Mechanically, Fannie closed and secured the door and windows, then covered up the embers in the fire-place with ashes, and taking a candle, slowly ascended the stairs to her chamber. Though she knew it not, eager eyes were fixed upon her form until the door closed behind her—eyes that burned with an evil glow—the eyes of Mark Haley, the drover.
The building was quiet and still. All seemed buried in profound slumber; but there was one pair of eyes that thought not of closing; one brain that was busy concocting a piece of diabolical treachery.
Nearly two hours passed by after Mark Haley watched Fannie Hawksley to her chamber, before he made a move. Then, with moccasins upon his feet, instead of the heavy boots, he noiselessly emerged from his room, having in one hand a small bull’s-eye lantern, the slide only partially turned. In the other he held a small patch of what looked like soiled paper or cloth, and a coil of stout string. The bushy black beard seemed one-sided, as though it was false, and had become slightly disarranged.
In the darkness, but partially dispelled by the tiny ray of light, his eyes burned and glowed with a phosphorescent luster that marks the orbs of cruel, treacherous creatures, whether human or quadruped. Pausing, he bent his ear and listened intently.
The house was still as death. Evidently the inmates were all peacefully slumbering, for a time happily forgetful of their great loss.
Haley smiled viciously, showing the white teeth through the bushy mask of hair. He chuckled, low and exultantly. Thus far, his plans had worked admirably. The settler had not suspected him for other than he seemed.
“It works like a charm—had I ordered all things, they could not have turned out better to my mind,” he muttered, as his ear was bent close to the door of Fannie’s chamber. “She sleeps—I can hear her breathing regularly. If I can only reach her before she awakes. A cry from her lips would fetch that man upon me, and I do not wish to kill him—not yet; a different death than a quick one by a bullet awaits him. A thousand times I could have done that—but my revenge is better, much better.”
These last words were hissed forth with a venom indescribable. Though he knew it not, Archibald Hawksley was entertaining his most deadly enemy.
Gently Haley lifted the simple latch, and his eyes snapped exultantly as he found the door yield to his pressure. Deeply troubled, Fannie had neglected securing it before retiring, and now she lay at the mercy of this demon in disguise.
Closing the dark-lantern, Haley stealthily entered the chamber, closing the door behind him. That would be another barrier for sound to pass through, in case Fannie should take the alarm too soon for his purpose.