# My Lady of the South/Chapter 24

CHAPTER XXIV
ANOTHER MURDER
SHE stood, crouching slightly, half-way between the stair-head and the end of the hall, staring into the blackness of the open fireplace, the revolver yet smoking in her hand. Her posture was that fear, controlled by will power. Already, half suspecting the truth, I sprang forward and grasped her arm.
"What was it, Miss Denslow? What were you firing at?"
The tenseness of her muscles gave way, and her slender form swayed back against the support of my shoulder, one hand clasping at my sleeve.
"At something there—there I God knows what; it looked like a woman, but such a face—such a face!"
"Yes, yes; I understand; I have seen the same," I said hastily. "It was in fear of such an appearance again that I gave you the revolver. Yet what is it—a vision of the brain, or a reality? I have examined every inch of that tunnel; I came through it alone ten minutes ago, and saw nothing. No one could enter from the other end, or from this, without being seen. The mystery puzzles me."
She drew away from my support, trembling still, yet already more resolute.
​"That was no vision, no spectre which I saw," she insisted. "See! there is a spot of blood on the screen. She came directly toward me out of that hole, creeping on all fours like a wild beast. I was near the head of the stairs endeavoring to hear what you were saying below. Something made me turn suddenly, and I saw her—saw her eyes, her claw-like fingers, the flash of a knife in her hand. Oh, it frightened me so: I stood there like a bird fascinated by a snake, but I had the revolver in my hand, and pulled the trigger—see! there is where the first ball went, straight down into the floor! I thought you would hear and come; but the sound of the shot nerved me, and, the second time, I fired straight at her, and—and—and she cried out sharply, and seemed to fade into that blackness there like a ghost. But it was no ghost; ghosts don't leave blood-stains behind them, and that is blood there on the screen."
Masterson edged forward, with cocked carbine, and bent down to examine the stain.
"It's blood all right, Lieutenant," he announced cheerfully, evidently relieved himself. "Whatever the young lady saw, an' took a pop at, was human enough, an' I guess we ain't got no cause to be held back here by no one woman an' a knife."
There was considerable sense in that.
"True for you, Corporal. Miss Denslow, let me have the revolver again. I'll go in first with the lantern, and you men follow as rapidly as possible. Masterson, help the lady, and don't leave her alone for a moment."
​We dropped into the hole one by one, picking our way down the ladder as best we could. I was first to reach the earth floor, and stood there, holding the lantern high above my head, its yellow rays feebly illuminating the rungs, until the last trooper came scrambling down beside me. It was an odd-looking party thus dimly revealed in that narrow space between those stone walls, the men's faces appearing sallow, their eyes staring about wonderingly. I edged my way past them to take up the lead again.
"This tunnel runs directly west, lads," I explained briefly. "There are no turns, and nothing to fall over. All you've got to do is walk straight, and follow me."
Masterson was next to me in line, the girl beside him, the whiteness of her face conspicuous. I smiled back into her eyes, but met with no response, and plunged forward, more angry with myself than her. The dull thud of the feet behind, naturally falling into marching step, awoke muffled echoes, and I flung the light as far ahead as possible down the tunnel. It was bare, unoccupied. What had become of that woman? Where was she when I traversed this black passage alone? Surely she could never have stolen in after me without being seen by O'Brien; and, if she had fled this way, wounded by Jean's shot, she could never get away through that trap door, without alarming those watchers in the negro cabin. Yet there was no place of hiding here—not even a skurrying rat could have escaped our scrutiny, and the lantern light flashed into every nook and corner in a vain effort at ​revealing anything suspicious. The mystery oppressed me, caused me almost to doubt the facts, and to question the evidence of my own senses.
At the foot of the short ladder I handed the lantern to one of the men—a young fellow, with slight moustache, I remember—taking his carbine with me with which to pry up the trap door.
"Hold the light until all are up," I commanded, "and then blow it out before you climb the ladder."
From the floor of the cabin I reached down, and Masterson passed up the girl, my hands steadying her as she clambered eagerly up. In the darkness I could not see where the wounded man lay, but I managed to touch O'Brien, whispering to him to take her at once to Donald. I heard a kiss, the murmur of low voices conversing, and, with gritted teeth, turned back to hasten the movements of the men below.
"Up with you, lads—no talking, but come up, one at a time."
I leaned over, counting as they came up, their forms outlined by the flame of the lantern in the tunnel. The last one clambered through the opening, and found room to stand in the narrow space. The soldier below, the light on his upturned face, still held the lantern level with his head.
"Shall I put it out now, sir, and come up?" he questioned, as though doubtful of his former orders.
"Yes—they are all here."
I saw him turn down the wick, and blow out the flame. In the dense blackness below I heard him set the lantern ​down, and place his foot on the first rung of the ladder. Then there was a single sharp cry—startled, agonized—a moan, and the heavy fall of a body. Without a thought I leaped through the hole down into the darkness. I struck against a prostrate figure, stumbled slightly, rattling the lantern with my foot; my extended hand gripped at something, which gave way, and I stood groping blindly about without a sound to guide me. I knew what had happened, and now, the first mad rush over, my heart was in my throat. I felt for the lantern with my foot, found it at last, and managed to apply a match to the wick. At the foot of the ladder lay the soldier, a knife thrust in his throat, his head bent back, his dead eyes staring up at me, in the grip of my fingers was a rag, a strip of red calico, evidently ripped from a dress. That was all. I ran down the tunnel a dozen steps, throwing the light in advance, but saw nothing, heard nothing. The very mystery of it made my flesh creep, and halted me, peering here and there, afraid of my own shadow. That fiend of a woman was there somewhere, skulking in the blackness; we had passed her, and she had stolen along behind us, waiting a chance to strike down some straggler. But where in God's name could she have hidden? Three times I had been through there, searching every inch of the way, and discovered nothing. Who could she be? What spirit of hell could cause her thus to strike down innocent men? For the instant—puzzled, perplexed—I almost doubted her reality, deeming her an illusion, a dream. Yet that dead man yonder was no dream; this strip of red calico, still clutched in my hand, no illusion.
​With heart beating rapidly I retraced my steps, moving backwards, the lantern held before me. Masterson, with two troopers, was at the foot of the ladder bending over the motionless form. The Corporal straightened up, his face white.
"Somers is dead, sir," he said, his voice full of horror, "knifed in the throat."
"Yes, Corporal. It is part of the mystery of this house. Within forty-eight hours two men have been killed in exactly the same way in those rooms above, and one lies in the cabin who was stabbed in this tunnel. Now Somers has gone, the assassin stealing on him the moment he put out the light. I jumped as soon as the man cried out, but was too late. All I got hold upon was this strip of cloth—whoever did the job must have fled down the passage."
"That's a bit of a woman's dress."
"Yes, and it is a woman who has done these murders."
The eyes of the man left my face to gaze down the tunnel, the same questioning thought in each mind.
"That is part of the mystery of it, lads: who is she? what is her object? where can she hide? We have just come through this way, and there has n't been a spot hidden from us big enough to conceal a mouse. It's my third trip through here to-night, and I have examined the walls from end to end. And yet that woman must have been in here somewhere. You heard the young lady say she shot at the creature who disappeared in this passage. She must have hidden somewhere, and then skulked along behind us, hoping to get a victim. Poor ​Somers proved to be the one, and now the fiend has disappeared again."
"How far did you go?"
"Half way to the other ladder. We have n't time to search now, or we shall be too late to save ourselves. It is almost daylight."
There was a moment of silence, the men breathing heavily from excitement, casting uneasy glances about them, and nervously clutching their carbines. I saw faces peering down at us through the open trap.
"Take the body up the ladder, and I will hold the lantern so you can see," I commanded, my determination made.
They went at the gruesome job reluctantly, yet evidently glad enough to get out of the hole, two of them lifting from above, with Masterson helping below. As the Corporal's legs disappeared I mounted close behind, holding the lantern beneath and laying hold of the trap before I extinguished the light. It was with a distinct feeling of relief that I closed the heavy door and stood upon it. I felt a new man as I straightened in the upper air, the heavy breathing of the troopers, closely pressed together in the narrow space, alone telling me of their presence.
"O'Brien!"
"Yis, sor."
"Everything right here?"
"Jist about as ye left it, sor, only the Colonel seems to have got part of his senses back, an' the other fellow swore so loud I bucked him with a bit o' rag. Av ye'll ​keep still, sor, I think ye'll hear some noise jist back of the cabin."
We were instantly quiet, the men holding their breath to listen. I could distinguish a sound as though of moving bodies, but was unable to guess at the cause.
"What is it?"
"Horses, sor. They've got them picketed out there—some Reb, an' some Yankee, no doubt."
I crept to the door and took a survey without. So far as I could perceive, the situation had not changed in the least. Over to the eastward was some slight promise of the coming dawn, but there still remained time in which to carry out my plans if we moved promptly.
"Masterson, leave two men here to guard that trap and the prisoners. They will remain until they hear the sound of firing in front of the house, and then mount and join us. We'll leave horses for them. You take half our force and clear out the guard on the kitchen porch—there are six men there. Make it quick action, and as soon as the job is accomplished fall back here behind the cabin. O'Brien, with two of the troopers, attend to any scattered Rebs you find along the north side. The rest of us will see to the horse-shed, and, inside of ten minutes we ought to be in saddle. Don't fire a single shot more than is necessary. Do you understand your work?"
There was the murmur of an answering voice or two, and the shuffling of feet.
"All right then; hit swift, and hard. Masterson, take the six men nearest you."
​They filed past me, one by one, crouching down in the shadows just outside the door.
"Now, O'Brien, select the next three, and steal around the other side of that negro cabin. As soon as Masterson goes forward make a run for those bushes along the carriage drive. The rest of you fellows come with me."
I was beginning to enjoy myself now, all memory of the woman in the tunnel, all recollection even of Jean Denslow, driven from my mind by the pressure of action, the necessity of command. I crept to the end of the logs, my men at my heels. Out of sight, yet not far away, a number of horses were champing at their bits, and stomping about uneasily. Some one on the kitchen porch laughed, and a man walked to the well for a drink of water. I turned back, until I could see the crouching figures of the Corporal's squad.
"All right, Masterson," I said, "Go in."