rushed toward the thicket. The cries redoubled as we approached.
Presently we saw a woman running through the underbrush, and after a
chase of several minutes, overtook her. My heart leaped to my throat as I
recognized Ruth Randall.
She was crouching low, as if in deadly fear of something which she seemed
to be trying to push away from her—something invisible, imperceptible,
to us. Her beautiful hair hung below her waist, and her clothing was
bedraggled and torn.