CHAPTER VI.THE MYSTERY DEEPENS.
Jim McCabe had formed a villainous plot when he heard that the Morelands were about to remove down the river, and, now that they were gone, he proceeded at once to put it into execution. He had had this plot in his mind when he told Isabel that she would be in his power before the lapse of two days, and he vowed again and again to himself that his scheme should be carried out to the letter. He was a desperate man when aroused to a frenzy by repeated reverses, and, now that he had been cast off in anger by the woman he had hoped to win by fair means, he swore by all that was good and bad that she should be his in spite of all opposition. He had committed worse deeds than this he had in contemplation;therefore he did not hesitate to undertake it on the score of conscientious scruples.
That night, as soon as the Moreland family had set out for the river, McCabe went to his cabin, armed himself with a gun, pistol and knife, secured about his person an ample supply of ammunition, and otherwise equipped himself in a manner indicating a dangerous journey in view.
This done, which took considerable time, he left the fort without delay. As he passed out he stopped at the gate long enough to inform the sentry that he need not be expected back that night, as he would be gone two days or more. The sentry indulged in a prolonged whistle of surprise, and looked closely at the man, observing that his face was flushed redder than usual and that his eyes shone with an unnatural light.
“Whar the nation be ye goin’?” he asked, suspiciously.
“No matter,” muttered the villain, and then he hurried on to avoid further questioning, leaving the sentry to conjecture that “the blamed cuss was up to some new piece o’ deviltry.”
“I wonder if I’ll succeed?” mused McCabe, as he hastened on through the darkness. “If I can find Simon Girty before the game has reached a place of refuge, success is certain; but the question is, will I find him? Without his services I can see how the thing will result; but if he is not to be found I shall undertake the task alone at all hazards, rather than throw up my hand without an attempt to win. Christopher! wouldn’t there be a bigfuroreat the fort should my intimacy with that notorious renegade, Girty, be discovered? My life wouldn’t be worth shucks. I would be thrown into confinement beyond a doubt, and then, when the innocence of the place was wrapped in slumber, an infuriated mob would take me out and string me up with a little less ceremony than was awarded to Russell Trafford. By the way—”
Jim McCabe stopped suddenly, and stood stock-still. An idea struck him. He trembled to think of such a thing, yet he was seized with a desire to look once more on the grave of Russell Trafford before going away! To be sure he had not effaced a previous occasion from his memory, when such a desire led him to the most terrible fright he had ever received;but this time the attraction was stronger than before, and he half-believed that he might now gloat over the grave of his rival undisturbed. Isabel Moreland had gone away, and she could not meet anybody there now, ghost or mortal, so he deemed it probable that he would find the coast clear to-night.
He acted upon the irresistible impulse, and that without any unnecessary loss of time, for he had evidently begun a journey that would not admit of procrastination. Turning aside from the course he had been pursuing, he bent his footsteps toward the glade. He looked to the priming of his gun, and began to exercise caution as he proceeded, for fear that somebody was indeed there, who would be apprised of his approach unless he stepped with care.
“Of course nobody is there,” he said to himself, “but it is best to be careful. I wish I could forget that I ever saw any thing frightful in that haunted place; but even rum has lost its power to drown the memory of that awful night. I can no longer doubt that it was a spirit I saw, for Kirby Kidd, and Wapawah, and Nick Robbins were there, and they saw nothing. But how can I account forherbeing there in the embrace of that unearthly shadow? She, a living mortal, holding tryst with a—Well, it is simply inexplicable, and it drives me to distraction to think of it. Could it have been my imagination, after all, that made his face resemble that one under the ground? My mind was full of Trafford, and it is not very strange that I should fancy a resemblance. But no. I have discarded that idea a hundred times already, because it isn’t possible that I could be so deceived. True, every one else who has seen him declares that he is a stranger, but they all admit that they did not obtain a fair view of his face.”
While thus communing with himself, McCabe was moving along slowly and cautiously, scarcely misplacing a twig, or rustling a leaf, in his progress. But, no sooner had he finished his monologue than he suddenly came to a dead halt, and bent forward in a listening attitude.
No wonder, for he distinctly heard the low hum of voices, rising and falling in calm, smooth tones, as if engaged in friendly and familiar conversation. The sound came fromsome point directly in front of him—evidently from the glade!
The profligate began to tremble with fear. His first impulse was to take to his heels, and make them do good service until he was far away from that vicinity; but before he could follow this impulse he had recovered his courage. Repenting his temporary weakness, he determined to be bold, and then curiosity came to his assistance, and he resolved to find out who the parties were who had preceded him. Surely they were not the same he had seen there, for he knew that Isabel had gone away with her father and mother. But he must see to know, and see he would.
Dropping down on his hands and knees, he advanced stealthily toward the glade, as the panther approaches its prey. The voices grew more distinct as he drew nearer to the speakers, and once or twice he paused to listen as he fancied he detected the dulcet tones of a female voice. But he could not be certain.
When he had gone so far that he could go no further without exposing himself to the parties from whom he was hiding, he stopped and rose slowly to his feet behind a large tree. He was gratified to find that he had reached this place of concealment without being discovered, and he now observed that it was an excellent point from which to view the whole length of the glade. Peering around the tree slyly, he looked out into the opening.
There, sure enough, were two human forms sitting side by side on the grave! One of them was that of a woman, too, as he could plainly see, and the other was a fine-looking man, bareheaded and dressed in a suit of somber black. Her hands were in his, and they were looking into each other’s eyes in a manner that could not be mistaken. They were conversing pleasantly, but in such low tones that few of the words were distinguishable. Jim McCabe leaned forward to give them a closer look. The next instant his knees struck together, his eyes started half out of their sockets, and he scarcely suppressed the cry that sprung to his lips.
The man and woman sitting on the grave were Russell Trafford and Isabel Moreland!
It would be difficult to describe the feelings that harrowedthe villain’s breast as he made this discovery, but fear, amazement, and indomitable rage were predominant. This time the appearance of the girl there was more wonderful than that of the man, to him, for he deemed it not nearly so strange for a spirit to walk the earth, as he did for a human being to be present at two places at the same time; and he had certainly seen Isabel go away with her parents that evening.
When his fear had subsided his blood began to boil with furious anger, as on the first occasion. He not only found it impossible to control himself, but he scarcely knew what he did.
“By the Eternal!” he shrieked, “’tis the second time I have been fated to look on this scene, and if that man is not a ghost he shall be one in less than a minute! Curse you, take that!”
McCabe threw up his rifle and leveled it at the couple on the grave. He did not aim at the man particularly. In his fierce passion he cared but little which one he shot.
There was a flash and a report, followed by a suppressed scream. Then Jim McCabe leaped out from behind the tree, clubbed his gun and bounded out into the open glade. He dashed through the cloud of smoke that had been caused by the discharge of his piece, and in another moment was standing beside the grave.
Nobody was there!The baffled wretch glared about him like a madman. Not a living thing was within range of his gleaming eyes! Not the slightest sound of a footstep told him that they had fled from him. What had become of them so quickly? Had his aim proved untrue? and had they made good their escape in so short a space of time, and so noiselessly that they could not be heard? These, and a score of similar questions, flashed through the bewildered man’s mind, as he stood by the grave, staring wildly around and listening in vain for the sound of a retreating footstep. He knew he had seen them sitting there where he was now standing; but how they had vanished so quickly was an unfathomable mystery. He walked round the edge of the wood, looking behind trees, and thrusting the barrel of his gun into the bushes, but discovered no trace of those for whom he was searching.Then he stopped and pressed his hand to his brow, with an effort to calm his excited brain.
“I must be doomed,” he thought. “I have heard of people seeing such visions, but they always die shortly afterward.”
“Hallo, stranger! How dew you dew?” called out a sharp, nasal voice at that juncture.
McCabe whirled round and placed himself on the defensive in a twinkling. But he instantly lowered his weapon with a show of recognition, as he found himself face to face with a singular-looking specimen of thegenushomo, who wore a blue swallow-tail coat, and a tall white hat with the nap brushed the wrong way. It was the Yankee clock-peddler, who had been hanging about the settlement for the last week or two, and who, it will be remembered, had previously introduced himself to McCabe, much to that gentleman’s vexation.
“Youhere?” he exclaimed, staring in wonder at the intruder, as the latter grasped his hand in an iron gripe, and began to talk to him familiarly.
“Wal, yas,” answered the Yankee, with a huge grin; “I calkilate this isme, and ef itisme I’mhere. As Tabitha Simpson used tew say—”
“How came you here?” demanded McCabe, uneasily.
“Now I consider that a leetle tew steep, mister,” declared the clock-peddler, gravely. “I’m Jonathan Boggs, all the way from Maine, and I’m ’customed tew dewin’ jest as I darn please when I’m tew hum, and I guess I mought venture tew foller up the rule out in these diggin’s. When mother told me as how I shouldn’t go tew a corn-shuckin’ one night, I swore I’d dew as I pleased about it, and Idid—but I tuck the headache, though, and concluded to stay hum. When I robbed neighbor Green’s hen-roost, I found it convenient to slope, and Isloped, ’thout axin’ the advice or opinion of anybody; and you may tear every brass button off o’ my coat ef I go back till they promise to let me alone. How came me here? did you ask? I swan tew man—”
“Stop!” cried McCabe. “Tell me, how long have you been here?”
“’Bout five feet ten, ’cordin’ tew last measure; but maybe I am longer ’n that now, seein’ I’ve growed some since I left Maine.”
“No, no!” said the other, impatiently; “you misunderstood me. What length of time have you been here?”
“Been where?”
“Why, here, in the vicinity—this spot?”
“Wal,” drawled the Yankee, scratching his head, “I s’pect I been in this vicinity several minutes, ef not longer.”
“Have you seen any thing while you were here?”
“See’d any thing? Wal, not a great deal. It’s rayther tew darkish, like, tew see any thing, ain’t it, mister?”
“I—I don’t know. Did youhearany thing, then?”
Jonathan Boggs took a step backward, hung his tall hat on the back part of his head, thrust his hands into his pockets, and gave the inquisitive man a most searching look.
“See here!” he exclaimed, “what dew you take me for?”
“Eh?”
“Are you pokin’ fun at me, or not?”
“Most assuredly not!”
“Then what’s the matter—say? You ax more foolish questions than a child ’ud think of, and I won’t stand it. I’m Jonathan Boggs of Maine,Iam, and I’m a full-fledged game-chicken with an eye to biziness. I’m a hull team, with an extra hoss for up-hill emergencies, and ef you think you can out-pull me, hitch on behind and stretch yourself. I’m a reg’lar screecher, and can whip my weight in famished bed-bugs, without the least assistance from any quarter whatsumever, and drat my skin ef I cain’t pump the cuss dry as says I can’t squint the bark off of a beech-limb! I’ve got a powerful reach; I can pull a nigger’s hair at ten yards!”
How long the clock-peddler would have continued to enumerate his wonderful qualifications, must forever remain unknown, as Jim McCabe soon saw proper to interrupt him.
“For heaven’s sake desist,” he pleaded. “You are offended because I asked you a question. I have an object, I assure you.”
The “down-east” specimen seemed to relent at this.
“Maybe I’m in the wrong,” he said, after a pause. “I believe you axed me ef I’d heern any thing?”
“Yes.”
“Now that is a queer question, and no mistake. Heern any thing! Drat it, man, d’ you s’pose I’m deef? Howcould I help hearin’ you when you screeched out like a red Injun, and shot a salute over the last restin’-place o’ the poor cuss as sleeps beneath this sod?”
“Did you hear that?”
“Did I? Why, chaw me up, I thought at first you was bangin’ away at me, and I flew tew kiver in the jerk of a possum’s ear.”
“Where were you?”
“Where was I? When you let that dot-rotted gun o’ your’n go off I was settin’ right thar on that grave—”
“What!”
Jim McCabe staggered back like a drunken man, with blanched face and staring eyes!
“Lord, mister, what’s the matter?” asked the Yankee.
“Noth—nothing,” stammered the ruffian, with a mighty effort to compose himself. “It’s—it’s nothing—at all. I—never mind—only a slight ner—nervous attack. I believe you said you were sitting on the grave when I discharged my piece?”
“That’s jest what I said.”
“And who was with you?”
“Me, and myself, and Jonathan Boggs. Nobody was with me.”
“You were alone, then?”
“Yas.”
“Youlie!” almost screamed the profligate.
“Hey!” ejaculated the Yankee. “See here, mister, that ’ere’s amightystrong expression for a man o’ your heft tew spout forth tew a State o’ Maine wild-cat. I’ve a powerful itchin’ tew swipe you one across the bill for that, you goll-darn, sneakin’, ignominious fag-end o’ creation, you! By the jumpin’ Jemima! ef I didn’t know you was subject to crazy-spells, I’m blowed ef I wouldn’t paint your cheeks for you. I lie, dew I? Oh, wade intew me, and let me knock you intew a grease-spot. Lucky for you, mister, that you ain’t smart, for ef you was I’d do like Tabitha Simpson used tew say her brother done—”
But Jim McCabe waited to hear no more. Suddenly remembering that he was wasting precious moments, and beginning to entertain a perfect horror of that spot, he determinedto be off without further loss of time. Shouldering his gun, he strode past Boggs without a word, and walked rapidly away.
“Hold on!” shouted Jonathan. “Where you gwine tew?”
“Go to the devil!” was the savage response.
“The same tew yew and yewr’n,” called out the imperturbable clock-peddler. Jim McCabe made no reply to this, but plunged resolutely into the gloomy forest, and resumed his night-journey toward the west. His nerves were completely shattered, and he shook as if he were afflicted with ague, but he set his face firmly against all obstacles, and pushed steadily on.
“I wonder if I really am subject to spells of insanity?” he whispered, shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t think of that, till that fellow mentioned it. He saidhewas sitting on the grave when I shot, and I could take my oath I saw Trafford and Miss Moreland there as plain as I ever saw them in my life. Good God! what can it mean? Surely I could not be insane without knowing it afterward, but how else can it be explained? Oh, this will drive me mad if I don’t banish it from my mind. I almost wish I had not committed that awful deed, but now that it is done, I shall gain my purpose or die! Yes, by the stars in yonder sky, that haughty girl shall be mine ere the setting of two more suns.”