The frequent occurrence of the movement suggested the figures of some weird rhythmic dance to music heard by the shape alone.
Suddenly it either became motionless or faded away.
There was the frightened neighing of a horse,the sudden jingling of spurs,a shout and outcry,and the swift apparition of three dancing torches in one of the dark aisles;but so intense was the obscurity that they shed no light on surrounding objects,and seemed to advance of their own volition without human guidance,until they disappeared suddenly behind the interposing bulk of one of the largest trees.Beyond its eighty feet of circumference the light could not reach,and the gloom remained inscrutable.
But the voices and jingling spurs were heard distinctly.
"Blast the mare!She's shied off that cursed trail again.""Ye ain't lost it again,hev ye?"growled a second voice.
"That's jist what I hev.And these blasted pine-knots don't give light an inch beyond 'em.D--d if I don't think they make this cursed hole blacker."There was a laugh--a woman's laugh--hysterical,bitter,sarcastic,exasperating.The second speaker,without heeding it,went on:--"What in thunder skeert the hosses?Did you see or hear anything?""Nothin'.The wood is like a graveyard."
The woman's voice again broke into a hoarse,contemptuous laugh.
The man resumed angrily:--
"If you know anything,why in h-ll don't you say so,instead of cackling like a d--d squaw there?P'raps you reckon you ken find the trail too.""Take this rope off my wrist,"said the woman's voice,"untie my hands,let me down,and I'll find it."She spoke quickly and with a Spanish accent.
It was the men's turn to laugh."And give you a show to snatch that six-shooter and blow a hole through me,as you did to the Sheriff of Calaveras,eh?Not if this court understands itself,"said the first speaker dryly.