CHAPTER III.
“BEWARE!”
Walter, after being nursed a while by the tender hands of Katie, bid her an affectionate good-evening, and started toward his lonely bachelor-hall, which was situated beyond the cabin of Hans Winkler a mile, and down the stream. Half of the distance home lay through the settlement, while the other was rendered dismal and gloomy by the road’s running through a projecting cape of Dead-Man’s Forest.
It was a lonely, gloomy walk to take in an unsettled country, and through a skirt of such an ill-omened wood. But Walter was sturdy and bold, and thought nothing of it. What danger? had he not a revolver? could he not shoot with the best? Certainly; what had he to fear?
He strode along with his hands in his pockets, musing. His thoughts were partially pleasant and gloomy. He had been unable to avenge an insult offered to the girl he idolized; he had been “knocked out of time” by an effeminate youth; and mauger the salve, his eyes were purple and swollen, and his face was bruised; never mind—he would search out Danforth in the morning.
On the other hand, she had tenderly cried over and tended him; she had shown, without doubt, she devotedly loved him; and in the spring she would be his own loved wife.
What more could a young man, very handsome and intelligent, in the full vigor of early manhood, in possession of a good farm which in a few years would yield him a good living, desire?
“No more,” he said, after a mental calculation.
What! was it possible here was a contented man? No; a lingering drop of gall remained; he was smarting at defeat, and bruised eyes. He would show him to-morrow—that he would.
He passed Hans’ cabin, and noticed it was dark and silent; then he continued, whistling.
Before him lay a short reach of open, moonlit glade, then came Dead-Man’s Forest.
Every thing was in perfect repose. In front the dark, somber wood stretched away; behind was the settlement, sleeping on the hill; and around him was the ghostly, quiet glade.
“You are treading on dangerous ground; take care!”
Hallo! who said that in such a quiet, far-away voice? Who spoke? Hallo!
The voice did not reach his ears—he did not hear it; but it spoke for all that. He went on.
He was plunging into the haunted forest; in another moment he would be lost to sight in the ghostly mazes.
“You are treading on dangerous ground; take care!”
He did not hear the warning, and went on. He passed a thick tree in the middle of the wood; a man glided out from behind its trunk; there was a dull, heavy blow, a deep, rattling groan, a fall; and a man was bleeding on the ground in Dead Man’s Forest.
Robert Jeffries returned to his cabin, very much out of humor. His revenge was yet to come; he was forced to wait; and he ground his teeth.
A light was burning in the little cabin when he entered, and Katie was sitting by it, sewing. She looked very sweet and lovely as she sat there, and his heart first softened, then became adamant; let any man insult her—the tenderest, purest girl in the world.
She greeted him with an anxious look.
“Well, father?”
“I couldn’t find the villain—curse him!”
“Oh, father, I’m so glad!”
“Glad of what, gal? When a man insults ye and gits out’n yer father’s reach, air ye glad?”
“Oh, father, he wanted me to marry him.” (This with a blush—very red.)
“The skunk!”
“And I am glad because you did not have a quarrel.”
“I ain’t; I’ll fix him! Marry you! Why, gal, ye don’t mean to say ye like him?”
“No, father; far from it. I am afraid of him; but perhaps—perhaps—”
“Wal?”
“Perhaps he—loved—me—so he could not control himself. I am sure he is not to blame for loving me.”
A woman all over. They never think the less of a man for loving them, however low he may be. If they did they would be disparaging themselves.
“I guess yer’d better go ter bed—I’m going.”
She arose and lighted another candle and then kissed him tenderly.
“Good-night, dear father,” she said. “A pleasant night and happy dreams. I know you will feel softer in the morning. Good-night.”
The cabin contained two rooms; one sacred as her sleeping room, the other the kitchen, parlor, dining and her father’s sleeping room.
She had a bedstead with a soft bed, pure and white as was she; he had a double blanket, with a valise for a pillow; she had a window in her room large enough for a bear to clamber through; he had none.
The window was of glass and opened like a door—on hinges. It was about five feet from the floor and was usually kept closed at night with a button, but as the summer nights were hot and uncomfortable, she left it open to admit the cool breeze—in her innocence never dreading harm.
She went into her room and closed the door, her father directly going to bed, sleeping on his gun; Robert Jeffries was wary.
After she had gone to bed and had put out the candle, she lay thinking of Walter, smiling, and feeling very happy. In the spring he would be her husband.
After she had thought and happily dreamed a delicious wide-awake dream, she felt cool. Should she close the window? She had better; she had grown timid of late. But she called herself a timid, weak thing and resolved to leave it open. She did; and went to sleep.
“Trouble is coming; take care!”
Hallo! away down there in the dark, grim wood. Who is talking at this time of night? Hallo!
She went to sleep, so did Robert Jeffries, and the window was open.
The moon rose into the zenith and looked down from her pale face upon three different objects: a forest, a river, and a cabin.
In the forest a silent form lay cold, still and bloody, near a thick tree; a man stood over him, looking quietly down upon him.
The watcher spoke in a strange, far-away voice.
“Trouble is coming; take care, take care.”
He turned and was gone with a very white face, a silent, swift tread, and a cold, staring eye.
On the bank of the river a negro crept back and forth by the cabin of the German. He was evidently waiting for some one, as he stopped now and then and peered intently toward the cabin on the hill, then kept his creeping pace.
A man kept along a dark shadow, stealing toward the cabin. He drew near, then listened; crept on a little, then listened again. All was quiet; he stole up to its walls, then stopped and listened a third time.
Jeffries was snoring inside. He crept round to the other side and stood under the window. Inside was beauty, innocence and virtue; outside was beauty, cunning and wickedness. He placed his hand on the sill.
Creak!
He peered in. By the pale moonlight he could see the fair girl in deep sleep—deep and placid. The pure white covering fell daintily over her as she lay there, with a smile on her lips, and a sweet expression on her face. She was dreaming of him.
He could not hear her breath—it was too soft and gentle; but he could tell by the gentle rise and fall, and by the placid expression of her face, that she was in a deep sleep.
Creak!
He stood for a moment, gazing at her, with a smile on his comely face. Then he turned and went from the shadow of the cabin out into the bright moonlight. Drawing a white handkerchief from his green coat he waved it briskly above his head.
Down on the river bank, near the German’s cabin, a bright light glowed for a moment, and a white object waved. Then both disappeared.
He stole back with another smile and again stood under the window.
Creak!
She moved, then turned gently, smiling sweetly in her sleep as she did so, and one word escaped her lips:
“Walter!”
The man outside smiled sweeter than ever at this and again placed his hand on the sill.
“Take care! beware!”
He started as if he had been shot, and cowered under the wall in affright. He had heard a loud, shrill voice away in the forest utter those words, and a deadly fear overcame him.
For many times of late he had heard that voice, warning him of evil; too many times he had laughed at it; but now?
Creak!
He was thoroughly frightened and fairly shook with fear, though a bolder man never trod the earth. He might well shake.
He listened for a repetition but it did not come. Then after a few moments he recovered and laughed at himself, and again for the third time placed his hand on the sill.
Creak!
Three times he had placed his hand on the sill ready to enter; it was loose and it creaked; but the fair sleeper, unconscious of danger, slept sweetly on.
He listened and peered a last time, and then cautiously mounted the sill. Half in the window he stopped, fearful lest the shadow might awaken her; but she still slept on.
He dropped lightly to the floor and crept to the bed. Gazing at her as she lay there, a wicked smile crept over his lips.
A low chirp came faintly to his ears; the sleepy chirp of a half-awakened bird.
He went to the window and waved his white handkerchief, then glided back to the bedside.
A shadow fell over the room; he turned and saw a round, woolly head in the window. He smiled again and gave a gesture of satisfaction.
Then he stole to the head of the bed, and took a small instrument from his pocket.
It was a piece of wood about an inch and a half square, padded with cotton, with a string knotted in both ends—it was a gag.
He reached over and with a quick, cunning movement, placed it in her mouth.
Then like a flash of lightning he passed the string around her neck; she was gagged!
She awoke with a start, and looked wildly at the man standing over her. She tried to scream—she could not. Then she rose upright with terror depicted on her face, and her eyes wore a horrified expression.
She attempted to rise and fly but he held her fast. He had his hands full in a double sense, for she struggled violently, beating him with her hands, her whole nature aroused. He made a signal to the man outside.
He slid through the window with the agility and silence of a cat and stood beside him.
“Throw her clothing out of the window!” he whispered. The negro obeyed.
“Now get outside and take her!” He clambered out.
“Here she is. Ha! she’s fainted!”
She had. Unnerved by the suddenness and alarm of the scene, by the terror of maidenly modesty, she had fainted dead away and lay motionless in his arms.
He passed her out to the negro, who gave a chuckle of delight at his lovely burden.
Then he swiftly followed.
Once outside he listened intently. The heavy breathing of Jeffries inside was the only sound; he was soundly sleeping. The worst for the present was over.
“We must lose no time!” he whispered. “Now for Shadow Swamp!”
Silently in the moonlight they stole away, down the hill, past the few cabins, sleeping quietly. Katie’s fate was approaching.
She lay limp and quiet, with a white, scared face, beautiful in its alarmed expression. He clasped her tightly and hurried on.
When they had got to the cabin by the river, a faint shadow stole out from it, and ran like a streak of light toward Dead-Man’s Forest. They stopped, alarmed, and Downing, placing the form of Katie upon the ground, drew a revolver and cocked it. Cato, the Creeper, whipped out his razor.
Across the glade darted the shadow, and vanished in the recesses of the somber wood. Cato’s teeth chattered.
“Golly, Mars’r Cap’n. I’se afeard.” And his eyes rolled.
“Coward! afraid of what? Why, couldn’t you see it was a raccoon?”
“Oh, no, Mars’r Cap’n; dat warn’t no ’coon. Dis chile’s hunted ’em ’nuff ter know ’em. Golly, Mars’r Cap’n! dat war a ghost sure ’nuff!”
“Pshaw! ghost! See here, don’t you suppose I can see as well as you can? I tell you it was a raccoon. By George, I believe the bloke’s scared, sure enough.”
“Dat I am, Mars’r Cap’n—dat dis chile am! Ole Cato giv’ berry much to be out’n dis ’ere muss. I done tol’ yer, cap’n, Mars’r Cap’n, dat war Obeah sure ’nuff. I done see’d ’em onc’t afore. Golly! dis chile’s done gone dead!”
“Hold your tongue! what if it was a ghost? Spirits can not harm a man. If they did there wouldn’t be a live man in all the world. I want you to stop this nonsense right away. Don’t let me hear another word of it! d’ye understand? Time is scarce; come on, and keep still.”
Taking up his unfortunate prisoner, he motioned Cato to follow suit with the clothing he had dropped in his fright, and went rapidly across the glade, closely followed by the terrified negro. Five minutes later the glade was deserted, and Katie, sweet Katie, was in the hands of a villain, being hurried away to Shadow Swamp.
Hush! who is lying cold, still and bloody by a thick tree in Dead-Man’s Forest? Who is there to save him from a terrible death?
Hallo! who is talking in the depths of the haunted forest when the moon is looking calmly down? Who is silently gliding from shadowy tree to moonlight glade with ghastly face, robed in white, with a staring, steely eye? Hallo!
Who is speaking in a far-away voice to the quiet night? What is he saying? Who speaks? hallo!
“You are treading on dangerous ground; take care!”
“Take care!” whisper the forest echoes.
“Take care!”