The apparition confronting the dreamer in the haunted wood--the thing so like, yet so unlike, his mother--was horrible! It stirred no love nor long-ings in his heart; it came unattended with pleasant memories of a golden past--inspired no sentiment of any kind; all the finer emotions were swallowed up in fear. He tried to turn and run from before it, but his legs were as lead; he was unable to lift his feet from the ground. His arms hung helpless at his sides; of his eyes only he retained control, and these he dared not remove from the lustreless orbs of the apparition, which he knew was not a soul without a body, but that most dreadful of all existences in-festing that haunted wood--a body without a soul!
In its blank stare was neither love, nor pity, nor intelligence--nothing to which to address an ap-peal for mercy. 'An appeal will not lie,' he thought, with an absurd reversion to professional slang, mak-ing the situation more horrible, as the fire of a cigar might light up a tomb.
For a time, which seemed so long that the world grew grey with age and sin, and the haunted forest, having fulfilled its purpose in this monstrous cul-mination of its terrors, vanished out of his conscious-ness with all its sights and sounds, the apparition stood within a pace, regarding him with the mind-less malevolence of a wild brute; then thrust its hands forward and sprang upon him with appalling ferocity! The act released his physical energies with-out unfettering his will; his mind was still spell-bound, but his powerful body and agile limbs, endowed with a blind, insensate life of their own, re-sisted stoutly and well. For an instant he seemed to see this unnatural contest between a dead intelli-gence and a breathing mechanism only as a spectator --such fancies are in dreams; then he regained his identity almost as if by a leap forward into his body, and the straining automaton had a direct-ing will as alert and fierce as that of its hideous antagonist.
But what mortal can cope with a creature of his dream? The imagination creating the enemy is al-ready vanquished; the combat's result is the com-bat's cause. Despite his struggles--despite his strength and activity, which seemed wasted in a void, he felt the cold fingers close upon his throat.
Borne backward to the earth, he saw above him the dead and drawn face within a hand's-breadth of his own, and then all was black. A sound as of the beat-ing of distant drums--a murmur of swarming voices, a sharp, far cry signing all to silence, and Halpin Frayser dreamed that he was dead.
4
A warm, clear night had been followed by a morning of drenching fog. At about the middle of the afternoon of the preceding day a little whiff of light vapour--a mere thickening of the atmos-phere, the ghost of a cloud--had been observed clinging to the western side of Mount St. Helena, away up along the barren altitudes near the sum-mit. It was so thin, so diaphanous, so like a fancy made visible, that one would have said: 'Look quickly! in a moment it will be gone.'
In a moment it was visibly larger and denser.
While with one edge it clung to the mountain, with the other it reached farther and farther out into the air above the lower slopes. At the same time it ex-tended itself to north and south, joining small patches of mist that appeared to come out of the mountain-side on exactly the same level, with an in-telligent design to be absorbed. And so it grew and grew until the summit was shut out of view from the valley, and over the valley itself was an ever-extending canopy, opaque and grey. At Calistoga, which lies near the head of the valley and the foot of the mountain, there were a starless night and a sunless morning. The fog, sinking into the valley, had reached southward, swallowing up ranch after ranch, until it had blotted out the town of St.
Helena, nine miles away. The dust in the road was laid; trees were adrip with moisture; birds sat silent in their coverts; the morning light was wan and ghastly, with neither colour nor fire.
Two men left the town of St. Helena at the first glimmer of dawn, and walked along the road north-ward up the valley toward Calistoga. They carried guns on their shoulders, yet no one having knowledge of such matters could have mistaken them for hunters of bird or beast. They were a deputy sheriff from Napa and a detective from San Francisco--Holker and Jaralson, respectively. Their business was man-hunting.
'How far is it?' inquired Holker, as they strode along, their feet stirring white the dust beneath the damp surface of the road.
'The White Church? Only a half mile farther,'
the other answered. 'By the way,' he added, 'it is neither white nor a church; it is an abandoned schoolhouse, grey with age and neglect. Religious services were once held in it--when it was white, and there is a graveyard that would delight a poet.
Can you guess why I sent for you, and told you to come armed?'
'Oh, I never have bothered you about things of that kind. I've always found you communicative when the time came. But if I may hazard a guess, you want me to help you arrest one of the corpses in the graveyard.'
'You remember Branscom?' said Jaralson, treat-ing his companion's wit with the inattention that it deserved.
'The chap who cut his wife's throat? I ought; Iwasted a week's work on him and had my expenses for my trouble. There is a reward of five hundred dollars, but none of us ever got a sight of him. You don't mean to say--'
'Yes, I do. He has been under the noses of you fellows all the time. He comes by night to the old graveyard at the White Church.'
'The devil! That's where they buried his wife.'
'Well, you fellows might have had sense enough to suspect that he would return to her grave some time! '
'The very last place that anyone would have ex-pected him to return to.'
'But you had exhausted all the other places.
Learning your failure at them, I "laid for him"there.'
'And you found him?'
'Damn it! he found me. The rascal got the drop on me--regularly held me up and made me travel.
