The last stage of the girls' journey--the ride home from the ranch--was like some horrible nightmare. It was as though recollection had suddenly turned itself into a hideous, tangible form which was pursuing them over the dark expanse of prairie. Even their horses seemed to share something of their riders' fears, for their light springing stride never slackened during that ten miles' stretch, and they had to be literally forced down to a walk to give them the necessary "breathing." Like their riders, the animals' one idea seemed to be to reach the security of the farm with all possible dispatch.

The farm dogs heralded their approach, and when the girls slid down from their saddles Hephzibah was at the threshold waiting for them.

The rest of the evening was spent in recounting their adventures.

Hephzibah listened to their narrative, filled with superst.i.tious emotion whilst endeavouring to treat the matter in what she deemed a practical, common-sense manner. She was profoundly impressed. Hervey was there, but chose to treat their story with uncompromising incredulity. So little was he interested, although he listened to what was said, as to rouse the indignation of both girls, and only his sudden departure to bed saved a stormy ending to the scene.

It was not until the house was locked up, and Prudence and Alice were preparing to retire--they shared the same bedroom--that Hephzibah Malling dropped her mask of common-sense and laid bare the quaintly superst.i.tious side of her character. The good farm-wife had not lived on the prairie all her life without contracting to the full the superst.i.tions which always come to those whose lives are spent in such close communion with Nature. She could talk freely with these two girls when no one else was present. She had heard a hundred times the legends pertaining to the obscure valley of Owl Hoot, but this was the first time that she had heard the account of these things from eye-witnesses.

She came into the girls' bedroom arrayed in a red flannel dressing-gown, which had shrunk considerably under the stress of many washings, and her night-cap with its long strings, white as driven snow, enveloped her head like a miniature sun-bonnet. She came with an excuse upon her lips, and seated herself in a rigid rush-bottomed chair. Prudence was brushing her hair and Alice was already in bed.

"My dears," she said, as she plumped herself down; she was addressing them both, but her round eyes were turned upon Alice, who was sitting up in bed with her hands clasped about her knees, "I've been thinking that maybe we might ask young Mr. Chillingwood out here.

It's quite a time since I've seen him. He used to come frequent-like before--before--" with a sharp glance over at her daughter, "a few months back. He's a good lad, and I thought as he'd make quite a companion for Hervey. An' it 'ud do 'em a deal of good to air them spare rooms. I'm sure they're smelling quite musty. What say?"

Alice blushed and Hephzibah's old eyes twinkled with pleasure.

Prudence answered at once--

"That's a good idea, mother, I'll write to him at once for you." Then she turned her smiling face upon the old lady and shook a forefinger at her. "You're an arch-plotter, lady mother. Look at Alice's face.

That's not sunburn, I know."

"Maybe it isn't--maybe it isn't," replied Mrs. Malling, with a comfortable chuckle, whilst her fat face was turned up towards a gorgeous wool-worked text which hung directly over the head of the bed, "though I'll not say but what a day in the sun like she's just had mightn't have redded the skin some."

"I am very sun-burnt," said Alice consciously.

"Why, we've been in the forest, where there's no sun, nearly all day,"

exclaimed Prudence quickly.

"Ah, them forests--them forests," observed Hephzibah, in a pensive tone of reflection. "Folks says strange things about them forests."

"Yes," put in Alice, glad to turn attention from herself, "usually folks talk a lot of nonsense when they attribute supernatural things to certain places. But for once they're right, mother Hephzy; I shall never disbelieve in ghosts again. Oh, the horror of it--it was awful,"

and the girl gave a shudder of genuine horror.

"And could you see through 'em?" asked the old lady, in a tone of suppressed excitement.

"No, mother," chimed in Prudence, leaving the dressing-table and seating herself on the patchwork coverlet of the bed. "They seemed quite--solid."

"But they wore long robes," said Alice.

"Did they now?" said Mrs. Malling, wagging her head meaningly. "But the lore has it that spectres is flimsy things as ye can see through--like the steam from under the lid of a stewpan."

"Ye--es," said Alice thoughtfully.

"All I can say is, that I wonder George Iredale can live beside that graveyard. I tell you, mother, there's no arguing away what we saw.

They came up out of one of those graves and marched in a procession into the ruined dead-house," said Prudence seriously.

"And my mare nearly threw me in her fright." Alice's face had paled at the recollection.

Hephzibah nodded complacently. She was thoroughly enjoying herself.

"True--true. That's just how 'tis. Animals has an instinct that ain't like to human. They sees more. Now maybe your horses just stood of a tremble, bimeby like? That's how it mostly takes 'em."

Under any other circ.u.mstances the two girls would probably have laughed at the good lady's appreciation of the supposed facts. But their adventures were of too recent a date; besides, they believed themselves. The gloom of the forest seemed to have got into their bones, and the horrid picture was still with them.

"The Haunted Hill," said Prudence musingly. "I don't think I ever heard in what way the valley was haunted. Have you, mother?"

"Sakes alive, girl, yes. It's the way you have said, with fantastic fixin's added accordin' to taste. That's how it come I never believed.

Folks disagreed about the spooks. They all allowed as the place was haunted, but their notions wasn't just alike. Your poor father, child, was a man o' sense, an' he argued as plain as a tie-post. He said there was fabrications around that valley 'cause of the variating yarns, and I wouldn't gainsay him. But, as Sarah says, when the washing don't dry white there's mostly a prairie fire somewheres around. Your father was that set on his point that he wouldn't never go an' see for himself, although, I do say, I urged him to it for the sake of truth."

Prudence yawned significantly and Alice had snuggled down on to her pillow. The former clambered in beneath the clothes.

"Well, mother, all I can say is, that never again, unless I am forced to, will I visit Owl Hoot. And under any circ.u.mstances I will never run the risk of getting benighted there."

"Well, well," said the farm-wife, rising heavily to her feet and preparing to depart, "maybe George would like to hear about the thing you've seen when he comes back." She paused on her way to the door, and turned an earnest face upon the two girls. "Say, children, you didn't see no blue lights, did ye?"

"No, mother Hephzy," said Alice sleepily. "There were no blue lights."

"Ah," in a tone of relief. "There's no gainsaying the blue lights.

They're bad. It means death, children, death, does the blue light--sure." And the good lady pa.s.sed out of the room with the shuffling gait which a pair of loose, heelless slippers contrived to give her.

"Prue," said Alice, when the door had closed, "when are you going to ask Robb to come?"

"As soon as possible, if you like."

"Thanks. Good-night, dear; mother Hephzy is a sweet old thing."

The two girls turned over, and in a few moments were sleeping soundly.

It would have taken more than the recollections of their adventures to banish sleep from their tired eyes. They slept the sweet refreshing sleep of those who have pa.s.sed their waking hours in the strong, bracing air of the prairie.

Two days later Hervey was abroad early. He was cleaning his guns outside the back door of the house. Two weapons were lying upon a large dust sheet which was spread out upon the ground. The guns were in pieces, and each portion had been carefully oiled and wiped. He was now devoting his attention to a heavy revolver.

Prudence was standing in the kitchen doorway watching her brother.

Andy was over by the barn superintending the dispatch of the teams to the harvest fields; the hands were preparing to depart to their work.

Prudence's early morning work was in the creamery.

Hervey looked up from the weapon he was cleaning, and turned his great eyes upon his sister.

"When is this fellow coming out here?" he asked in a tone of irritation. His question was merely the result of his own train of thought. He had not been speaking of any one in particular.

"Who? Robb Chillingwood?"

"Yes, of course. I've not heard of any one else's coming."

"We've asked him for a fortnight to-day. Why?"

Hervey ran the cleaning-rod through a couple of the chambers of the pistol before he spoke again. The rag jammed in the barrel and entailed a hard pull to extract it.

"Who asked him to come?" he went on, as he re-adjusted the piece of rag in the eye of the rod.

"Mother did. He's a very nice fellow." Prudence looked over at the parade of "Shire" teams as they started for the fields. "Alice and he are engaged to be married, you know."

"And I suppose he's coming out here to 'spoon' her--ugh! It's sickening."