It took a long time, and much coaxing and whisky, to get him to explain more fully. Finally he consented.
“We was trottin’ through that gulch they calls Rapheel’s Ravine—’count o’ the echo, I guess—an’ Bud Borresky was leadin’. We was all feelin’ pretty boisterous, when all of a sudden we hears a voice yell ‘Halt!’ We don’t see nobody at all, but we don’t waste no time comin’ to a stop.
“Well, we waits awhile without sayin’ nothin’; but I can see everybody’s kind o’ loosenin’ up his shootin’ iron, Then a figger rides out from behind a big rock about thirty yards ahead. It’s all rigged out in a kind o’ shapeless black cloth or somethin’, an’ has a sort o’ hood over its head. Couldn’t see no face at all! There was somethin’ on its chest that looked like a letter.
“I ain’t a goin’ to deny as how I gits to feelin’ kind o’ creepy! The moon was up, an’ the light, comin’ down from the openin’ at the top, was queer an’—an’ confusin’. The place is full o’ big boulders, an’ the shadows an’ bushes an’—oh, hell!” He took another gulp of the liquor, and stared gratefully into the empty glass for several minutes. Finally he drew a long breath and resumed.
“Well, this black thing eyes us a couple o’ minutes an’ then says, kind o’ quiet an’ convincin’, ‘Better turn round an’ go back. If you value your lives, don’t try any more o’ these excursions!’
“Boys, I knows right off I has heard that voice before. I couldn’t make out who it was, but it was somebody from this here town.
“But don’t say nothin’ for a second or two. Then he pushes his gun out. ‘You damn night-runnin’ coyotes!’ he yells, ‘I’ll git one o’ you anyhow!’ With that he lets fly. The black figger gives a little cry, rolls around in the saddle, an’ drops off.
“Then I hears a whistle blowin’ loud an’ shrill. Good Gawd! At that a reg’lar flock o’ them black birds dashes out everywhere, an’ the whole place busts into uproar! Guns begins crackin’ from behind every bush an’ rock, an’ the noise an’ echoes ’d wake the dead. Bud an’ about five o’ the other boys goes down with the first volley. We tries to git in a few shots ourselves, but we was wastin’ lead—didn’t seem to have no heart in the work, nohow! Some o’ the horses is hit, an’ they all begins kickin’ an’ tearin’ around. Fust thing you know, what’s left of us is gallopin’ back up the hollow hell-for-halleluiah, all mussed up an’ gittin’ in each other’s way! But we ain’t gone far when shots begins to from that end, too, an’ another flock o’ them hooded devils pops out! Some o’ the boys drops off. Gawd! I ain’t no good recollection o’ what happened after that, an’ I don’t know how I ever got out o’ that particular portion o’ Hades! A couple o’ them black figgers dashes out from behind rocks an’ comes after me on horseback. I ain’t denyin’ as how I give poor old Billy some rough persuasion—but there wasn’t no time for kindness an’ sympathy! I ain’t no clear idear when them two give it up—didn’t have no hankerin’ to look back! But I guess they must’ve followed nearly all the way to town!”
He resorted again to the bottle, then turned away. No amount of coaxing could induce him to delay and tell more. With drunken awkwardness, he mounted his horse, mumbled several times “I’m through, boys! I’m sayin’ ‘Adios,’” and vanished into the night.
The following morning a small party set out, very doubtfully and cautiously, for the scene of the encounter. They buried four of their former comrades, and brought home three whose wounds had received a rude first-aid from the night-riders. The other doughty members of that notable expedition, wounded and otherwise, were never seen again in Ramapo.