Love stories; Montana -- Fiction; Religious fiction; Western stories
"I am not afraid," calmly. "And no one will trouble me. Don't you know
what they say about the spirit of a man--" she stopped; she had almost
said "a man who has been murdered"--"coming back to his home the first
night after he is buried?" It was her last frantic effort.
The man before her trembled, and looked around nervously.
"You better come away to-night with me," he said, edging away from the
door.
"See, the sun is going down! You must go now," she said imperiously; and
reluctantly the man mounted his restless horse, and rode away down the
mountain.
She watched him silhouetted against the blood-red globe of the sun as it
sank lower and lower. She could see every outline of his slouch-hat and
muscular shoulders as he turned now and then and saw her standing still
alone at her cabin door. Why he was going he could not tell; but he went,
and he frowned as he rode away, with the wicked gleam still in his eye;
for he meant to return.
At last he disappeared; and the girl, turning, looked up, and there rode
the white ghost of the moon overhead. She was alone.
CHAPTER II
THE FLIGHT
A great fear settled down upon the girl as she realized that she was alone
and, for a few hours at least, free. It was a marvellous escape. Even now
she could hear the echo of the man's last words, and see his hateful smile
as he waved his good-by and promised to come back for her to-morrow.
She felt sure he would not wait until the night. It might be he would
return even yet. She cast another reassuring look down the darkening road,
and strained her ear; but she could no longer hear hoof-beats.
Nevertheless, it behooved her to hasten. He had blanched at her suggestion
of walking spirits; but, after all, his courage might arise. She shuddered
to think of his returning later, in the night. She must fly somewhere at
once.
Instantly her dormant senses seemed to be on the alert. Fully fledged
plans flashed through her brain. She went into the cabin, and barred the
door. She made every movement swiftly, as if she had not an instant to
spare. Who could tell? He might return even before dark. He had been hard
to baffle, and she did not feel at all secure. It was her one chance of
safety to get away speedily, whither it mattered little, only so she was
away and hidden.
Her first act inside the cottage was to get the belt from the cupboard and
buckle it around her waist. She examined and loaded the pistols. Her
throat seemed seized with sudden constriction when she discovered that
the barrels had been empty and the weapons would have done her no good
even if she could have reached them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account