On drawing nearer, he discovers them to be but coyotes; the film, refracting the moon’s light, having deceived him as to their size.
What can they be doing out there? Perhaps collected around some animal they have hunted down, and killed—possibly a prong-horn antelope? It is not with any purpose he approaches them. He only does so because they are in the line of his route. But before reaching the spot where they are assembled, he sees something to excite his curiosity, at the same time, baffling all conjecture what it can be. On his coming closer, the jackals scatter apart, exposing it to view; then, loping off, leave it behind them. Whatever it be, it is evidently the lure that has brought the predatory beasts together. It is not the dead body of deer, antelope, or animal of any kind; but a thing of rounded shape, set upon a short shank, or stem.
“What the devil is it?” he asks himself, first pausing, and then spurring on towards it. “Looks lor all the world like a man’s head!”
At that moment, the moon emitting one of her brightest beams, shows the object still clearer, causing him to add in exclamation, “By heavens, it is a head!”
Another instant and he sees a face, which sends the blood back to his heart, almost freezing it in his veins.
Horror stricken he reins up, dragging his horse upon the haunches; and in this attitude remains, his eyes rolling as though they would start from their sockets. Then, shouting the words, “Great God, Clancy!” followed by a wild shriek, he wrenches the horse around, and mechanically spurs into desperate speed.
In his headlong flight he hears a cry, which comes as from out the earth—his own name pronounced, and after it, the word “murderer!”