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    His Unquiet Ghost 1911
    His Unquiet Ghost 1911
    His Unquiet Ghost 1911
    Ebook53 pages38 minutes

    His Unquiet Ghost 1911

    By Mary Noailles Murfree

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    His Unquiet Ghost 1911

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      Book preview

      His Unquiet Ghost 1911 - Mary Noailles Murfree

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of His Unquiet Ghost, by

      Charles Egbert Craddock         (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree)

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: His Unquiet Ghost

             1911

      Author: Charles Egbert Craddock         (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree)

      Release Date: November 19, 2007 [EBook #23556]

      Last Updated: January 5, 2013

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS UNQUIET GHOST ***

      Produced by David Widger

      HIS UNQUIET GHOST

      By Charles Egbert Craddock

      1911

      The moon was high in the sky. The wind was laid. So silent was the vast stretch of mountain wilderness, aglint with the dew, that the tinkle of a rill far below in the black abyss seemed less a sound than an evidence of the pervasive quietude, since so slight a thing, so distant, could compass so keen a vibration. For an hour or more the three men who lurked in the shadow of a crag in the narrow mountain-pass, heard nothing else. When at last they caught the dull reverberation of a slow wheel and the occasional metallic clank of a tire against a stone, the vehicle was fully three miles distant by the winding road in the valley. Time lagged. Only by imperceptible degrees the sound of deliberate approach grew louder on the air as the interval of space lessened. At length, above their ambush at the summit of the mountain's brow the heads of horses came into view, distinct in the moonlight between the fibrous pines and the vast expanse of the sky above the valley. Even then there was renewed delay. The driver of the wagon paused to rest the team.

      The three lurking men did not move; they scarcely ventured to breathe. Only when there was no retrograde possible, no chance of escape, when the vehicle was fairly on the steep declivity of the road, the precipice sheer on one side, the wall of the ridge rising perpendicularly on the other, did two of them, both revenue-raiders disguised as mountaineers, step forth from the shadow. The other, the informer, a genuine mountaineer, still skulked motionless in the darkness. The revenuers, ascending the road, maintained a slow, lunging gait, as if they had toiled from far.

      Their abrupt appearance had the effect of a galvanic shock to the man handling the reins, a stalwart, rubicund fellow, who visibly paled. He drew up so suddenly as almost to throw the horses from their feet.

      G'evenin', ventured Browdie, the elder of the raiders, in a husky voice affecting an untutored accent. He had some special ability as a mimic, and, being familiar with the dialect and manners of the people, this gift greatly facilitated the rustic impersonation he had essayed. Ye're haulin' late, he added, for the hour was close to midnight.

      Yes, stranger; haulin' late, from Eskaqua—a needcessity.

      What's yer cargo? asked Browdie, seeming only ordinarily inquisitive.

      A sepulchral cadence was in the driver's voice, and the disguised raiders noted that the three other men on the wagon had preserved, throughout, a solemn silence. What we-uns mus' all be one day, stranger—a corpus.

      Browdie

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