Page:Weird Tales Volume 8 Number 3 (1926-09).djvu/115

An Unusual Ghost Story

When Gene Winthrop invited me to come up during the hunting season and try for an elk, I accepted with alacrity. I had not seen my strapping cousin since his return from overseas, and I anticipated a pleasant visit.

Having been left a small fortune by a bachelor uncle, he had traveled extensively before enlisting in the World War. I had spent many a pleasant hour in his company listening to him recount, in his inimitable manner, the many and strange adventures that had befallen him.

Gene's cabin stood a half-mile above the stage-line road on Windriver Point in the Teton Range. The stage driver dumped me and my belongings unceremoniously by the roadside, and disappeared in a flurry of snow. I watched hopefully for a sight of Gene's strapping figure, expecting any minute to see him come around the bend in the trail. Dusk deepened with startling suddenness and I decided to try to find my way alone. I could not understand what had kept him from meeting me. I wondered if my letter had miscarried.

I have always prided myself on having my full share of feminine courage, but as I stumbled along the trail I felt distinctly nervous. The distant yowl of a wildcat sent a shiver of apprehension down my spine; and as I scrambled up the rooky path, I fancied I heard the soft pad-pad of stealthy feet following me. Chiding myself for a tenderfoot, I unlocked my case and took out my gun. As I drew it out, I caught sight of something moving in the brush to my left. I tried to convince myself that it was the night wind moving the branches, but I knew it for something more sinister. I saw it moving toward me,—a dark blot among the foliage of the underbrush. Without hesitating, I fired. When I looked again, it was no longer there. Before I had time to investigate, a shot sounded below me, and then a flashlight glimmered down the trail. I hallooed. Gene answered. When he reached me, he was out of breath and strangely shaken.

"What was it?" I asked without preface.

"A cat." He shrugged his shoulders with elaborate carelessness.

When we entered the cabin, I saw that his hair was matted with blood above his left temple. At my exclamation, he reassured me.

"It is nothing. A dry branch gave me a scratch, nothing more."

I was astounded at the change in his physical appearance. He was stoop-shouldered and gaunt. His hair was streaked with gray and he had an air of fearful alertness as if waiting momentarily for some grim, unavoidable happening. More evidence of the change that had come over him lay in the neglected and run-down state of his cabin. On all my previous visits I had noticed the clean, almost