Part 125 (1/2)

the churge. Wal, air ye riddy to take the back track?”

”Oh, certainly. As you say, there's no reason for our remaining here.”

Zeb moves off first, leading the captive alongside of him. The latter makes no resistance; but rather seems satisfied at being conducted in company.

Calhoun rides slowly--a close observer might say reluctantly in the rear.

At a point where the path angles abruptly round a clump of trees, he reins up, and appears to consider whether he should go on, or gallop back.

His countenance betrays terrible agitation. Zeb Stump, admonished by the interrupted footfall, becomes aware that his travelling companion has stopped.

He pulls up his mare; and facing round, regards the loiterer with a look of interrogation.

He observes the agitated air, and perfectly comprehends its cause.

Without saying a word, he lowers his long rifle from its rest upon his left shoulder; lays it across the hollow of his arm, ready at an instant's notice to be carried to his cheek. In this att.i.tude he sits eyeing the ex-captain of cavalry. There is no remark made. None is needed. Zeb's gesture is sufficient. It plainly says:--”Go back if ye dare!”

The latter, without appearing to notice it, takes the hint; and moves silently on.

But no longer is he permitted to ride in the rear. Without saying it, the old hunter has grown suspicious, and makes an excuse for keeping behind--with which his _compagnon du voyage_ is compelled to put up.

The cavalcade advances slowly through the chapparal.

It approaches the open prairie.

At length the sky line comes in sight.

Something seen upon the distant horizon appears to impress Calhoun with a fresh feeling of fear; and, once more reining up, he sits considering.

Dread is the alternative that occupies his mind. Shall he plunge back into the thicket, and hide himself from the eyes of men? Or go on and brave the dark storm that is fast gathering around him?

He would give all he owns in the world--all that he ever hopes to own-- even Louise Poindexter herself--to be relieved of the hated presence of Zeb Stump--to be left for ten minutes alone with the Headless Horseman!

It is not to be. The sleuth-hound, that has followed him thus far, seems more than ever inexorable. Though loth to believe it, instinct tells him: that the old hunter regards _him_ as the real captive, and any attempt on his part to steal away, will but end in his receiving a bullet in the back!

After all, what can Zeb Stump say, or do? There is no certainty that the backwoodsman knows anything of the circ.u.mstance that is troubling him?

And after all, there may be nothing to be known?

It is evident that Zeb is suspicious. But what of that? Only the friendless need fear suspicion; and the ex-officer is not one of these.

Unless that little tell-tale be discovered, he has nothing to fear; and what chance of its being discovered? One against ten. In all likelihood it stayed not where it was sent, but was lost in the secret recesses of the chapparal?

Influenced by this hope, Calhoun regains courage; and with an air of indifference, more a.s.sumed than real, he rides out into the open prairie--close followed by Zeb Stump on his critter--the dead body of Henry Poindexter bringing up the rear!

CHAPTER NINETY THREE.

A BODY BEHEADED.

Forsaken by two-thirds of its spectators--abandoned, by one-half of the jury--the trial taking place under the tree is of necessity interrupted.