“I hardly know why I drew the weapon,” he answered, turning very red, “but surely with no intention of using it. But, my friends, how came you here at this hour of the night?” he added, not caring particularly to continue the subject.
“How kum us hyur? Wal, ye see, Nick, thar, is a great coon-hunter, an’ me an’ the red-skin volunteered to ’kump’ny him to-night on one of his nocturnal tramps. But that reminds me, kumrids, that it’s time we wur movin’ on.”
“And I must return home,” said McCabe. “So good night.”
They parted, and while the three hunters went their way Jim McCabe walked slowly homeward.
He was sorely troubled. He could not banish his strange adventure from his mind. That he had seen either the ghost or exact counterpart of Russell Trafford, he was morally certain, and that the female who joined him was the beautiful Isabel, he was ready to swear. A train of horrible thoughts passed through his mind as he walked through the dark woods, and then he began to glance suspiciously around on every side, and tremble unconsciously at every rustle of a leaf. Once he stopped short and caught his breath, at sight of his own shadow on the trunk of a tree, and then he hurried on, chiding himself for his weakness. Nor did he feel safe until he had dashed through the gate, and found himself once more within the stockade.
“Strange,” he whispered to himself, as he hastened home; “’tis very strange indeed, but I know that I was not walking in my sleep. I believe that I am haunted. It never occurred to me before to-night that I am a double murderer!”
CHAPTER IV.
POOR ISABEL!
To say that Jim McCabe soon forgot his midnight adventure would not be speaking truthfully, for he did not. It preyed upon his mind so continuously that his once red face began to grow pale and haggard, and his eyes hollow. He unconsciously acquired the habit of falling into a deep reverie when alone, and on such occasions he started nervously when spoken to, and stared wildly around. In his dreams he saw visions of Russell Trafford and Isabel Moreland standing by the grave in the glade, and sometimes it seemed as if they were joined there by Doctor Trafford, the murdered man. He could not muster up courage sufficient to pay that lonely tomb another visit after dark, for, though always before he laughed at the mere idea of ghosts appearing to mortals on this earth, he now firmly believed that he had seen the spirit of a dead man! He could not, nor did he attempt to, explain the mysterious actions of Isabel, and her meeting with the supposed ghost, but he thought of it a great deal, and even told the girl’s father about it.
Yes, embracing the first opportunity that offered, McCabe related the circumstance to Moreland. That is to say, he informed that gentleman that he had seen his daughter meet a man in the woods; but he forbore mentioning the resemblance of the man to Russell Trafford, for fear such a statement would make him an object of ridicule. Mr. Moreland was sadly grieved by the intelligence. It is hardly probable that he would have put any faith in the testimony of such an unreliable person as Jim McCabe, had he not heard the same story from other sources. Different parties, happening by the glade on different nights, had come to him with the information that they had been very much surprised by seeing his daughter meet a man there in a very loverlike manner. None of them was prepared to say who the man was, since they had not been able to see his face, but that of Isabel seemed to have been plainly visible on each and every occasion.