Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 48: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ON THE TRAIL OF A MYSTERY. The gruesomeness of my situation would have been awesome, but for tts frightful peril. Only the diameter of a foot log separated me from a dead man. By reaching over the trunk I could grasp the stiffened fingers of one of the outstretched hands, for in falling he had assumed in some strange way, a posture almost parallel to the log, and a part of the Winchester itself touched the wood. One of the easiest things possible would have been for me to secure the rifle which had a number of charges in the magazine. From my coign of vantage, and remembering my revol- ver, I ought to be able to put up a good defense. But I had no wish to attempt it—at least in that form, for the three men could easily assume positions that would render the log no defense at all. If worst should come to worst, I pre- ferred to rely upon my chosen weapon. With my three enemies within aim’s reach, I could do better lightning-like work than the three with their more clumsy Winchesters. If there was any one thing which it was important above all things to do it was to remain motionless and quies- cent, and I am ashamed to confess that that is precisely what I did not do. For several minutes I lay on my face, hugging the earth like a brother, and wondering whether it was possible that any part of my clothing showed. All that time, the only thing I heard was the tumultuous thumping of my own heart. Then a squirrel that was abroad early for the season, chirped somewhere overhead and looking up sideways, I caught a glimpse of a gray streak of light as it flashed along a branching limb and vanished. Some bird which I could not identify twit- - tered for a moment and was satisfied. Spring was as far advanced in that sec- tion as it would be a month later in the North. But not the “ shadow of a sound ” came to me from the three men. [ lis- 39 tened intently and failed to catch the jaintest murmur of voices. Recalling the legends of Indian acumen under similar circumstances, I pressed my ear flat against the ground. At first I was startled into the belief that I had heard a footfall near me, but it was the rustling of a leaf, magnified grotesquely because it touched the lobe of my ear. Profound silence on every hand, ex- cept for that faint, almost inaudible murmur, always noticeable in a great forest and resembling the low, soft boom of the ocean many a long mile away. ° The passing of every fraction of a minute added to my hopes. If Zach Peters and his friends meant to investi- gate closer, surely there was no reason for tarrying. They could have no wish to examine the stark figure, the victim of their superior woodcraft. It was the usual custom during the , feuds referred to for a party, after shooting a member of the opposing clan, to leave his body where it fell ior his friends to look after. What rea- son was there for following a different rule in the present situation? “ None,” I was rash enough to say to myself. It was at this juncture that a shiver of terror passed through me at the rec- ollection that when I clambered over the log, | had forgotten my traveling bag, which lay on the other side in full view of my enemies. The sight of it would tell the mountaineers that none oi their kind ever owned such an article and they must therefore suspect the truth. : I knew the exact spot where it lay, and yielding to a nervous impulse, I hitched a little way along the log, reached over and seizing the grip by one end, snatched it over to me. The encouraging feature of the situation was that, although it had lain in plain view so long, it had drawn no one to the spot, In this fact lay the warrant for believing Zach Peters and his com- panions had departed. COU GOOOKS eco