"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.