The Phantoms of the Foot-Bridge, and Other Stories — John Shaqi
The Phantoms of the Foot-Bridge, and Other StoriesCraddock, Charles Egbert
General
The Phantoms of the Foot-Bridge, and Other Stories
Craddock, Charles Egbert
Cumberland Mountains -- Fiction; Mountain life -- Fiction; Tennessee -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
It was all very cheerful within, but outside the wind still blared
mournfully. Once more Dundas was sorry that he had declined the
invitation to remain, and it was with a somewhat tentative intention
that he made a motion to return to the hotel. But his host seemed to
regard his resolution as final, and rose with a regret, not an
insistence. The two women stared in silent amazement at the mere idea of
his camping out, as it were, in the old hotel. The ascendency of
masculine government here, notwithstanding Roxby's assertion that Eve
was made of Adam's backbone, was very apparent in their mute
acquiescence and the alacrity with which they began to collect various
articles, according to his directions, to make the stranger's stay more
comfortable.
"Em'ry kin go along an' holp," he said, heartlessly; for poor Emory's
joy in perceiving that the guest was not a fixture, and that his
presence was not to be an embargo on any word between himself and
Millicent during the entire evening, was pitiably manifest. But the
situation was still not without its comforts, since Dundas was to go
too. Hence he was not poor company when once in the saddle, and was
civil to a degree of which his former dismayed surliness had given no
promise.
Night had become a definite element. The twilight had fled. Above their
heads, as they galloped through the dank woods, the bare boughs of the
trees clashed together--so high above their heads that to the town man,
unaccustomed to these great growths, the sound seemed not of the
vicinage, but unfamiliar, uncanny, and more than once he checked his
horse to listen. As they approached the mountain's verge and overlooked
the valley and beheld the sky, the sense of the predominance of darkness
was redoubled. The ranges gloomed against the clearer spaces, but a
cloud, deep gray with curling white edges, was coming up from the west,
with an invisible convoy of vague films, beneath which the stars,
glimmering white points, disappeared one by one. The swift motion of
this aerial fleet sailing with the wind might be inferred from the
seemingly hurried pace of the moon making hard for the west. Still
bright was the illumined segment, but despite its glitter the shadowy
space of the full disk was distinctly visible, its dusky field spangled
with myriads of minute, dully golden points. Down, down it took its way
in haste--in disordered fright, it seemed, as if it had no heart to
witness the storm which the wind and the clouds foreboded--to fairer
skies somewhere behind those western mountains. Soon even its vague
light would encroach no more upon the darkness. The great hotel would be
invisible, annihilated as it were in the gloom, and not even thus dimly
exist, glimmering, alone, forlorn, so incongruous to the wilderness that
it seemed even now some mere figment of the brain, as the two horsemen
came with a freshened burst of speed along the deserted avenue and
reined up beside a small gate at the side.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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