CHAPTER IX.

LOST IN THE FOREST.

Still crouching down by the great tree-trunk at the entrance of the cavern lodge of the Maybob twins, in whose care her father, of whom the reader recollects she came out in search, was at that very moment, though she knew it not, and had no knowledge of the cave itself, Vinnie watched, as best she might, through the blinding storm, the approach of the rider of the white horse and his mysterious burden. Death, desisting for a moment from his persistent pawing of the earth at the base of the rock that had defied the girl’s weak attempts at removal a few minutes before, came, and standing close beside her, poked his sharp nose out through the bushes that grew thick around the foot of the tree, and watched with his keen eyes the horseman, who was coming nearer every moment.

She could not see the man’s face very distinctly, for he wore a wide, slouch hat that, when he bent far forward on his horse, to prevent the sleet from beating into his eyes and mouth, almost entirely concealed it from view.

But the mysterious burden that he carried before him was plainly visible, and seemed, perhaps because of its very mystery, to have a sort of weird fascination for her.

She could not see the object, itself; it was so closely rolled in and so carefully protected from the driving storm by the heavy black wrap that entirely enveloped it from head to foot—for she had firmly determined that it was a human form. Only one question remained unsolved in her mind now.

“Was it alive or dead?”

While she yet pondered on this mystery, and with her eyes on the horseman, every thing—the white horse—its rider—the man or woman, or corpse, that he had carried before him—whatever it was that was hidden from sight so effectually within the folds of that _pall_—she could not believe it was any thing else—while yet she saw him coming toward the place of her concealment, all vanished from her sight as suddenly and as surely as though the earth had opened and swallowed them up.

She uttered a little cry of consternation. Then she rubbed her eyes and looked again.

But there was nothing there, where the man and the horse and that other _thing_ had been, only the falling storm, still raging with all its fury.

What could it mean?

She asked herself this question shudderingly, while, in her fear, she clung around the neck of her great brute companion, glad in the terror that possessed her of the company which he, dumb animal though he was, could be to her.

The blood-hound had never, for an instant, removed his gaze from the place where the mysterious horseman, with his black burden, had so unaccountably disappeared a few moments before; and while Vinnie’s arms were yet around his neck he tore himself from her embrace and darted out of sight among the shrubbery that grew dense and heavy about the spot.

Vinnie called to him repeatedly, but he did not come back. She waited, then called again and again with a like result. The dog did not come; nor could she hear him beating about the undergrowth.

Had he deserted her?

She would not believe it; and she cried again, her voice almost losing itself in the roar of the storm:

“Death! Death! Death, come back! Here, Death—good old fellow! Come back!”

Again she waited and listened.

The wind and storm were all the sounds she heard.

Then it seemed to come to her all at once that she was alone. Even her brute protector had deserted her.

All alone in the tempest that was raging through the forest like a thousand furies!

“He has gone!” she quavered, hugging the tree-trunk closer, as a gust of wind wilder than any before swept through the forest, uprooting a large sycamore not far away, and blowing the covering off from her head; letting the sleet dash in its sharp, cutting way into her face. “He is gone,” she repeated with slow iteration, “and I am all alone!”

She thought of returning to the cabin; but she dared not face the storm. It was almost certain death to attempt to make her way home with the storm at its hight and while trees were falling almost constantly, and branches flying hither and thither all the time, crashing through the tree-tops and whirling in mid-air as though they had been but feathers instead of massive pieces of wood.

She dared not venture out of her shelter. So she shrunk back as far as possible and waited. Perhaps the storm would abate somewhat after a while. She hoped it would; and this was her one bit of comfort.

In an hour’s time the tempest seemed to have spent its fury. The wild roar of the wind had dwindled to a low, mournful moaning, and the sleet had ceased to fall; but the rain fell in a slow, monotonous drizzle that seemed likely to continue through the night.

The afternoon was now very far advanced, but it lacked more than an hour of nightfall.

Vinnie arose to her feet now, and walked slowly back, as nearly as she could find her way, over the trail she had come. She followed it without much difficulty for a short distance, but by and by when she lost sight of the indistinct pathway that led away from the cavern, she was obliged to be guided solely by her judgment of what direction she ought to take to reach her father’s cabin.

For nearly an hour she kept on, picking her way through the thick undergrowth, and climbing over fallen trees and heaps of the _debris_ of the storm which was scattered through the length and breadth of the forest. It was beginning to grow dark, and the cold November rain kept falling slowly and steadily. The sky was overcast with black clouds. Vinnie felt that she made but slow progress, hasten as she might. The night, when it came, would be very dark, and she dreaded lest it might overtake her before she reached home.

With wildly beating heart she pressed on; and soon the landmarks began to grow familiar to her. She was weary and almost heartsick; but she began to feel more hopeful. Things along her way looked more and more as though she had seen them before every minute. Was she nearing the cabin? She thought so.

She had kept a sharp look-out for the clearing that her father had made around their forest-home, but she could see nothing to remind her of it.

She kept on bravely, though, never doubting one minute that she would catch a glimpse of the cabin through the trees the next.

The trees on either hand appeared familiar. She was feeling really hopeful now.

“I’ll be there in a few moments, I’m sure,” she said to herself as cheerily as she could. “That old crooked sycamore there looks like an old acquaintance! The clearing must be just ahead!”

She pressed onward quite hopefully now; and, five minutes later, she found herself—just where she had started from an hour before. There was the rock that she had tried in vain to move, and the great tree behind whose sturdy trunk she had found a partial shelter from the storm!

She staggered back, clutching at a bush for support.

“My God!” she moaned, “I am lost!”

She sunk down on the wet earth almost despairfully.

Then her old brave spirit reasserted itself.

“What a poor miserable little coward I am!” she exclaimed, almost angry with herself. “What can I do that is more likely to get me out of my trouble than to try again?”

It was growing dark very fast now and the cold rain was falling as slowly and monotonously as ever; but she would not allow herself to think of either the coming night or the drizzling rain—and she set out for home a second time quite bravely.

It was no desirable task that she had before her, and she did not look upon her weary walk as a mere pleasure trip, by any means. Still that bold, hopeful spirit that had borne her up through her adventures with the chief that afternoon was with her now; and she was far from being despondent.

“If I try, and keep trying,” she mused, as she hurried on, “I may reach home in safety by-and-by; and if I am really lost and must stay in the forest, I suppose there is very little choice in sleeping-places. So, upon the whole, I think I had better keep traveling about as long as I can. I will try and not get faint-hearted again, anyway.”

In twenty minutes it was dark as Erebus!

Still the girl pressed bravely forward through the night. She could no longer see with any certainty. Keeping any specific course was out of the question; and it was with great difficulty that she kept her feet, at times, among the fallen trees and tangled undergrowth. But she tried to keep a bold heart.

Glancing ahead, through the blackness, to a dense thicket just in advance, she saw something that made her pause in terror. It was a pair of eyes!

Vinnie stood quite still, too much frightened to stir or cry out. That pair of fixed, fiery eyes had a sort of weird fascination for her.

All at once, while she yet looked at them, she felt the blood leaving her heart, and an awful terror took possession of her whole being.

The eyes were slowly and unmistakably advancing toward her!

She tottered back a step or two with a low cry. Just then there was a loud report near at hand. An unearthly screech, half-human, rung out on the night-air. The eyes seemed to shoot up a few feet and then they disappeared.

A man came dashing through the undergrowth, and in a moment he stood beside her.

“Vinnie!”

“Oh, father!”

“Don’t be afraid, little one,” Darke said, reassuringly. “It was a panther; but it is dead now. It is a fearful night. Let us hurry home. When we get there, you must tell me how you came here.”

He took her hand in his and they hastened on through the night.