Among them was no stint for supper—either of eatables or drinkables. The many who had gone back—knowing they would not need them—had surrendered their haversacks, and the “heel-taps” of their canteens, to the few who remained. There was liquor enough to last through the night—even if spent in continuous carousing.
Despite their knowledge of this—despite the cheerful crackling of the logs, as they took their seats around the fire—they were not in high spirits.
One and all appeared to be under some influence, that, like a spell, prevented them from enjoying a pleasure perhaps not surpassed upon earth.
You may talk of the tranquil joys of the domestic hearth.
At times, upon the prairie, I have myself thought of, and longed to return to them.
But now, looking back upon both, and calmly comparing them, one with the other, I cannot help exclaiming:
“Give me the circle of the camp-fire, with half-a-dozen of my hunter comrades around it—once again give me that, and be welcome to the wealth I have accumulated, and the trivial honours I have gained—thrice welcome to the care and the toil that must still be exerted in retaining them.”
The sombre abstraction of their spirits was easily explained. The weird shape was fresh in their thoughts. They were yet under the influence of an indefinable awe.
Account for the apparition as they best could, and laugh at it—as they at intervals affected to do—they could not clear their minds of this unaccountable incubus, nor feel satisfied with any explanation that had been offered.
The guide Spangler partook of the general sentiment, as did their leader Calhoun.
The latter appeared more affected by it than any of the party!
Seated, with moody brow, under the shadow of the trees, at some distance from the fire, he had not spoken a word since the departure of the dragoons.
Nor did he seem disposed to join the circle of those who were basking in the blaze; but kept himself apart, as if not caring to come under the scrutiny of his companions.
There was still the same wild look in his eyes—the same scared expression upon his features—that had shown itself before sunset.
“I say, Cash Calhoun!” cried one of the young fellows by the fire, who was beginning to talk “tall,” under the influence of the oft-repeated potations—“come up, old fellow, and join us in a drink!
We all respect your sorrow; and will do what we can to get satisfaction, for you and yours.
But a man mustn’t always mope, as you’re doing.
Come along here, and take a ‘smile’ of the Monongaheela!
It’ll do you a power of good, I promise you.”
Whether it was that he was pleased at the interpretation put upon his silent attitude—which the speech told him had been observed—or whether he had become suddenly inclined towards a feeling of good fellowship, Calhoun accepted the invitation; and stepping up to the fire, fell into line with the rest of the roysterers.
Before seating himself, he took a pull at the proffered flask.
From that moment his air changed, as if by enchantment.
Instead of showing sombre, he became eminently hilarious—so much so as to cause surprise to more than one of the party.
The behaviour seemed odd for a man, whose cousin was supposed to have been murdered that very morning.
Though commencing in the character of an invited guest, he soon exhibited himself as the host of the occasion.
After the others had emptied their respective flasks, he proved himself possessed of a supply that seemed inexhaustible.
Canteen after canteen came forth, from his capacious saddle-bags—the legacy left by many departed friends, who had gone back with the major.
Partaking of these at the invitation of their leader—encouraged by his example—the young planter “bloods” who encircled the camp fire, talked, sang, danced, roared, and even rolled around it, until the alcohol could no longer keep them awake.
Then, yielding to exhausted nature, they sank back upon the sward, some perhaps to experience the dread slumber of a first intoxication.
The ex-officer of volunteers was the last of the number who laid himself along the grass.
If the last to lie down, he was the first to get up.
Scarce had the carousal ceased—scarce had the sonorous breathing of his companions proclaimed them asleep—when he rose into an erect attitude, and with cautious steps stole out from among them.
With like stealthy tread he kept on to the confines of the camp—to the spot where his horse stood “hitched” to a tree.
Releasing the rein from its knot, and throwing it over the neck of the animal, he clambered into the saddle, and rode noiselessly away.
In all these actions there was no evidence that he was intoxicated.
On the contrary, they proclaimed a clear brain, bent upon some purpose previously determined.
What could it be?
Urged by affection, was he going forth to trace the mystery of the murder, by finding the body of the murdered man?
Did he wish to show his zeal by going alone?
Some such design might have been interpreted from a series of speeches that fell carelessly from his lips, as he rode through the chapparal.
“Thank God, there’s a clear moon, and six good hours before those youngsters will think of getting to their feet!
I’ll have time to search every corner of the thicket, for a couple of miles around the place; and if the body be there I cannot fail to find it.
But what could that thing have meant?
If I’d been the only one to see it, I might have believed myself mad.
But they all saw it—every one of them.
Almighty heavens! what could it have been?”
The closing speech ended in an exclamation of terrified surprise—elicited by a spectacle that at the moment presented itself to the eyes of the ex-officer—causing him to rein up his horse, as if some dread danger was before him. Coming in by a side path, he had arrived on the edge of the opening already described.
He was just turning into it, when he saw, that he was not the only horseman, who at that late hour was traversing the chapparal.
Another, to all appearance as well mounted as himself, was approaching along the avenue—not slowly as he, but in a quick trot.
Long before the strange rider had come near, the moonlight, shining fall upon him, enabled Calhoun to see that he was headless!