8 A Shadow in the Water

I think we had been out a week when we camped one evening just as the dusk was falling, in a bit of country that was more rolling and broken than any we had seen hitherto. Off to our right a streak of cotton-woods and willows showed that running water was near. We were organized like a little military company, with Pike as captain, and he told me to take the canteens and go down to the creek and fill them. When I hitched my horse I leaned my rifle against a tree and started on the errand.

Though it was dark, I had no trouble in finding my way, and soon I could see the water shining like a silver streak through the trees. The canteens were slung over my shoulder, and I strolled along, thinking of many things. Somehow my uncle had been in my thoughts that day, and the recollection was full of melancholy. I was sorry that we had been compelled to part in such a manner, and there was sadness in the reflection that men whom we had never seen until recently were kinder to Henry and me than our father’s brother had been. I thought, too, of the old home back in the East. Verily events were moving rapidly with us. A few months before I had no thought of going even a day’s journey from where I was born, and here we were over the Alleghanies and beyond the Mississippi, hundreds and hundreds of miles from Maryland, and beyond the furthest verge of civilization.

But as I sauntered along towards the creek those thoughts soon yielded to others which were not unhappy. The strain of wild blood in me, which is in us all, I think, was growing stronger. I had not yet known hunger nor imminent danger, and I felt and enjoyed the freedom of the wilderness.

I pulled myself up with a jerk, for if I lingered long the boys would be shouting for water. Then I hurried on to the creek, which flowed in a deeper bed than is usual with these shallow prairie streams.

Presently I found a convenient place and began to fill the canteens. As soon as one was filled I put it on the bank beside me and picked up another. This took several minutes, and the darkness was increasing. I think I was filling the fourth canteen when I felt a curious, indefinable sensation, slight at first, but gradually, growing stronger. It came without any cause, so far as I knew, but it made me shiver a little.

Did you ever have an uncanny feeling when you were alone in the fields or the woods just at that point of time when the day has ended and the night has not begun?

I raised the canteen from the water and held it mechanically in my hand. All the time I was growing colder and my nerves seemed to be palsied. Had I lost the power of movement? Was the chill that settled over me caused by some mysterious presence? I cast my eyes down at the stream and I thought that by the light of the few last rays of the setting sun I saw a shadow in the water. The chill deepened, but by an effort of both mind and muscle I sprang to my feet, and as I did so the canteen slipped from my nerveless fingers and fell with a loud splash into the stream.

I think the falling of the canteen and the noise it made restored me to my balance. I turned around, and the shadow of something flitted away among the cottonwoods. Then I was not mistaken. The presences had been real.

I do not think I am a coward, and I ran towards the shadow. It flitted away among the trees, the rustling of no twig, the sound of no footfall marking its flight. I followed, but I was not able to diminish the distance between. Then I lamented my folly in leaving my rifle at the camp, for I would certainly have fired at the dim object before me. I should have known enough never to let my rifle go a foot from my hand in this wild country.

On among the trees went the shadow. Was it a real figure or merely the creature of a heated imagination? I followed as well as I could. The figure disappeared and then reappeared. For a moment it seemed to stop. There was a rush of cold air and a buzzing past my ear, and then I saw the figure no more. I hunted among the trees, but there was nothing.

Very much taken down, I went back to the stream and got the canteens. This is what comes of dreaming too much, I said to myself. At first I thought I would not speak to anybody about the matter. It was merely the effect of the half light and my mood, and the men would laugh at me. Then I concluded I had better risk the gibes of my companions and speak to Capt. Pike. When I returned to camp some one remarked that I had been a long time in getting the water, but I turned the matter off and hunted up Capt. Pike. As accurately as I could I described the episode at the creek. As I had expected, he laughed at me.

“If it had been a man,” he said, “thar could have been no mistake about him. As fur ghosts, thar ain’t any ghosts on the prairie. I guess you’ve been dreamin’.”

But Pike kindly refrained from saying anything to the other men about the affair. I saw he wanted to spare my feelings. He also volunteered after we had cooked our supper and eaten it to go down to the creek with me and take a look. I guided him to the spot where I had filled the canteens, and as there was a fine moonlight, we searched for quite a while, but found nothing.

The next morning Pike, Magrane and I went down to the creek. As Magrane was a yard or two behind us Pike said jokingly to me:

“I don’t suppose you’ll see any ghosts in broad daylight like this, Fieldin’.”

A minute or two later we came to the creek. Pike wanted a drink of fresh water, and as we did not have any of the canteens with us, there was no way to get it except by kneeling down on the creek bank and reaching the surface of the water with the mouth. As Pike kneeled down he said to me:

“This was whar you filled the canteens, wasn’t it?”

I said that it was, and he added in a moment:

“Yes, here are your tracks in the earth.”

Then he paused, and I saw the expression on his face change. He began to crawl over the earth and examine it very closely.

“What do you see?” I exclaimed eagerly.

He made no reply, but there was a flush on his face and his eyes were alight. For fully five minutes he crawled about like a panther, alert and nervous. Then he stood up and looked at me.

“Boy,” said Pike, in his slow drawling way, “I laughed at you last night fur seein’ a ghost, but I take it back this morning. Thar’s a human track here that ain’t yours. You saw somethin’ last night shore enough.”

I felt a sensation of real relief at his words, for I did not like to think that my senses had played me such a shabby trick.

“What was it then?” I asked.

“I don’t know ’cept that it was a man,” said Pike. “What man or what kind of a man is more’n I can tell. But I’m goin’ to foller his tracks. They may lead to somethin’.”

Scrutinizing the earth with the utmost care, Pike began to move slowly away from the creek. I followed him, and soon I noticed that his course was exactly the same as mine when I chased the phantom the night before. He looked around at me presently, and he must have divined my thoughts from my face.

“Is it the same?” he asked.

I nodded, and he went on with his eyes fixed on the ground. The course led over little hillocks and among the trees, until Pike stopped by a tree near the edge of the creek.

“Did you come here?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, “I am sure of it. This was where I caught the last glimpse of the figure. In front of me there it seemed to draw itself up. I felt a rush of cold air past my face and the figure vanished.”

“Yes,” said Pike, “an’ here is what sent that rush of air past your face. It was the narrowest escape you ever had in your life.”

As he spoke he lifted his eyes from the ground, reached up and tapped with his hand the shaft of an arrow which was buried spike-deep in the body of the tree, under the foliage of which I had stood.

I stared in amazement.

“It’s all plain now,” said Pike. “The fellow, whoever he was, wanted to pick you off without alarmin’ the rest of the boys. He lured you away from the camp, and then he used the bow and arrow either because he didn’t have any other weepin or because he was afraid the sound of a gun would draw us all out. Jest pull that arrer out of the tree fur me, will you?”

I tried to draw the arrow out, but all my strength was unavailing.

“I thought so,” laughed Pike. “It was a strong arm that pulled that bow. Ef that arrer had hit you, Fieldin’, it would have come purty nigh goin’ clean through. I guess we had better see what became of that devil.”

He examined the ground again and walked to the edge of the creek.

“Jest as I thought,” he exclaimed. “The feller come to the creek here after he dodged out of sight, and waded along it to keep from bein’ tracked. No use in tryin’ to foller him. Like ez not he’s forty mile from here now. But this means bizness. Our picnic’s over. We’ve got to be a-watchin’ now.”

The discovery of the arrow was soon known to our entire party, and naturally there was much stir about it All went down to the tree to look at the arrow.

“Pirates!” roared Starboard Sam in great indignation. “They were clippin’ mighty close to you, Joe, and you’ve got to keep your weather-eye open!”

This was an echo of what Pike had said, and all saw the truth of it. Our party was more quiet and cautious that day than it had been before, and in the afternoon, when we stopped to hunt game for our supper, Pike ordered that at least three should go out together, and we should not leave each other on any pretext.

For some time we had experienced very little difficulty in finding game. Antelope were plentiful, and there were several varieties of prairie fowls that were excellent eating when nicely broiled on the end of a sharpened stick. I was fortunate enough that afternoon to kill an antelope with a very fine shot which drew compliments for me from the others, and I was feeling in such a good humor that my depression on account of the incident of the arrow disappeared.

►   ▲