“I wonder if I’ll succeed?” mused McCabe, as he hastened on through the darkness. “If I can find Simon Girty before the game has reached a place of refuge, success is certain; but the question is, will I find him? Without his services I can see how the thing will result; but if he is not to be found I shall undertake the task alone at all hazards, rather than throw up my hand without an attempt to win. Christopher! wouldn’t there be a big furore at the fort should my intimacy with that notorious renegade, Girty, be discovered? My life wouldn’t be worth shucks. I would be thrown into confinement beyond a doubt, and then, when the innocence of the place was wrapped in slumber, an infuriated mob would take me out and string me up with a little less ceremony than was awarded to Russell Trafford. By the way—”
Jim McCabe stopped suddenly, and stood stock-still. An idea struck him. He trembled to think of such a thing, yet he was seized with a desire to look once more on the grave of Russell Trafford before going away! To be sure he had not effaced a previous occasion from his memory, when such a desire led him to the most terrible fright he had ever received; but this time the attraction was stronger than before, and he half-believed that he might now gloat over the grave of his rival undisturbed. Isabel Moreland had gone away, and she could not meet anybody there now, ghost or mortal, so he deemed it probable that he would find the coast clear to-night.
He acted upon the irresistible impulse, and that without any unnecessary loss of time, for he had evidently begun a journey that would not admit of procrastination. Turning aside from the course he had been pursuing, he bent his footsteps toward the glade. He looked to the priming of his gun, and began to exercise caution as he proceeded, for fear that somebody was indeed there, who would be apprised of his approach unless he stepped with care.
“Of course nobody is there,” he said to himself, “but it is best to be careful. I wish I could forget that I ever saw any thing frightful in that haunted place; but even rum has lost its power to drown the memory of that awful night. I can no longer doubt that it was a spirit I saw, for Kirby Kidd, and Wapawah, and Nick Robbins were there, and they saw nothing. But how can I account for her being there in the embrace of that unearthly shadow? She, a living mortal, holding tryst with a—Well, it is simply inexplicable, and it drives me to distraction to think of it. Could it have been my imagination, after all, that made his face resemble that one under the ground? My mind was full of Trafford, and it is not very strange that I should fancy a resemblance. But no. I have discarded that idea a hundred times already, because it isn’t possible that I could be so deceived. True, every one else who has seen him declares that he is a stranger, but they all admit that they did not obtain a fair view of his face.”
While thus communing with himself, McCabe was moving along slowly and cautiously, scarcely misplacing a twig, or rustling a leaf, in his progress. But, no sooner had he finished his monologue than he suddenly came to a dead halt, and bent forward in a listening attitude.
No wonder, for he distinctly heard the low hum of voices, rising and falling in calm, smooth tones, as if engaged in friendly and familiar conversation. The sound came from some point directly in front of him—evidently from the glade!
The profligate began to tremble with fear. His first impulse was to take to his heels, and make them do good service until he was far away from that vicinity; but before he could follow this impulse he had recovered his courage. Repenting his temporary weakness, he determined to be bold, and then curiosity came to his assistance, and he resolved to find out who the parties were who had preceded him. Surely they were not the same he had seen there, for he knew that Isabel had gone away with her father and mother. But he must see to know, and see he would.
Dropping down on his hands and knees, he advanced stealthily toward the glade, as the panther approaches its prey. The voices grew more distinct as he drew nearer to the speakers, and once or twice he paused to listen as he fancied he detected the dulcet tones of a female voice. But he could not be certain.
When he had gone so far that he could go no further without exposing himself to the parties from whom he was hiding, he stopped and rose slowly to his feet behind a large tree. He was gratified to find that he had reached this place of concealment without being discovered, and he now observed that it was an excellent point from which to view the whole length of the glade. Peering around the tree slyly, he looked out into the opening.
There, sure enough, were two human forms sitting side by side on the grave! One of them was that of a woman, too, as he could plainly see, and the other was a fine-looking man, bareheaded and dressed in a suit of somber black. Her hands were in his, and they were looking into each other’s eyes in a manner that could not be mistaken. They were conversing pleasantly, but in such low tones that few of the words were distinguishable. Jim McCabe leaned forward to give them a closer look. The next instant his knees struck together, his eyes started half out of their sockets, and he scarcely suppressed the cry that sprung to his lips.