“Poor Worthington!” said Merry. “I fear he will never be right again. It was his bullet that destroyed Sukes, yet no man can prove it. What he suffered after that during his flight into the desert, where he nearly perished for water, completely turned his brain.”
“You want to look out for him, Frank. I think he is dangerous.”
“Ridiculous, Hodge! He is as harmless as a child. When I let him, he follows me about like a dog.”
Even as Frank said this, a crouching figure came creeping to the door and peered in. It was a man with unshaven, haggard face and eyes from which the light of reason had fled.
“There he is!” exclaimed this man. “There is my ghost! Do you want me, ghost?”
“Come in, Worthington!” called Frank.
The man entered hesitatingly and stood near the table, never taking his eyes from Merry’s face for a moment.
“What you command, ghost, I must obey,” he said. “You own me, body and soul. Ha! ha! body and soul! But I have no soul! I bartered it with a wretch who deceived me! I was an honest man before that! Perhaps you don’t believe me, but I swear I was. You must believe me! It’s a terrible thing to be owned by a ghost who has no confidence in you. But why should my ghost have confidence! Didn’t I deceive him? Didn’t I kill him? I see it now. I see the fire! It is burning—it is burning there! He has found me as I am setting it. He springs upon me! He is strong—so strong! Ha! his feet slip! Down he goes! His head strikes! He is unconscious!”
The wretch seemed living over the terrible experiences through which he had passed on a certain night in Denver, when he set fire to Merriwell’s office and tried to burn Frank to death. He thought he had accomplished his purpose, and the appearance of his intended victim alive had turned his brain.