Chapter 9: A Hand in the Dark

After we had eaten supper and were sitting around our little camp- fire, Henry, who seemed to be longing for adventure—his head, I suppose, being stuffed full of the stories he had read before leaving home—asked Pike if there was a chance for anybody to see another ghost that night. But Pike did not look at the matter in the light of a jest.

“I don’t want any more such ghosts, boy, as the one that sent the arrow clipping by the head of your brother last night,” he said.

“If the bloody pirates come we’ll blow ‘em out o’ the water,” said Starboard Sam.

“At any rate, if they come, they mustn’t find us asleep,” said Pike.

Hitherto, owing to the freedom of the country from all suspicious appearances, we had not posted any guards at night, relying upon our horses, which are always quick to scent danger, to warn us. But Pike said that would not suffice any longer. One man must watch one-half of the night and another the other half, and on the succeeding nights all of us must take our turn. There was no demurring at this, for every one saw the necessity of it. I volunteered to take one watch, but Pike decided that the older men must begin. So it was arranged that Wilkinson, the Virginian, should watch the first half, and Allen, one of the Pennsylvanians, the second half.

This was settled as we were closing a very savory supper which Bonneau had cooked. I never saw anybody enjoy a border life more than this little Frenchman did. I have noticed that the French adapt themselves more readily to a wilderness life than anybody else, except our own native-born Americans, and Bonneau was no exception to the rule. The cooking arrangements, which were very simple, nothing more than broiling over the coals, drifted into his hands, because he was better fitted than anybody else for such duties. But slender as were his opportunities, I have never tasted anything better than some of the antelope steaks and prairie chickens little Bonneau cooked for us.

Bonneau had less faith than any of the others, unless it was Starboard Sam, in the presence of danger.

“Vy should we fear ze Indians?” he asked. “Ve have done zem no harm. Besides, ze Indians are cowards. Zey will run from ze light of our campfire.”

Pike shook his head, but made no verbal answer. By and by all except Wilkinson rolled themselves in their blankets and prepared for sleep. Wilkinson paced up and down with his rifle in the hollow of his arm.

I was unable to go to sleep for a long time. Now that the darkness had come on again, my adventure of the preceding night presented itself to me almost as vivid and impressive as if I really saw the figure again. The thing ran through my head. I could not get rid of it. Usually after the day’s long ride and a hearty supper I went to sleep almost as soon as I lay down to rest. But to-night was different. I repeated the multiplication table to myself. I counted up to a thousand and then counted it over again, but none of these plans to force sleep succeeded.

The camp was in a clump of half a dozen trees by the side of a shallow brook, for we never halted until we found water. The horses were tethered a few yards away. My sleeping companions lay near me, motionless, and looking like so many logs. Wilkinson was still pacing up and down like a military sentinel.

The night was dark and the firebrands died down. A wind sprang up and sighed mournfully over our heads. I fell asleep at last and dreamed that we were pursued by mounted Indians. They overtook us, and we fought them, but one by one our men fell until only Sam, Henry and I were left. We fled again, and Sam fell and then Henry, and I alone survived. I galloped on until I came to a mountain which rose like a wall before me and barred my path. Then I turned and composed myself as best I could, and waited for death. But before the fatal blow fell I awoke and found myself clammy with perspiration.

I heard voices, but it was only Allen relieving Wilkinson of the watch. Apparently all the others were sound asleep. Big Pike was even snoring, and I was fretful because I, too, could not find restful sleep. Wilkinson, when Allen relieved him, lay down, and in a few minutes was slumbering. Allen walked back and forth for a while as Wilkinson had done, and then sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree which lay near the brook.

Being unable to go to sleep and not knowing what else to do, I watched the man. The wind was still sighing mournfully through the trees, and the sky was partially obscured by clouds. Within the shadow of the trees I could see nothing more than the outlines of Allen’s figure. Soon I grew tired of watching him, and shut my eyes in an effort to bring sleep. When I opened them and looked around Allen was still sitting on the log. I was surprised at that, for it was the man’s duty to patrol the camp, and he had never shown any inclination before to shirk his part of the work. I was tempted at first to stir or speak or make a noise of some kind, thinking the man might be asleep. Then I concluded I would probably offend him by such action, and it was really not worth while, anyway.

Thus debating with myself I lay still for some time. Allen sat upon the log, his back resting easily against a bough that projected upward, his gun between his knees and his hands clasped around the barrel near the muzzle. He had been motionless so long that I was sure now he was asleep. But I thought his position had changed slightly since I had closed my eyes. I determined to get up and awaken him. I ought no longer to hesitate.

Just then some of the clouds that obscured the sky drifted past and I caught a glimpse of Allen’s face. Seen in that pallid light it wore an uncanny look. Slowly my blood chilled at the sight. I glanced at my companions, but only the sound of their heavy and regular breathing rose in the darkness.

There came another glimpse of Allen’s face, and I could stand it no longer. Rifle in hand I sprang to my feet. A shadow darted from behind Allen. I fired at the shadow. There was a fierce, prolonged shout, a cry of hate, or triumph, or both, unlike anything I had heard before, and far more terrible. In an instant the camp was in an uproar.