Chapter 8: A Shadow in the Water

I think we had been out a week when we camped one evening just as the dusk was falling, in a bit of country that was more rolling and broken than any we had seen hitherto. Off to our right a streak of cotton- woods and willows showed that running water was near. We were organized like a little military company, with Pike as captain, and he told me to take the canteens and go down to the creek and fill them. When I hitched my horse I leaned my rifle against a tree and started on the errand.

Though it was dark, I had no trouble in finding my way, and soon I could see the water shining like a silver streak through the trees. The canteens were slung over my shoulder, and I strolled along, thinking of many things. Somehow my uncle had been in my thoughts that day, and the recollection was full of melancholy. I was sorry that we had been compelled to part in such a manner, and there was sadness in the reflection that men whom we had never seen until recently were kinder to Henry and me than our father’s brother had been. I thought, too, of the old home back in the East. Verily events were moving rapidly with us. A few months before I had no thought of going even a day’s journey from where I was born, and here we were over the Alleghanies and beyond the Mississippi, hundreds and hundreds of miles from Maryland, and beyond the furthest verge of civilization.

But as I sauntered along towards the creek those thoughts soon yielded to others which were not unhappy. The strain of wild blood in me, which is in us all, I think, was growing stronger. I had not yet known hunger nor imminent danger, and I felt and enjoyed the freedom of the wilderness.

I pulled myself up with a jerk, for if I lingered long the boys would be shouting for water. Then I hurried on to the creek, which flowed in a deeper bed than is usual with these shallow prairie streams.

Presently I found a convenient place and began to fill the canteens. As soon as one was filled I put it on the bank beside me and picked up another. This took several minutes, and the darkness was increasing. I think I was filling the fourth canteen when I felt a curious, indefinable sensation, slight at first, but gradually, growing stronger. It came without any cause, so far as I knew, but it made me shiver a little.

Did you ever have an uncanny feeling when you were alone in the fields or the woods just at that point of time when the day has ended and the night has not begun?

I raised the canteen from the water and held it mechanically in my hand. All the time I was growing colder and my nerves seemed to be palsied. Had I lost the power of movement? Was the chill that settled over me caused by some mysterious presence? I cast my eyes down at the stream and I thought that by the light of the few last rays of the setting sun I saw a shadow in the water. The chill deepened, but by an effort of both mind and muscle I sprang to my feet, and as I did so the canteen slipped from my nerveless fingers and fell with a loud splash into the stream.

I think the falling of the canteen and the noise it made restored me to my balance. I turned around, and the shadow of something flitted away among the cottonwoods. Then I was not mistaken. The presences had been real.

I do not think I am a coward, and I ran towards the shadow. It flitted away among the trees, the rustling of no twig, the sound of no footfall marking its flight. I followed, but I was not able to diminish the distance between. Then I lamented my folly in leaving my rifle at the camp, for I would certainly have fired at the dim object before me. I should have known enough never to let my rifle go a foot from my hand in this wild country.

On among the trees went the shadow. Was it a real figure or merely the creature of a heated imagination? I followed as well as I could. The figure disappeared and then reappeared. For a moment it seemed to stop. There was a rush of cold air and a buzzing past my ear, and then I saw the figure no more. I hunted among the trees, but there was nothing.

Very much taken down, I went back to the stream and got the canteens. This is what comes of dreaming too much, I said to myself. At first I thought I would not speak to anybody about the matter. It was merely the effect of the half light and my mood, and the men would laugh at me. Then I concluded I had better risk the gibes of my companions and speak to Capt. Pike. When I returned to camp some one remarked that I had been a long time in getting the water, but I turned the matter off and hunted up Capt. Pike. As accurately as I could I described the episode at the creek. As I had expected, he laughed at me.

“If it had been a man,” he said, “thar could have been no mistake about him. As fur ghosts, thar ain’t any ghosts on the prairie. I guess you’ve been dreamin’.”

But Pike kindly refrained from saying anything to the other men about the affair. I saw he wanted to spare my feelings. He also volunteered after we had cooked our supper and eaten it to go down to the creek with me and take a look. I guided him to the spot where I had filled the canteens, and as there was a fine moonlight, we searched for quite a while, but found nothing.