CHAPTER II.
AN APPARITION.
Although there was nothing in the sudden disappearance of Martin that could particularly alarm Winkle, impressed as he really was with the present good faith of the man with whom he had lately been conversing, still from some cause or other he felt by no means at his ease. Who might be upon the other side of the stream yet remained a mystery, and until that was solved he could not follow the advice lately tendered him and "turn in." He gave a quick glance up and down the stream, a sharp look at the bushes that lined the other shore, and then, with a quick, noiseless step, turned into the woods from which but a few moments before he had emerged.
It was his purpose to move up the stream for some little distance, and then, crossing over, beat carefully down the bank, keeping a look-out for traces of the parties whom he had no doubt had been engaged in a deadly struggle at the time the cry had interrupted his conversation.
All about him was silent, and he met with no haps or mishaps for the time. As he came down the bank, however, his eyes wandered in every direction, every clump was carefully examined, and his progress was necessarily slow. At first nothing rewarded his search; but at length something caught his practiced eye and by even the uncertain light he could plainly discover a trail, leading in the direction in which he was proceeding. Immediately he halted for its examination. Almost a glance showed him that it was a careless and unconcealed one, and that it was made by a white man. A moment more and Winkle decided within himself that it was made by the man whom Martin stated had just come down from the mountains. It led on down the stream, and the explorer followed cautiously upon it, not forgetting to look from time to time at either side, in search of further information. When he arrived opposite to the spot where he and the Free Trapper had held their late conversation, the track suddenly turned at right angles and it seemed to him as though the man who made it had from this spot acted with more caution. And as he cast his eyes to one side he saw the marks left by the footsteps of a distinct party.
His movements were governed by the utmost caution, but he went rapidly and noiselessly to the spot. The footprints that he there found appeared to give him more trouble than the former ones, for it was some time before his mind was fully settled; then he looked up with the one word, "Indian," on his lips. He noticed that from their direction both trails led into the bushes in such a manner as to cross, or at least meet each other at about the spot from which the body had been projected into the stream—and accordingly he noiselessly followed the second trail, with every sense and nerve on the alert to catch the first signal telling of the proximity of any living beings. It was not long before he found the trail most suddenly ended, for he came to a spot where the ground had been beaten and the branches and shrubs most evidently disarranged by a short but desperate contest. It was too dark for him to see if there were any traces of blood, but he had no doubt in his mind but that they were there. Carefully pushing aside the boughs, he saw that he was immediately on the bank, and in a position not only to see clearly the spot where he and Martin had met, but near enough to hear every word of what was then and there said. This much he noted, then turned aside to seek for further traces of the probable survivor.
He was not there; and, it was some time before Winkle, practiced as he was in woodcraft, could discover any sign to indicate in which way the victor had left. Evidently the man had dropped his carelessness and was now as cautious in concealing his trail—and he evinced no mean skill in his efforts—as he was before thoughtless or careless about the matter. At length, in the dim and hazy light, the search was rewarded, and Winkle was enabled to tell in which way the man had departed.
Following a trail that is made carefully and with the intent of leaving no trace, is at best but slow business. At night it is infinitely worse. More than once in a dozen rods Winkle paused and scanned the ground narrowly. At length he came to a halt, completely puzzled—no mark of bruised grass, imprinted earth or broken twig was to be seen. A few moments' hesitation and he decided to adopt the plan best adapted to such a case. Going back to the last spot it was discernible, he took a careful survey of the surrounding ground, and then turning to the right he began circling, with a diameter of some rods. Even this method at first seemed fruitless, but at length, as the perimeter of the circle almost touched the bank of the stream, he found a faint trace that sufficed to set him again on the trail. The man had evidently gone down-stream for several yards, and then, turning to the left, either taken to the water to conceal his track or else crossed over to the opposite side. Which had he done? Without hesitation Winkle pushed ahead, and on gaining the opposite bank discovered the trail, this time leading up the stream.
This was a discovery indeed, and, while feeling some little uneasiness, he felt more determined than ever to follow the trail and gain a sight of this mysterious stranger.
Under the shadow of the trees the traces grew more indistinct and were once more lost; but allowing himself to be led by instinct, he hurried on, with his rifle ready to swing to his shoulder at a moment's warning. A noise fell upon his ears and he halted. At some distance, and in the direction of down-stream, he heard horse's hoofs rapidly approaching, the animal, however, being evidently under the control of a rider.
This appeared to put a new aspect on matters, for, although it might be Martin, or a friend, the chances also were that it might be an enemy. Rapidly thrusting his hand in his bosom, Winkle drew therefrom a whistle, and placed it to his lips. A moment more and a sound peculiarly shrill and trilling arose on the air. Then the man bent forward in expectancy. Right ahead, at the distance of a dozen yards, sounded the neigh of a horse, followed by the noise of a plunge, and something that resembled the sudden fall of a heavy body. Then bursting through the underbrush in answer to the call came a noble white steed, that approached his master at a gallop and placed itself alongside of him. From the direction in which the animal had come might have been heard other sounds, but Winkle's whole attention was now given to the approaching rider. He stood with one hand outstretched, and resting on the neck of his horse, his eyes riveted on the open sward which, between the trees among which he stood, glittered and shone clear.
Behind him there was an exclamation, the sound of a struggle and the voice of some one:
"Dar now, dis chile has yer, suah! T'ink yer steal dat hoss, did yer?"
But at the same time a horse and rider flashed into the anxious sight of Winkle.
And that rider was a woman!
For just a moment were they visible, but that moment seemed sufficient to produce a terrible effect on the gazer. He threw up his hand and uttered a sharp, unearthly cry; his eyes eagerly followed the slight and graceful form that so easily swung in the saddle; bent forward he caught the last glimpse of her as her riding-dress fluttered away again and was lost in the enfolding branches.
Then followed the sound of another horseman. Again a steed and rider glided across his plane of vision like a shadow on a curtain or a moving figure in some pantomime. For a moment only it appeared in view, and then disappeared in the same direction as did the woman.
Emotion was fairly overmastering Winkle. He shook like an aspen, his hands seemed to have lost their power; but hardly had the second figure disappeared when his rifle had found its way to his shoulder. But if he desired to use it with deadly effect, it was too late. Again stillness, and moonlight, and the nodding trees alone lay before him, while the retreating footsteps waxed fainter and fainter in the distance.
Mechanically he turned and pursued his way; he heard nothing, saw nothing—not even the dumb brute by his side, which faithfully paced along with a step corresponding in slowness with that of its master.
At length a huge rock or mass of rocks lay in his path. Moving a little to one side he soon skirted them, and as he did so, a light, as from a suddenly-stirred fire, flamed up before him, illuminating the side of the bowlder and a small circle in front of it.
Into this circle of light Winkle staggered, and with his rifle convulsively clutched at a ready, stood gazing with a half-dazed look into the fire.