``What's that?'' I asked.
``It's a house that used to belong to Cram, who was an overseer.The niggers hated him, and he was killed in bed by a big black nigger chief from Africa.The niggers won't go near the place.They say it's haunted.''
``Get up,'' said I; ``we're going there now.''
Nick sprang out of bed and began to get into his clothes.
``Is it a game?'' he asked.
``Yes.'' He was always ready for a game.
We climbed out of the window, and made our way in the mist through the long, wet grass, Nick leading.He took a path through a dark forest swamp, over logs that spanned the stagnant waters, and at length, just as the mist was growing pearly in the light, we came out at a tumble-down house that stood in an open glade by the river's bank.
``What's to do now?'' said Nick.
``We must get into the house,'' I answered.But Iconfess I didn't care for the looks of it.
Nick stared at me.
``Very good, Davy,'' he said; ``I'll follow where you go.''
It was a Saturday morning.Why I recall this I do not know.It has no special significance.
I tried the door.With a groan and a shriek it gave way, disclosing the blackness inside.We started back involuntarily.I looked at Nick, and Nick at me.He was very pale, and so must I have been.But such was the respect we each held for the other's courage that neither dared flinch.And so I walked in, although it seemed as if my shirt was made of needle points and my hair stood on end.The crackings of the old floor were to me like the shots in Charlestown Bay.Our hearts beating wildly, we made our way into a farther room.It was like walking into the beyond.
``Is there a window here?'' I asked Nick, my voice sounding like a shout.
``Yes, ahead of us.''
Groping for it, I suddenly received a shock that set me reeling.Human nature could stand no more.We both turned tail and ran out of the house as fast as we could, and stood in the wet grass, panting.Then shame came.
``Let's open the window first,'' I suggested.So we walked around the house and pried the solid shutter from its fastenings.Then, gathering our courage, we went in again at the door.In the dim light let into the farther room we saw a four-poster bed, old and cheap, with ragged curtains.It was this that I had struck in my groping.
``The chief killed Cram there,'' said Nick, in an awed voice, ``in that bed.What do you want to do here, Davy?''
``Wait,'' I said, though I had as little mind to wait as ever in my life.``Stand here by the window.''
We waited there.The mist rose.The sun peeped over the bank of dense green forest and spread rainbow colors on the still waters of the river.Now and again a fish broke, or a great bird swooped down and slit the surface.A far-off snatch of melody came to our ears,--the slaves were going to work.Nothing more.And little by little grave misgivings gnawed at my soul of the wisdom of coming to this place.Doubtless there were many other spots.
``Davy,'' said Nick, at last, ``I'm sorry I took that money.What are we here for?''
``Hush!'' I whispered; ``do you hear anything?''
I did, and distinctly.For I had been brought up in the forest.
``I hear voices,'' he said presently, ``coming this way.''
They were very clear to me by then.Emerging from the forest path were five gentlemen.The leader, more plainly dressed than the others, carried a leather case.
Behind him was the stout figure of Mr.Darnley, his face solemn; and last of all came Mr.Harry Riddle, very pale, but cutting the tops of the long grass with a switch.
Nick seized my arm.
``They are going to fight,'' said he.
``Yes,'' I replied, ``and we are here to stop them, now.''
``No, not now,'' he said, holding me still.``We'll have some more fun out of this yet.''
``Fun?'' I echoed.
``Yes,'' he said excitedly.``Leave it to me.I shan't let them fight.''
And that instant we changed generals, David giving place to Nicholas.
