The Man of the Forest by Zane Grey (fastest ebook reader .TXT) đ
- Author: Zane Grey
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âShe gives me the creeps,â said Moze.
Wilson got up to resume his pondering walk, head bent, hands
behind his back, a grim, realistic figure of perturbation.
âJim â set down. You make me nervous,â said Anson,
irritably.
Wilson actually laughed, but low, as if to keep his strange
mirth well confined.
âSnake, Iâll bet you my hoss anâ my gun agâinâ a biscuit
thet in aboot six seconds more or less Iâll be stampedin
like them hosses.â
Ansonâs lean jaw dropped. The other two outlaws stared with
round eyes. Wilson was not drunk, they evidently knew; but
what he really was appeared a mystery.
âJim Wilson, are you showinâ yellow?â queried Anson,
hoarsely.
âMebbe. The Lord only knows. But listen heah⊠. Snake,
youâve seen anâ heard people croak?â
âYou mean cash in â die?â
âShore.â
âWal, yes â a couple or so,â replied Anson, grimly.
âBut you never seen no one die of shock â of an orful
scare?â
âNo, I reckon I never did.â
âI have. Anâ thetâs whatâs ailinâ Jim Wilson,â and he
resumed his dogged steps.
Anson and his two comrades exchanged bewildered glances with
one another.
âA-huh! Say, whatâs thet got to do with us hyar? asked
Anson, presently.
âThet gurl is dyinâ!â retorted Wilson, in a voice cracking
like a whip.
The three outlaws stiffened in their seats, incredulous, yet
irresistibly swayed by emotions that stirred to this dark,
lonely, ill-omened hour.
Wilson trudged to the edge of the lighted circle, muttering
to himself, and came back again; then he trudged farther,
this time almost out of sight, but only to return; the third
time he vanished in the impenetrable wall of light. The
three men scarcely moved a muscle as they watched the place
where he had disappeared. In a few moments he came stumbling
back.
âShore sheâs almost gone,â he said, dismally. âIt took my
nerve, but I felt of her face⊠. Thet orful wail is her
breath chokinâ in her throat⊠. Like a death-rattle,
only long instead of short.â
âWal, if sheâs gotta croak itâs good she gits it over
quick,â replied Anson. âI âainât hed sleep fer three nights.
⊠Anâ what I need is whisky.â
âSnake, thetâs gospel youâre spoutinâ,â remarked Shady
Jones, morosely.
The direction of sound in the glen was difficult to be
assured of, but any man not stirred to a high pitch of
excitement could have told that the difference in volume of
this strange wail must have been caused by different
distances and positions. Also, when it was loudest, it was
most like a whine. But these outlaws heard with their
consciences.
At last it ceased abruptly.
Wilson again left the group to be swallowed up by the night.
His absence was longer than usual, but he returned
hurriedly.
âSheâs daid!â he exclaimed, solemnly. âThet innocent kid â
who never harmed no one â anâ whoâd make any man better fer
seeinâ her â sheâs daid! ⊠Anson, youâve shore a heap
to answer fer when your time comes.â
âWhatâs eatinâ you?â demanded the leader, angrily. âHer
blood ainât on my hands.â
âIt shore is,â shouted Wilson, shaking his hand at Anson.
âAnâ youâll hev to take your medicine. I felt thet cominâ
all along. Anâ I feel some more.â
âAw! Sheâs jest gone to sleep,â declared Anson, shaking his
long frame as he rose. âGimme a light.â
âBoss, youâre plumb off to go near a dead gurl thetâs jest
died crazy,â protested Shady Jones.
âOff! Haw! Haw! Who ainât off in this outfit, Iâd like to
know?â Anson possessed himself of a stick blazing at one
and, and with this he stalked off toward the lean-to where
the girl was supposed to be dead. His gaunt figure, lighted
by the torch, certainly fitted the weird, black
surroundings. And it was seen that once near the girlâs
shelter he proceeded more slowly, until he halted. He bent
to peer inside.
âSHEâS GONE!â he yelled, in harsh, shaken accents.
Than the torch burned out, leaving only a red glow. He
whirled it about, but the blaze did not rekindle. His
comrades, peering intently, lost sight of his tall form and
the end of the red-ended stick. Darkness like pitch
swallowed him. For a moment no sound intervened. Again the
moan of wind, the strange little mocking hollow roar,
dominated the place. Then there came a rush of something,
perhaps of air, like the soft swishing of spruce branches
swinging aside. Dull, thudding footsteps followed it. Anson
came running back to the fire. His aspect was wild, his face
pale, his eyes were fierce and starting from their sockets.
He had drawn his gun.
âDid â ye â see er hear â anythinâ?â he panted, peering
back, then all around, and at last at his man.
âNo. Anâ I shore was lookinâ anâ listeninâ,â replied Wilson.
âBoss, there wasnât nothinâ,â declared Moze.
âI ainât so sartin,â said Shady Jones, with doubtful,
staring eyes. âI believe I heerd a rustlinâ.â
âShe wasnât there!â ejaculated Anson, in wondering awe.
âSheâs gone! ⊠My torch went out. I couldnât see. Anâ
jest then I felt somethinâ was passinâ. Fast! I jerked
âround. All was black, anâ yet if I didnât see a big gray
streak Iâm crazier ân thet gurl. But I couldnât swear to
anythinâ but a rushinâ of wind. I felt thet.â
âGone!â exclaimed Wilson, in great alarm. âFellars, if
thetâs so, then mebbe she wasnât daid anâ she wandered off.
⊠But she was daid! Her heart hed quit beatinâ. Iâll
swear to thet.â
âI move to break camp,â said Shady Jones, gruffly, and he
stood up. Moze seconded that move by an expressive flash of
his black visage.
âJim, if sheâs dead â anâ gone â what ân hellâs come off?â
huskily asked Anson. âIt, only seems thet way. Weâre all
worked up⊠. Letâs talk sense.â
âAnson, shore thereâs a heap you anâ me donât know,â replied
Wilson. âThe world come to an end once. Wal, it can come to
another end⊠. I tell you I ainât surprised ââ
âTHAR!â cried Anson, whirling, with his gun leaping out.
Something huge, shadowy, gray against the black rushed
behind the men and trees; and following it came a
perceptible acceleration of the air.
âShore, Snake, there wasnât nothinâ,â said Wilson,
âpresently.â
âI heerd,â whispered Shady Jones.
âIt was only a breeze blowinâ thet smoke,â rejoined Moze.
âIâd bet my soul somethinâ went back of me,â declared Anson,
glaring into the void.
âListen anâ letâs make shore,â suggested Wilson.
The guilty, agitated faces of the outlaws showed plain
enough in the flickering light for each to see a convicting
dread in his fellow. Like statues they stood, watching and
listening.
Few sounds stirred in the strange silence. Now and then the
horses heaved heavily, but stood still; a dismal, dreary
note of the wind in the pines vied with a hollow laugh of
the brook. And these low sounds only fastened attention upon
the quality of the silence. A breathing, lonely spirit of
solitude permeated the black dell. Like a pit of unplumbed
depths the dark night yawned. An evil conscience, listening
there, could have heard the most peaceful, beautiful, and
mournful sounds of nature only as strains of a calling hell.
Suddenly the silent, oppressive, surcharged air split to a
short, piercing scream.
Ansonâs big horse stood up straight, pawing the air, and
came down with a crash. The other horses shook with terror.
âWasnât â thet â a cougar?â whispered Anson, thickly.
âThet was a womanâs scream,â replied Wilson, and he appeared
to be shaking like a leaf in the wind.
âThen â I figgered right â the kidâs alive â wonderinâ
around â anâ she let out thet orful scream,â said Anson.
âWonderinâ âround, yes â but sheâs daid!â
âMy Gawd! it ainât possible!â
âWal, if she ainât wonderinâ round daid sheâs almost daid,â
replied Wilson. And he began to whisper to himself.
âIf Iâd only knowed what thet deal meant Iâd hev plugged
Beasley instead of listeninâ⊠. Anâ I ought to hev
knocked thet kid on the head anâ made sartin sheâd croaked.
If she goes screaminâ âround thet way ââ
His voice failed as there rose a thin, splitting,
high-pointed shriek, somewhat resembling the first scream,
only less wild. It came apparently from the cliff.
From another point in the pitch-black glen rose the wailing,
terrible cry of a woman in agony. Wild, haunting, mournful
wail!
Ansonâs horse, loosing the halter, plunged back, almost
falling over a slight depression in the rocky ground. The
outlaw caught him and dragged him nearer the fire. The other
horses stood shaking and straining. Moze ran between them
and held them. Shady Jones threw green brush on the fire.
With sputter and crackle a blaze started, showing Wilson
standing tragically, his arms out, facing the black shadows.
The strange, live shriek was not repeated. But the cry, like
that of a woman in her death-throes, pierced the silence
again. It left a quivering ring that softly died away. Then
the stillness clamped down once more and the darkness seemed
to thicken. The men waited, and when they had begun to relax
the cry burst out appallingly close, right behind the trees.
It was human â the personification of pain and terror â
the tremendous struggle of precious life against horrible
death. So pure, so exquisite, so wonderful was the cry that
the listeners writhed as if they saw an innocent, tender,
beautiful girl torn frightfully before their eyes. It was
full of suspense; it thrilled for death; its marvelous
potency was the wild note â that beautiful and ghastly note
of self-preservation.
In sheer desperation the outlaw leader fired his gun at the
black wall whence the cry came. Then he had to fight his
horse to keep him from plunging away. Following the shot was
an interval of silence; the horses became tractable; the men
gathered closer to the fire, with the halters still held
firmly.
âIf it was a cougar â thet âd scare him off,â said Anson.
âShore, but it ainât a cougar,â replied Wilson. âWait anâ
see!â
They all waited, listening with ears turned to different
points, eyes roving everywhere, afraid of their very
shadows. Once more the moan of wind, the mockery of brook,
deep gurgle, laugh and babble, dominated the silence of the
glen.
âBoss, letâs shake this spooky hole,â whispered Moze.
The suggestion attracted Anson, and he pondered it while
slowly shaking his head.
âWeâve only three hosses. Anâ mine âll take ridinâ â after
them squalls,â replied the leader. âWeâve got packs, too.
Anâ hell âainât nothinâ on this place fer beinâ dark.â
âNo matter. Letâs go. Iâll walk anâ lead the way,â said
Moze, eagerly. âI got sharp eyes. You fellars can ride anâ
carry a pack. Weâll git out of here anâ come back in
daylight fer the rest of the outfit.â
âAnson, Iâm keen fer thet myself,â declared Shady Jones.
âJim, what dâye say to thet?â queried Anson. âRustlinâ out
of this black hole?â
âShore itâs a grand idee,â agreed Wilson.
âThet was a cougar,â avowed Anson, gathering courage as the
silence remained unbroken. âBut jest the same it was as
tough on me as if it hed been a woman screaminâ over a blade
twistinâ in her gizzards.â
âSnake, shore you seen a woman heah lately?â deliberately
asked Wilson.
âReckon I did. Thet kid,â replied Anson, dubiously.
âWal, you
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