Bob Hampton of Placer - Page 168/205

"What is it now?" he asked, gruffly. "Hev' ye got 'em agin?"

The dazed old scout stared, pointing directly across the other's

shoulder, his arm shaking desperately.

"It's thar!--an' it's his face! Oh, God!--I know it--fifteen year."

The man glanced backward into the pitch darkness, but without moving

his body.

"There 's nuthin' out there, 'less it's a firefly," he insisted, in a

tone of contempt. "You're plum crazy, Murphy; the night's got on yer

nerves. What is it ye think ye see?"

"His face, I tell ye! Don't I know? It's all green and ghastly, with

snaky flames playin' about it! But I know; fifteen years, an' I ain't

fergot."

He sank down feebly--sank until he was on his knees, his head craned

forward. The man watching touched the miserable, hunched-up figure

compassionately, and it shook beneath his hand, endeavoring to shrink

away.

"My God! was thet you? I thought it was him a-reachin' fer me. Here,

let me take yer hand. Oh, Lord! An' can't ye see? It's just there

beyond them horses--all green, crawlin', devilish--but it's him."

"Who?"

"Brant! Brant--fifteen year!"

"Brant? Fifteen years? Do you mean Major Brant, the one Nolan killed

over at Bethune?"

"He--he didn't--"

The old man heaved forward, his head rocking from side to side; then

suddenly he toppled over on his face, gasping for breath. His

companion caught him, and ripped open the heavy flannel shirt. Then he

strode savagely across in front of his shrinking horse, tore down the

flaring picture, and hastily thrust it into his pocket, the light of

the phosphorus with which it had been drawn being reflected for a

moment on his features.

"A dirty, miserable, low-down trick," he muttered. "Poor old devil!

Yet I've got to do it, for the little girl."

He stumbled back through the darkness, his hat filled with water, and

dashed it into Murphy's face. "Come on, Murphy! There's one good

thing 'bout spooks; they don't hang 'round fer long at a time. Likely

es not this 'un is gone by now. Brace up, man, for you an' I have got

ter get out o' here afore mornin'."

Then Murphy grasped his arm, and drew himself slowly to his feet.

"Don't see nuthin' now, do ye?"

"No. Where's my--horse?"

The other silently reached him the loose rein, marking as he did so the

quick, nervous peering this way and that, the starting at the slightest

sound.