Part 59

The negro remonstrated nervously.

"I'm not skeered--Marse Warren, I'm jes' gittin' straight hair fer de fust time in my life. I'm goin' wid you. I'ze jes' mighty onhappy."

A doorway somewhere swung shut with an iron clang. Rusty's nerves were stronger now. He breathed hard but said nothing.

"They used to hitch their horses here, I suppose," said Jarvis, as he slid from the saddle. The moonlight gave them a better illumination by this time. He hitched his horse, and Rusty followed his example with trembling fingers.

"Now, light the lamps. My, but those lamps would sell for a fortune in a Fourth Avenue antique shop!"

Rusty obeyed silently.

Then followed the most horrible experience of Rusty's life, in what seemed an endless exploration. They trod along weirdly echoing corridors, through spacious chambers, where ancient tapestries hung from the walls, while strange débris lay about amidst the curious carved furniture. Everything was covered by a pall of dust. Squealing and scurrying, the shining eyes and ghastly noises betrayed the presence of myriad rats.

"What can they find to live on?" wondered Warren.

From the high battlements they peered into the valley, and could see a few faint lights in the distant inn. Warren felt sure that one of those lights was in the room of her Highness.

They explored the bedchambers of the lords and ladies of the castle, the little pigeonholes in which the men-at-arms must have slept. Strange subtle odors met them like an actual presence as they peered into dungeons, stone chambers, and horrid vaults.

"I don't even see why a ghost would want ter hang around dis misserable place, Marse Warren," ventured Rusty, as for the second time they entered the largest room of all, within the central keep.

"We've been here before, Rusty," replied Warren, sitting down for a moment on an old bench. Rusty looked around with rolling eyes.

Suddenly Jarvis jumped up and sniffed.

"Yes, and someone else has been here before. Do you smell that, Rusty?"

"Marse Warren, I'm so skeered dat I can't smell nuthin',--I can' see nuthin', hear nuthin'--except dem moans and yowls in all dose powerful big rooms we was in."

"The room's full of smoke and the smell of oil." Jarvis walked about, to make certain. "Somebody's been carrying a smoky lantern. We're getting warmer with that ghost."

A dull thud came to their ears, from far within the building. Rusty jumped like a frightened fawn.

"Good godelmity! What's dat?"

Jarvis quietly walked across the room, to peer into the big stone fireplace.

"Oh, Marse Warren, I want to go home!"

Rusty had turned about, and his eyes took in two figures of ancient armor at the top of the broad half-flight of stairs, on a balcony daïs. He sank upon his knees and bobbed his head to the floor in obeisance.

"What's the matter?" and Jarvis whirled about, with revolver drawn. His own nerves were beginning to get too taut, with the tension exaggerated by the superstition and fright of the negro.

"Look! Look! Look at dem big black boogies standin' dere, Marse Warren. See 'em standin' dere?"

Jarvis laughed and put his gun into his side pocket.

"They're the same black things that scared you before, don't you remember?"

"Oh, I'm so skeered, boss, dat I can't remember nuthin' at all."

"Get up on your pins--they're nothing but old suits of armor, and you're liable to get some moonlight through you, Rusty, if there's another rear-end collision like that. You've been treading on my heels every step I take, and when I stop you bump into me."

"But Marse Warren," pleaded the frightened darky, "I'm powerful 'fraid I might lose you!"