CHAPTER V.
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.
I was first to reach her side.
“Ruth! What is the matter?”
“Oh, that huge bat—that terrible bat with the fiery eyes! Drive him away from me! Don’t let him get me! Please! Please!”
I tried to soothe her in my arms. She looked up, her eyes distended with terror.
“There he is—right behind you! Oh, don’t let him get me! Please don’t let him get me!”
I looked back, but could see nothing resembling a bat. The armed men stood around us in a circle.
“There is no bat behind me,” I said. “You are overwrought. Don’t be frightened.”
“But there is a bat. I can see him. He is flying around us in a circle now. Don’t you see him flying there?” and she described an arc with her hand. “You men have guns. Shoot him. Drive him away.”
Glitch spoke. “It’s der vampire again. Ve’ll put a schtop to dis business right now. Come on, men.”
We started back to the grove. I was nonplussed—mystified. Perhaps there was such a thing as a vampire, after all. But no, that could not be. She was only the victim of overwrought nerves.
Once more we stood beside the grave. Two men were screwing down the coffin lid. The three with the stake and sledges stood ready. I saw that Miss Randall was trembling with the cold, for she had come out without a wrap, and, removing my coat, I placed it around her.
The professor stood at the foot of the grave, looking down calmly at the men. He appeared almost unconcerned.
The stake was placed on the spot calculated to be directly above the left breast of my uncle, and the man nearest me raised his sledge to strike.
I leaped toward him.
“Don’t strike! For God’s sake, don’t strike!” I cried, seizing his arm.
Someone hit me on the back of the head, and strong arms dragged me back. My senses reeled, as I saw first one heavy sledge descend, then another. The stake crashed through the coffin and deep into the ground beneath, driven by the relentless blows.
Suddenly, apparently from the bottom of the grave, came a muffled, wailing cry, increasing to a horrible, blood-curdling shriek.
The mob stood for a moment as if paralyzed, then, to a man, fled precipitately, stopping for neither weapons nor tools. I found temporary relief in unconsciousness....
My senses returned to me gradually. I was walking, or, rather, reeling, as one intoxicated, between Miss Randall and her father, who were helping me toward the house. The professor was carrying a lantern which one of the men had dropped, and fantastic, swaying, bobbing shadows stretched wherever its rays penetrated.
After what seemed an age of painful travel we reached the house, and Miss Randall helped me into the front room, the professor following. Sam and Joe Severs were there, and someone reclined in the large morris chair facing the fire. Mrs. Rhodes came bustling in with a steaming tea wagon.
I moved toward the fire, for I was chilled through. As I did so, I glanced toward the occupant of the morris chair, then gave a startled cry.
The man in the chair was Uncle Jim!
“Hello, Billy,” he said. “How are you, my boy?”
For a moment I was speechless. “Uncle Jim!” I managed to stammer. “Is it really you, or am I dreaming again?”
Ruth squeezed my arm reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. It is really your uncle.”
I knelt by the chair and felt Uncle Jim’s arm about my shoulders. “Yes, it is really I, Billy. A bit weak and shaken, perhaps, but I’ll soon be as sound as a new dollar.”
“But how—when—how did you get out of that horrible grave?”
“First, I will ask Miss Ruth if she will be so kind as to preside over the tea wagon. Then I believe my friend Randall can recount the events of the evening much more clearly and satisfactorily than I.”
“Being, perhaps, more familiar with the evening’s deep-laid plot than some of those present, I accept the nomination,” replied the professor, smiling, “although, in doing so, I do not want to detract one iota from the honor due my fellow plotters for their most efficient assistance, without which my plan would have been a complete failure.”
Tea was served, cigars were lighted, and the professor began:
“In the first place, I am sure you will all be interested in knowing the cause of the epidemic on account of which some of our neighbors have reverted to the superstition of the dark ages. It is explained by an article in The Peoria Times, which I brought with me this afternoon, but did not have time to read until a moment ago, which states that the countryside is being swept by a new and strange malady known as ‘sleeping sickness,’ and that physicians have not, as yet, found any efficient means of combating the disease.
“Now for this evening’s little drama. You will, no doubt, recall, Mr. Ansley, that before we joined the funeral procession, I requested a moment’s conversation with my daughter. The events which followed were the result of that conversation.
“In order that the plan might be carried out, it was necessary for her first to gain the help of Joe and Sam here, and then make a quick detour around the procession. I know that there are few men who will not rush to the rescue of a woman in distress, and I asked her to call for help in order to divert the mob from the grave. She thought of the bat idea herself, and I must say it worked most excellently.
“While everyone was gone, Joe and Sam, who had stationed themselves nearby, came and helped me remove your uncle from the casket. As we did so, I noticed signs of returning consciousness, brought about in some measure, no doubt, by the rude jolting of the casket. Then the boys carried him to the house, while I replaced the lid. You are all familiar with what followed.”
“But that unearthly shriek from the grave,” I said. “It sounded like the cry of a dying man.”
“Ventriloquism,” said the professor, “nothing more. A simple little trick I learned in my high school days. It was I who shrieked.”
Uncle Jim and I convalesced together.
When my ribs were knitted and his strength was restored, it was decided that he should go to Florida for the winter, and that I should have charge of the farm. He said that my education and training should make me a far more capable manager than he, and that the position should be mine as long as I desired it.
He delayed his trip, however, until a certain girl, who had made me a certain promise, exchanged the name of Randall for that of Ansley. Then he left us to our happiness.