CHAPTER III
THE HAUNTING OF A CRIME
Murphy rested on his back in the midst of a thicket of willows, wideawake, yet not quite ready to ford the Fourche and plunge into thedense shadows shrouding the northern shore. Crouched behind a log, hehad so far yielded unto temptation as to light his pipe.
Murphy had been amid just such unpleasant environments many timesbefore, and the experience had grown somewhat prosaic. He realizedfully the imminent peril haunting the next two hundred miles, but suchdanger was not wholly unwelcome to his peculiar temperament; rather itwas an incentive to him, and, without a doubt, he would manage to pullthrough somehow, as he had done a hundred times before. EvenIndian-scouting degenerates into a commonplace at last. So Murphypuffed contentedly at his old pipe. Whatever may have been histhoughts, they did not burst through his taciturnity, and he reclinedthere motionless, no sound breaking the silence, save the ripplingwaters of the Fourche, and the occasional stamping of his horses asthey cropped the succulent valley grass.
But suddenly there was the faint crackle of a branch to his left, andone hand instantly closed over his pipe bowl, the other grasping theheavy revolver at his hip. Crouching like a startled tiger, with not amuscle moving, he peered anxiously into the darkness, his arm halfextended, scarcely venturing to breathe. There came a plain,undisguised rustling in the grass,--some prowling coyote, probably;then his tense muscles immediately relaxed, and he cursed himself forbeing so startled, yet he continued to grasp the "45" in his righthand, his eyes alert.
"Murphy!"
That single word, hurled thus unexpectedly out of the black night,startled him more than would a volley of rifles. He sprang half erect,then as swiftly crouched behind a willow, utterly unable to articulate.In God's name, what human could be out there to call? He would havesworn that there was not another white man within a radius of a hundredmiles. For the instant his very blood ran cold; he appeared to shrivelup.
"Oh, come, Murphy; speak up, man; I know you're in here."
That terror of the unknown instantly vanished. This was the familiarlanguage of the world, and, however the fellow came to be there, it wasassuredly a man who spoke. With a gurgling oath at his own folly,Murphy's anger flared violently forth into disjointed speech, thedeadly gun yet clasped ready for instant action.
"Who--the hell--are ye?" he blurted out.
The visitor laughed, the bushes rustling as he pushed toward the soundof the voice. "It's all right, old boy. Gave ye quite a scare, Ireckon."
Murphy could now dimly perceive the other advancing through theintervening willows, and his Colt shot up to the level. "Stop!--yetake another--step an' I 'll--let drive. Ye tell me--first--who ye be."
The invader paused, but he realized the nervous finger pressing thetrigger and made haste to answer. "It's all right, I tell ye. I 'mone o' Terry's scouts."
"Ye are? Jist the same--I've heard--yer voice--afore."
"Likely 'nough. I saw service in the Seventh."
Murphy was still a trifle suspicious. "How'd ye git yere? How 'd yecome ter know--whar I wus?"
The man laughed again. "Sorter hurts yer perfessional feelins, don'tit, old feller, to be dropped in on in this unceremonious way? But itwas dead easy, old man. Ye see I happened thro' Cheyenne only a coupleo' hours behind ye, with a bunch o' papers fer the Yellowstone. Thetrail's plain enough out this far, and I loped 'long at a pretty fairhickory, so thet I was up on the bluff yonder, and saw ye go into campyere just afore dark. You wus a-keepin' yer eyes skinned across theFourche, and naturally didn't expect no callers from them hills behind.The rest wus nuthin', an' here I am. It's a darn sight pleasanter terhev company travellin', ter my notion. Now kin I cum on?"
Murphy reluctantly lowered his Colt, every movement betrayingannoyance. "I reckon. But I 'd--a damn sight--rather risk it--alone."
The stranger came forward without further hesitation. The night wasfar too dark to reveal features, but to Murphy's strained vision thenewcomer appeared somewhat slender in build, and of good height.
"Whar'd--ye say ye--wus bound?"
"Mouth o' the Powder. We kin ride tergether fer a night or two."
"Ye kin--do as ye--please, but--I ain't a huntin'--no company,--an' I'ma'--goin' 'cross now."
He advanced a few strides toward his horses. Then suddenly he gavevent to a smothered cry, so startling as to cause the stranger tospring hastily after him.
"Oh! My God! Oh! Look there!"
"What is it, man?"
"There! there! The picture! Don't you see?"
"Naw; I don't see nuthin'. Ye ain't gone cracked, hev ye? Whosepicture?"
"It's there!--O Lord!--it's there! My God! can't ye see?--An' it's hisface--all a-gleamin' with green flames--Holy Mary--an' I ain't seenit--afore in--fifteen year!"
He seemed suddenly to collapse, and the stranger permitted him to droplimp to the earth.
"Darn if I kin see anythin', old man, but I 'll scout 'round thar abit, jest ter ease yer mind, an' see what I kin skeer up."
He had hardly taken a half-dozen steps before Murphy called after him:"Don't--don't go an' leave me--it's not there now--thet's queer!"
The other returned and stood gazing down upon his huddled figure."You're a fine scout! afeard o' spooks. Do ye take these yere turnsoften? Fer if ye do, I reckon as how I 'd sooner be ridin' alone."
Murphy struggled to his feet and gripped the other's arm. "Never hednuthin' like it--afore. But--but it was thar--all creepy--an'green--ain't seen thet face--in fifteen year."
"What face?"
"A--a fellow I knew--once. He--he's dead."
The other grunted, disdainfully. "Bad luck ter see them sort," hevolunteered, solemnly. "Blame glad it warn't me es see it, an' I don'tknow as I keer much right now 'bout keepin' company with ye fer verylong. However, I reckon if either of us calculates on doin' muchridin' ternight, we better stop foolin' with ghosts, an' go tersaddlin' up."
They made rapid work of it, the newcomer proving somewhat loquacious,yet holding his voice to a judicious whisper, while Murphy relapsedinto his customary sullen silence, but continued peering aboutnervously. It was he who led the way down the bank, the four horsesslowly splashing through the shallow water to the northern shore.Before them stretched a broad plain, the surface rocky and uneven, thenorthern stars obscured by ridges of higher land. Murphy promptly gavehis horse the spur, never once glancing behind, while the otherimitated his example, holding his animal well in check, beingapparently the better mounted.
They rode silently. The unshod hoofs made little noise, but a loosenedcanteen tinkled on Murphy's led horse, and he halted to fix it,uttering a curse. The way became more broken and rough as theyadvanced, causing them to exercise greater caution. Murphy clung tothe hollows, apparently guided by some primitive instinct to choose theright path, or else able, like a cat, to see the way through the gloom,his beacon a huge rock to the northward. Silently hour after hour,galloping, trotting, walking, according to the ground underfoot, thetwo pressed grimly forward, with the unerring skill of the border, intothe untracked wilderness. Flying clouds obscured the stars, yetthrough the rifts they caught fleeting glimpses sufficient to hold themto their course. And the encroaching hills swept in closer upon eitherhand, leaving them groping their way between as in a pocket, yet everadvancing north.
Finally they attained to the steep bank of a considerable stream, foundthe water of sufficient depth to compel swimming, and crept up theopposite shore dripping and miserable, yet with ammunition dry. Murphystood swearing disjointedly, wiping the blood from a wound in hisforehead where the jagged edge of a rock had broken the skin, butsuddenly stopped with a quick intake of breath that left him panting.The other man crept toward him, leading his horse.
"What is it now?" he asked, gruffly. "Hev' ye got 'em agin?"
The dazed old scout stared, pointing directly across the other'sshoulder, his arm shaking desperately.
"It's thar!-
-an' it's his face! Oh, God!--I know it--fifteen year."
The man glanced backward into the pitch darkness, but without movinghis body.
"There 's nuthin' out there, 'less it's a firefly," he insisted, in atone of contempt. "You're plum crazy, Murphy; the night's got on yernerves. What is it ye think ye see?"
"His face, I tell ye! Don't I know? It's all green and ghastly, withsnaky flames playin' about it! But I know; fifteen years, an' I ain'tfergot."
He sank down feebly--sank until he was on his knees, his head cranedforward. The man watching touched the miserable, hunched-up figurecompassionately, and it shook beneath his hand, endeavoring to shrinkaway.
"My God! was thet you? I thought it was him a-reachin' fer me. Here,let me take yer hand. Oh, Lord! An' can't ye see? It's just therebeyond them horses--all green, crawlin', devilish--but it's him."
"Who?"
"Brant! Brant--fifteen year!"
"Brant? Fifteen years? Do you mean Major Brant, the one Nolan killedover at Bethune?"
"He--he didn't--"
The old man heaved forward, his head rocking from side to side; thensuddenly he toppled over on his face, gasping for breath. Hiscompanion caught him, and ripped open the heavy flannel shirt. Then hestrode savagely across in front of his shrinking horse, tore down theflaring picture, and hastily thrust it into his pocket, the light ofthe phosphorus with which it had been drawn being reflected for amoment on his features.
"A dirty, miserable, low-down trick," he muttered. "Poor old devil!Yet I've got to do it, for the little girl."
He stumbled back through the darkness, his hat filled with water, anddashed it into Murphy's face. "Come on, Murphy! There's one goodthing 'bout spooks; they don't hang 'round fer long at a time. Likelyes not this 'un is gone by now. Brace up, man, for you an' I have gotter get out o' here afore mornin'."
Then Murphy grasped his arm, and drew himself slowly to his feet.
"Don't see nuthin' now, do ye?"
"No. Where's my--horse?"
The other silently reached him the loose rein, marking as he did so thequick, nervous peering this way and that, the starting at the slightestsound.
"Did ye say, Murphy, as how it wasn't Nolan after all who plugged theMajor?"
"I 'm damned--if I did. Who--else was it?"
"Why, I dunno. Sorter blamed odd though, thet ghost should bea-hauntin' ye. Darn if it ain't creepy 'nough ter make a fellerbelieve most anythin'."
Murphy drew himself up heavily into his saddle. Then all at once heshoved the muzzle of a "45" into the other's face. "Ye say nutherword--'bout thet, an' I 'll make--a ghost outer ye--blame lively. Now,ye shet up--if ye ride with me."
They moved forward at a walk and reached a higher level, across whichthe night wind swept, bearing a touch of cold in its breath as thoughcoming from the snow-capped mountains to the west. There was renewedlife in this invigorating air, and Murphy spurred forward, hiscompanion pressing steadily after. They were but two flitting shadowsamid that vast desolation of plain and mountain, their horses' hoofsbarely audible. What imaginings of evil, what visions of the past, mayhave filled the half-crazed brain of the leading horseman isunknowable. He rode steadily against the black night wall, as thoughunconscious of his actions, yet forgetting no trick, no skill of theplains. But the equally silent man behind clung to him like a shadowof doom, watching his slightest motion--a Nemesis that would never letgo.
When the first signs of returning day appeared in the east, the twoleft their horses in a narrow canyon, and crept to the summit of aridge. Below lay the broad valley of the Powder. Slowly the mistylight strengthened into gray, and became faintly tinged with crimson,while the green and brown tints deepened beneath the advancing light,which ever revealed new clefts in the distant hills. Amid those morenorthern bluffs a thin spiral of blue smoke was ascending. Undoubtedlyit was some distant Indian signal, and the wary old plainsman watchedit as if fascinated. But the younger man lay quietly regarding him, adrawn revolver in his hand. Then Murphy turned his head, and lookedback into the other's face.
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