Yet he was now absolutely certain he had heard a footstep. The very hair began to rise on Gray's head, a freezing terror seized hold of him. A moment before he had feigned to disbelieve in the supernatural, but now, in an agony of mortal fear, he cried out to himself that it was no living man who was dogging him thus. A living man he could have faced, but not this mysterious visitant from the world beyond the grave.
In a calmer moment Gray might have reasoned with himself, but he did not stop to reason now. He felt he must escape from this horrible place at once, or madness would come upon him. His horse was still tied to the door-post, and was cropping the thin grass that grew up between the crevices in the rocky platform on which the hut was built. Gray hurriedly unfastened him and led him towards the entrance to the gully. He had gone a short distance when he remembered he had left his knapsack and pistol-case on the floor of the hut. All the money he had, a scanty store, was in the knapsack. He could not leave it behind.
Still holding the horse by the bridle he went hurriedly back. He flung the rein over the door-post and made one step into the hut. Then he fell back with a sharp and sudden exclamation. The hut was no longer empty. Leaning in an easy attitude against the window with a revolver in his hand stood Lumley, the ex-gardener of the Mortons.
THE MEETING IN "DEADMAN'S GULLY"
There was a sardonic grin on his thin peaked face.
"So you have come back of your own accord, Mr. Gentleman Gray," he said. "I was just about to order you back."