But in the next instant came that second backward look in which I glimpsed two other things--things that canceled most of the relief and gave me a supreme shock from which I shall never recover. I have said that I was on a high part of the drive, from which much of the plantation behind me was visible. This vista included not only the house and its trees but some of the abandoned and partly flooded flat land beside the river, and several bends of the weed-choked drive I had been so hastily traversing. In both of these latter places I now beheld sights--or suspicions of sights--which I wish devoutly I could deny. It was a faint, distant scream which made me turn back again, and as I did so I caught a trace of motion on the dull gray marshy plain behind the house. At that distance human figures are very small; yet I thought the motion resolved itself into two of these, pursuer and pursued. I even thought I saw the dark-clothed leading figure overtaken and seized by the bald, naked figure in the rear--overtaken, seized, and dragged violently in the direction of the now burning house. But I could not watch the outcome, for at once a nearer sight obtruded itself--a suggestion of motion among the underbrush at a point some distance back along the deserted drive. _Unmistakably, the weeds and bushes and briars were swaying as no wind could sway them; swaying as if some large, swift serpent were wriggling purposefully along on the ground in pursuit of me._ * * * * * That was all I could stand. I scrambled along madly for the gate, heedless of torn clothing and bleeding scratches, and jumped into the roadster parked under the great evergreen tree. It was a bedraggled, rain-drenched sight, but the works were unharmed and I had no trouble in starting the thing. I went on blindly in the direction the car was headed for. Nothing was in my mind but to get away from that frightful region of nightmares and cacodemons--to get away as quickly and as far as gasoline could take me. About three or four miles along the road a farmer hailed me--a kindly, drawling fellow of middle age and considerable native intelligence. I was glad to slow down and ask directions, though I knew I must present a strange enough aspect. The man readily told me the way to Cape Girardeau, and inquired where I had come from in such a state at such an early hour. Thinking it best to say little, I merely mentioned that I had been caught in the night's rain and had taken shelter at a near-by farmhouse, afterward losing my way in the underbrush trying to find my car. "At a farmhouse, eh? Wonder whose it coulda ben. Ain't nothin' standin' this side o' Jim Ferris' place acrost Barker's Crick, an' that's all o' twenty miles by the rud." I gave a start, and wondered what fresh mystery this portended, then asked my informant if he had overlooked the large ruined plantation house whose ancient gate bordered the road not far back.