The Gothic Terror MEGAPACK ™: 17 Classic Tales Page 8

  That was a fearful wakening to Jack Long; but it was to a new birth! His eye took in all the details of the scene at a glance. His enemy grinning in his face with wolfish triumph; the “quirt,” with its long, heavy lash of knotted rawhide, in his hand. He saw the brute spurn her violently with his foot, until she pitched against the wretches around; and he heard them shout with laughter.

  A sharp, electric agony, like the riving of an oak, shivered along his nerves, passed out at his fingers and his feet, and left him rigid as marble; and when the blows of the hideous mocking devil before him fell upon his white flesh, making it welt in purple ridges, or spout dull black currents, he felt them no more than the dead lintel of his door would have done; and the agony of that poor wife shrilling a frantic echo to every harsh, slashing sound, seemed to have no more effect upon his ear than it had upon the tree above them, which shook its green leaves to the self-same cadence they had held yesterday in the breeze. His wide open eyes were glancing calmly and scrutinizingly into the faces of the men around—those features are never to be forgotten!—for while Hinch lays on the stripes with all his furious strength, blaspheming as they fell, that glance dwells on each face with a cold, keen, searching intensity, as if it marked them to be remembered forever! The man’s air was awful—so concentrated—so still—so enduring! He never spoke, or groaned, or writhed—but those intense eyes of his!—the wretches couldn’t stand them, and began to shuffle and get behind each other. But it was too late; he had them all—ten men ! They were registered.

  * * * *

  We will drop a curtain over this scene. It is enough to say that they left him for dead, lying in his blood, his wife swooning on the ground, with the children weeping plaintively over her; and silence and darkness fell around the desolate group as the sun went down, which had risen in smiles upon the innocent happiness of that simple family.

  Nothing more was seen or heard of Jack Long. His hut was deserted, and his family had disappeared, nor did anyone know or care what had become of them. For awhile there were various rumors, but the affair was soon forgotten amidst the frequent occurrence of similar scenes.

  It was about four months after this affair, that in company with a friend, I was traversing Western Texas. Our objects were to see this portion of the country, and amuse ourselves in hunting for a time over any district we found well adapted for a particular sport—as for bear hunting, deer hunting, buffalo hunting, etc. Prairie, timber and water were better distributed in Shelby than any Western county we had passed through—the timber predominating over the prairie, though interlaid by it in every direction. This diversity of surface attracted a greater variety of game, as well as afforded more perfect facilities to the sportsman. Indeed, it struck us as a perfect Hunter’s Paradise; and my friend remembering a man of some wealth who had moved from his native State and settled, as he had understood, in Shelby, we inquired for him and very readily found him.

  We were most hospitably received, and horses, servants, guns, dogs, and whatever else was necessary to ensure our enjoyment of the sports of the country, as well as the time of our host himself, were forthwith at our disposal, and we were soon, to our hearts’ content, engaged in every character of exciting chase.

  One day several of the neighbors were invited to join us, and all our force was mustered for a grand “Deer Drive.” In this sport dogs are used, and under the charge of the “Driver” they are taken into the wood for the purpose of rousing and driving out the deer, who have a habit of always passing out from one line of timber to another, at or near the same place, and these spots are either known to the hunters from experience or observation of the nature of the ground. At these “crossing places” the “standers” are stationed with their rifles, to watch for the coming out of the deer who are shot as they go by. On getting to the ground, who divided into two parties, each flanking up the opposite edge of a line of timber, over a mile in width, while the “Driver” penetrated it with the dogs.

  On our side, the sport was unusually good, till, wearied with slaughter, we returned late in the afternoon towards the planter’s house, to partake of a dinner of game with him before the party should separate. It was near sundown when we dismounted. Soon after we were seated, it was announced that dinner was ready. All had come in except my friend, whose name was Henrie, and a man named Stoner. We sat down, and were doing undoubted justice to the fare—when Henrie, who was an impulsive, voluble soul, came bustling into the room with something of unusual flurry in his manner, beginning to talk by the time he got his head into the door—

  “I say, Squire! What sort of a country is this of yours? Catamounts, buffalos, horned frogs, centipedes, one would think were strange creatures enough for a single country; but, by George! I met something today which lays them ill in the shade.”

  “What was it? What was it like?”

  Without noticing these questions, he continued, addressing our host in the same excited tone—

  “Have you no cages for madmen? Do you let them run wild through the woods with rifle in hand? Or, does your confounded Texas breed ghosts amongst other curious creatures?”

  “Not that I know of,” said the Squire, smilingly interposing, as the young fellow stopped to catch his breath; “But you look flurried enough to have seen a ghost. What’s happened?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “Out with it?”

  “Have you seen the Old Harry?”

  Such exclamations as this, accompanied by laughter, ran around the table, while Henrie drew a long breath, wiped his forehead, and threw himself into a chair. Our curiosity was irresistibly excited, and as Henrie commenced the whole company leant forward eagerly.

  “You know, when we parted, that Stoner and myself went up the right flank of the timber. Stoner was to take me to my stand, and then pass on to his own, some miles further down the stream. He accordingly left me, and I have not seen him since. By the way, I perceive that he is not here,” he exclaimed, looking sharply around the room.

  “Oh, he’ll be here directly,” said several. “Go on!”

  “I hope so,” he replied, in rather an undertone. “Well, I was pretty thoroughly tired of waiting before I heard the dogs, but that music, you know, stirs the blood, and one forgets to be tired. In a few minutes a fine buck came bounding by, and I fired. He pitched forward on his knees at the shot, but recovered and made off. I knew he must be badly hit and sprang upon my horse to follow him.”

  “Rather a verdant act, that of yours,” interrupted the Squire.

  “Yes; I found it to be so. After a pursuit of some twenty minutes, at full speed, it occurred to me that I might get lost among the motts, and reined up. But it was too late. I was lost already. How I cursed that deer as his white tail disappeared in the distance between two bushes. I had common sense enough left not to go very far in any one direction, but kept widening my circles about the place where I halted, in the hope of finding the traces of some one of the party; at last, to my great relief, I came upon an old disused wagon trail, which, though the winding way it held promised to lead to nowhere in particular, yet went to show that I could not be very far from some habitation.

  “I was following it through a high, tangled thicket, which rose close on either hand; and stooping over my horse’s neck, was looking closely at the ground, when the violent shying of my horse made me raise my eyes—and, by heaven, it was enough to have stampeded a regiment of horse!

  “Just before me on the right hand, with one foot advanced, as if it had paused in the act of stepping across the road, stood a tall, gaunt, skeleton-like figure, dressed in skins, with the hair out—a confounded long beard—and such eyes! It is impossible to imagine them. They didn’t move at all in the shaggy hollow sockets, more than if they were frozen in them; and the glare that streamed out from them was so cold and freezing! It startled my nerves so strangely, that I came near dropping
my gun, though he was just swinging a long rifle down to the level, bearing on me.”

  “Why didn’t you shoot?’”

  “Ay! Why didn’t I? I did not think of self-defense, but of those eyes. The rifle was suspended, but they fairly clung upon my features till I conceived I could feel the ice-spots curdle beneath my skin as they crept slowly along each lineament. The fact is, I caught myself shuddering—it was so ghostly! After regarding me in this way about ten seconds, he seemed to be satisfied; the rifle was slowly thrown back on the shoulder and with an impatient twitch at his long grisly beard with his bony fingers, and a single stride which carried him across the road, he plunged into the bushes without a word.

  “I started in vexation at my stupidity and shouted. He did not turn his head. I was now enraged, and spurred my horse after him into the thicket, as far as we could penetrate, but lost sight of him in a moment. I felt as if I had seen the devil sure enough, and actually went back to see if he had left any tracks behind.”

  Everybody drew a long breath. “I warrant you found ‘em cloven !” said one. “Didn’t you smell sul—”

  “Never mind what I smelt—I found a very long moccasined track, or I should have been convinced I had seen something supernatural. I think he must be some maniac wild man.”

  “He’s a strange animal, any how.”

  “Singular affair,” was buzzed around the table.

  “Hear me out!” said Henrie. “After this incident, I continued to follow the devious windings of this road, which seemed to turn towards each of the cardinal points in the hour, until my patience was nearly exhausted; and it was not till after sunset that it finally led me out into the prairie, the features of which I thought I recognized. I stopped and looked around for the purpose of satisfying myself, when suddenly a horse burst from the thicket behind me, and went tearing off over the plain, with every indication of excessive fright, snorting furiously, his head turned back, and stirrups flying in the air.”

  “What sort of a horse?”

  “What color was he?” several broke in, with breathless impatience.

  “He was too far off for me to tell in the dusk, more than that he was a dark horse—say the color of mine.”

  “Stoner’s horse was a dark brown!” some one said, in a low voice, while the party moved uneasily oft their chairs, and looked at each other.

  There was a pause. The Squire got up, and walked with a fidgety manner towards the window to look out, and turning with a serious face to Henrie, remarked—

  “This is a very curious story of yours, and if I did not know you too well, I should suspect that you were quizzing. Did you hear a gun after you parted from this lank-sided fellow you describe?”

  “I thought I did once, but the sound was so distant, that I was too uncertain about its being a gun to risk getting lost again in going to find it.”

  “Was it about a quarter of an hour by sun?” (that is, before sundown,) interrupted the “driver.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I heard a gun about that time on your side, but thought it was some of yourn.”

  “It may be that this madman, or whatever he is, has danger in him,” continued the Squire. “I can explain about the winding of that road which puzzled you so. It is a trail I had cut to a number of board trees we had rived on the ground. They were scattered about a good deal, but none of them far from any given place, where you would strike the road, so that you were no great distance at any time, from where this meeting occurred. We must turn out and look for this creature, boys.”

  “I expected to find the horse; he—he came on in this direction,” said Henrie.

  “No,” said the Squire, “Stoner’s house is beyond here.” Henrie now seated himself at the table; and great as was the uncertainty attending the fate of Stoner, these men were too much accustomed to the vicissitudes and accidents in the life of the frontier hunter to be affected by it for more than a few moments, and the joke and the laugh very soon went round as carelessly and pleasantly as if nothing had occurred at all unusual.

  In the midst of this the rapid tramp of a horse at full gallop was heard approaching. The Squire rose hastily and went out, while the room grew oppressively still. In a few moments he returned, with contracted brows, and quite pale.

  “Stoner’s negro has been sent over by his wife to let us know that his horse has returned, with his reins on his neck and blood on the saddle. He has been shot, gentlemen.”

  We all rose involuntarily at this and stood with blank, white faces, looking into each other’s eyes.

  “The madman!” said one, speaking in subdued tones, breaking the oppressive silence.

  “Henrie’s bearded ghost,” said another.

  “Yes,” exclaimed several, “devil or ghost, that’s the way it has happened.”

  “I tell you what, Henrie,” said the Squire, “it has occurred to me ever since you finished your story, that this singular being has been on the lookout for Stoner, and while you rode with your head down, thought that you were he, for there are several points of resemblance, such as size, color of your horses, etc., but that in the long look he took at your face he discovered his mistake; and, after leaving you, passed over to the left, and met Stoner returning, and has shot him. He is one of the Regulators, though, and Hinch is a very bloodhound. I shall send for him to be here in the morning with the boys, and they will trail him up, if he is the devil in earnest, and have vengeance before sundown tomorrow.”

  This seemed the most reasonable solution of some of the inexplicable features of the affair; and, as it was too dark to think of accomplishing anything that night, we had to content ourselves with a sound sleep preparatory for action on the morrow.

  Soon after daybreak, we were awakened by the sound of loud blustering voices about the house. I felt sure that this must be Hinch’s party; and on looking out of my window, saw them dismounted and grouped about the yard. I recognized the voice of our host in sharp, decisive altercation with someone, whose harsh, overbearing tones convinced me that it must be Hinch. I listened anxiously, and heard him swear in round terms, that Henrie’s story was all gammon, an “old woman’s tale,” that he didn’t believe a word of it; but if Stoner was murdered, Henrie was the man who did it. I could only distinguish that the Planter’s tone was angry and decided, when they moved on out of hearing. How he managed to quiet him I cannot conjecture, (Henrie, fortunately, heard nothing of it,) but when we joined them, Hinch greeted us with a gruff sort of civility. He was a thick-set, broad-shouldered, ruffian-looking fellow; wearing the palpable marks of the debauchee in his bloated person and red visage.

  We were soon underway. A ride of nearly half the day through the scenes of yesterday’s adventures elicited nothing, and we were all getting impatient, when fortunately Henrie’s search, undertaken at my earnest suggestion, was successful in recognizing the place where he witnessed the curious apparition of the evening before. On close examination, the moccasined tracks were discovered, and with wonderful skill the Regulators traced them for several miles, till, finally, in an open glade, among the thickets, we found the fragments of a man who had been torn to pieces by the wolves, numbers of which, with buzzards and ravens, were hanging about the place. The bones had been picked so clean, that it would have been out of the question to hope to identify them, but for the fact that a gun was lying near, which was instantly known to be Stoner’s.

  I observed that there was a round fracture, like a bullet hole, in the back of the skull; but it was too unpleasant an object for more minute examination. We gathered up the bones to take them home to his family—but before we left the ground a discovery was made which startled every one. It was the distinct trail of a shod horse.

  Now, there was hardly a horse in Shelby County that wore shoes, for where there were no stones, shoes were not necessary; certainly there was
not a horse in our company that had them on. This must be the horse of the murderer! Of course, Henrie was freed, even from the suspicions of these brutes. They believed that this trail could be easily followed, and felt sure that now they should soon come upon some results. They set off with great confidence, trailing the shod horse till nearly night, when in spite of all their ingenuity, they lost it; and though they camped near the place till morning, and tried it again, could not find it. They were compelled to give up in despair, and scattered for their several homes.

  The very next day after their breaking up, followed the astounding report that the horse of a second one of their number had galloped up to his master’s door with an empty saddle. The Regulators assembled again, and after a long search, the body was found, or the fragments of it rather, bare, and dismembered by the wolves. The rumor was that, as in Stoner’s case, the man had been shot in the back of the head, but that the skull had been greatly disfigured.

  These two murders occurring within three days, (for the man must have been shot on the day the Regulators disbanded, and while on his way home,) created immense sensation throughout the country. The story of Henrie, which afforded the only possible clue to the perpetrator, and the singularity of all the incidents, completely aroused public emotions. What could be the motive, or who was this invisible assassin (for the last effort at trailing him had been equally unavailing) remained an utter mystery.

  Hinch and his band fumed and raved like madmen. They swept the country in all directions, arresting and lynching what they called suspicious persons, which meant any and everyone who had rendered himself in the slightest degree obnoxious to them. It was a glorious opportunity for spreading far and wide a wholesome terror of their power, and of wreaking a dastardly hoarded vengeance in many quarters where they had not dared before to strike openly.