Part 1

THE THING IN THE WOODS

BY

HARPER WILLIAMS

Robert McBride & Company New York 1924

Copyright, 1924, by ROBERT M. McBRIDE & COMPANY

Printed in the United States of America

Published :: 1924

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. Lennox Says Good-Bye II. The Light in the Woods III. A Mysterious Call IV. Dutchman's Hill V. The Dead Cyclist VI. A Boycotted Household VII. What Happened in the Laboratory VIII. I Go Fishing IX. Problems X. The Chicken-Huckster's Hoe XI. Jakey Walks XII. Mr. Crowfoot XIII. An Afternoon Drive XIV. The Cry in the Night XV. Suspicions XVI. I Catch a Burglar XVII. A Midnight Chase XVIII. Lennox's Story XIX. The Mill Dam XX. What We Found in the Saw-Mill XXI. The Thing in the Woods XXII. The Silver Bullet

THE THING IN THE WOODS

THE THING IN THE WOODS

I

LENNOX SAYS GOOD-BYE

I had just made my rounds of the wards for the last time, that June evening, fifteen years ago, when Murchison, my chief, came to me with the open letter in his hand.

"Here's the very chance to suit you, Haverill," he said. "Read that! A chap named Lennox, in Pennsylvania, wants a substitute for three months. Small country practice--no work of any account, I imagine--and a good holiday thrown in. Just reached me tonight, by chance."

I had finished my term as _interne_, and was leaving the hospital the next day. The whole summer was before me, for after three years of heavy work I owed myself one good vacation before settling to the task of building up a private practice, and I was glad enough of the chance to turn it to advantage. Every dollar I had saved I had put aside for the future struggle, and Murchison knew it. How to take a three months' vacation on next to nothing was no easy problem, and only such an opportunity as this, for which I had been searching vainly for weeks past, could solve it.

I glanced at the signature below the letter.

"George Lennox.... I used to know a George Lennox at college."

"Probably the same man. He asks me to recommend some one reliable. Funny idea. He can't have much opinion of his country colleagues, or he'd simply hand the patients over. There can't be so many of them, in a place like that. Rather fussy, I gather! Well, it might suit you. I thought I'd ask you before I spoke to anyone else."

It suited me so well, in prospect, that I sat down at Murchison's desk and wrote off my application then and there. Lennox's answer came promptly, dated from the small town in Pennsylvania where he had been settled for the past five years. Beyond a few details about the place, his letter told me very little. He was leaving for his health, to take a three months' holiday abroad, and he wanted a substitute as early as possible. The practice was that of the average country doctor in a not over-populous neighbourhood. It was a bracing district, not far from the mountains; there was good fishing, and some shooting in the fall, and with the arrangements he offered it fell in perfectly with my own plans. He was urgent that I should take over the work as soon as I could, and after a brief correspondence I settled up my affairs in the city--they were not many--packed my few belongings, and went down.

It was a small and primitive station at which I was deposited, after a somewhat uninteresting train journey. The place struck me, even in those days, as a survival of an earlier age; one of those little backwaters left behind in the flow of progress. As I stood looking about me at the stretch of dusty road, the hotel, and the few clustered shops that marked the beginning of the village street, the station-master came up.

"You're for Doctor Lennox, ain't you?" he began. "His buggy's there waitin'. I reckon Pete's over at the saloon, puttin' in time! I'll step over an' tell him."

I put my valise in the solitary vehicle he indicated, with a smart roan mare in the shafts, and a moment later "Pete" appeared, drawing a furtive black hand over his mouth. I addressed him curtly; if he was to be my factotum during the next three months there would have to be less of these rather free-and-easy ways. He eyed me civilly, with some curiosity, muttering a darkie's invariable ready excuses; climbed to the buggy seat, tilting his straw hat over his eyes, and we set off.

The village was not large. It seemed that Lennox's place was some mile and a half out, and our road led for the most part through woods. It was pretty country. The trees were tall and close-growing, hickory and oak, with young saplings pushing a sturdy growth between. There were boulders everywhere, the sullen granite that in this district crops out through the earth's scant surface, making the small farmer's life a perpetual harvest of stone picking. To me, fresh from the city pavements, it was picturesque enough. Once a hare loped across our path, and I saw Pete shift the reins to scrabble in his coat pocket. He cast a half-sheepish glance at me as he did so.

"Have you lost something?" I asked.

"No, sah! I jest recollected suthin'. Raikon dat hyar remin' me!"

"Meeting a rabbit is supposed to be lucky, isn't it?" I remarked, lighting a cigarette. "It seems to me I've heard so."

He looked at me suspiciously, and I knew that I had divined correctly the reason of that sudden dive. "Dat so, sah?" he said guilelessly. "I 'spect all dem things jes' depend!"

A few yards further the road took a bend.

Along the narrow footpath at the side a girl was walking. She was dressed in a short golf-skirt and cotton blouse, with a man's Panama on her head, and from her look I took her for a chance summer visitor rather than a resident. I noticed her only casually, but as the buggy drew abreast she lifted her head, and instantly I felt Pete swerve against me on the seat. His clumsy action made the horse start. The girl laughed, a little mocking ripple--I heard her with a glow of annoyance--and we shot off at increased pace up the road.

I turned to the man angrily; he had drunk even more than I supposed. His face was actually pale, as pale as a darkie's can be. His hand was in his pocket again, and he turned my blame promptly on the horse.

"Yoh clumsy trash, ain' yoh look whar yoh goin' a-skeerin' folks that way! I'se larn yoh suthin' some day!"

"What's the matter with you?" I said. "Can't you drive steadily?"

He fell to muttering, apologetic, conciliatory.

"'Deed, sah, dat hoss ain' got no sainse! I done druv dat hoss two years, an' I _know_ her, sah! Dere ain' no hoss round got less sainse. Sho as we met dat hyar I knew there was suthin' boun' ter happen! I ain' got no use fur meetin' hyars in de mawnin'--no, sah! I ain' doin' no business wiv 'em!"

We reached Lennox's house without further incident. It was a grey stone house, standing back in a pleasant garden, with barn and small orchard adjoining. Lennox was out on the porch to welcome me. Pete led the mare swiftly round to the side and began to unharness; I think he was anxious to escape any possible comment I might make to the doctor on his condition.

"Well, so you've got here!" Lennox said as we shook hands. "I'm very glad. Did you have a tiresome journey? Come inside. I'm very glad to see you!"

His tone was cordiality itself. To my ears it had even a note of relief. It struck me instantly, as I looked at him, that he had been through some recent stress of worry, if not ill-health. He had aged considerably. He was older than I, and his hair already a little grey at the temples. His face was lined and troubled, and he had an uneasy way with his hands I did not like. I had known him always as a rather steady-going, plodding sort of fellow, not given to excess of nervous energy in any form, and his present appearance gave me something of a shock.

He led the way into the house. Dinner was already served. Lennox followed the country custom in dining early. I don't know how the staid elderly woman, who was both cook and housekeeper, and who was to fulfil the same offices for me, would take to such an innovation as dinner at seven. I ate well after my journey, Lennox but sparingly. He offered me a high ball with the meal, but drank only water himself.

"I've got into country ways," he said. "I'm afraid you'll find the place a bit dull, Haverill, but you'll manage all right. You can get most things you want, down here; the tradespeople aren't bad."

Over our meal we talked chiefly of the University days when we had been more or less friends, though Lennox was already a senior when I entered, of the men we had mutually known and of their careers, and lightly only, of our own. Lennox was not over-talkative, but he seemed more at ease as the day wore on. I could see he was glad to have me definitely there, was anxious to start, but I was not quite prepared for his answer when I asked him what day he thought of leaving.

"Oh, tomorrow! I shall get the twelve-thirty to the city. Everything is ready."

I suppose I looked rather blank, for I had counted on a couple of days at least in his company before I was left alone.

"You'll find everything easy to hand. I'll go over things with you this evening. It isn't a specially busy place here, you know!"

"And you'll be away three months?" I asked.

"More or less.... My dear fellow, I want a change! I want it frightfully!" I agreed with him. His eyes were wandering round the room as he spoke. "The work's nothing here--worse luck! You'll have practically a holiday. But I'm quite run down. There've been some ... some family worries. What's the matter, Pete?"

The coloured man had come into the room.

"De mare's done got anudder shoe loose. I 'specs I'll hev to take her into town."

"Again? You should have had it seen to this morning early." He spoke irritably. "Take her in, and don't be late back!"

"Yessah!"

Pete went out lingeringly, and I more than suspected from his entry that he had been listening, or attempting to listen, to our talk.

"That man," I said when he had gone. "Do you find him all right?"

"Pete?" Lennox lit a cigar. "He's invaluable! You'll find him a splendid servant. He's been with me three years, and I wouldn't part with him for a good deal. He has his faults, as all darkies have, but he's thoroughly trustworthy!"

I thought of the furtive groping in his pocket when we passed the hare.

"A bit superstitious, eh?"

"What do you mean," Lennox fairly wheeled on me. "Has he been talking?"

"I imagine he carries an assortment of amulets about with him."

"Oh, that!" He looked vaguely relieved. "All of 'em do. He's a walking catalogue of superstitions. It's the only thing we have rows about. I detest all that nonsense!"

"I'll have a talk with him, some day," I said.

"I wouldn't advise you to. In fact, I wouldn't advise you to encourage him on the subject in any way. I think it's better to leave those things alone. Darkies are darkies, and no power on earth would persuade Pete against his rabbit's foot. No! Steer clear of that, my dear fellow, and you'll find him all right."

We spent the afternoon in the surgery. Lennox showed me a detailed account of his cases--they were very few--in a notebook. He had evidently been at pains that I should find no trouble in taking over the work.

"I've left some things in rather a mess," he said. "I told you I'd been upset lately ... but I think you'll find it all right."

Supper was at six. Pete, true to his word, brought the mare back well before dusk. I could hear him whistling in the coach-house as he hung the harness away.

"I suppose you'd find use for a motor-cycle here?" I asked Lennox as we sat in the dining-room after supper. It was barely dark outside, but the housekeeper had already drawn the curtains and lighted the lamp. I would have infinitely preferred my pipe on the porch, but if Lennox chose to stew indoors this weather it was no business of mine, and it would only be forced on me for one evening.

"I used to have one," he said, "but I gave it up. The roads aren't very good here, and I found a horse better. Did you bring one?"

"It's coming on tomorrow."

"Oh? Well, you'll suit yourself. The roads aren't very good at night, but the mare is used to them. Not that I have many night calls."

It was a few minutes after that he looked at me suddenly as we sat opposite one another across the unlighted hearth.

"I suppose you're fit--in good health and all that. I didn't ask."

"Perfectly."

"That's good. Never had any nerve trouble, for instance?"

"Not an atom!"

"I'm glad. It's as well to be sure, you know." He laughed, rather apologetically. "I was quite lucky to get you."

It seemed that Lennox kept early hours. It was barely half-past ten when he proposed turning in. The heavy country air had made me sleepy, and I was ready enough to follow his lead.

Lennox's room was directly over the surgery, with which it communicated by a little staircase, convenient for night calls. Both the surgery and the room above it had been built as a later addition to the house. The bedroom would be mine later; for the present I was put into a small extra bedroom across the landing from his own.

I slept heavily, but a little after midnight, as I judged, I was roused by hearing movements below stairs. People were talking; I fancied I heard a woman's voice, low and querulous. Evidently it was not a call too urgent to wait for daylight, for a few moments later I heard the floor of Lennox's room creak as he returned to bed. I fell asleep again easily, and when I woke the second time it was broad daylight.

I asked Lennox at breakfast if there was any fresh call for the day. He looked at me narrowly.

"Only the scarlatina case in the village and the woman at the Bend," he said, referring to the two cases he had mentioned the day before. "The woman is doing all right, but you might look in during the afternoon. The buggy will be back by one o'clock."

I smoked a pipe out in the orchard while he finished his packing. No one came up the road the whole morning except the baker and a travelling tinsmith; Lennox was right when he said I could take my work easily. The house stood in a pretty enough position. There were woods behind and about, skirting the orchard, and in front, on the other side of the road, a strip of pasture sloped to a little brook. The nearest dwelling was some two hundred yards away, down the road to the village. It belonged to a small farmer, I learned, a Pennsylvania Dutchman, as were most of the people about.

At twelve the mare was hitched and waiting, and Lennox came to bid me good-bye, after a few final instructions. We shook hands, and as he climbed into the buggy and took up the reins I don't think I ever saw a man's face express more utter and absolute relief.

II

THE LIGHT IN THE WOODS

My first week passed uneventfully. I was called out twice only, on trivial cases, and I put in my spare time exploring the neighbourhood generally. I was jaded with city life, and hospital work in particular, and it was a perfect tonic to do nothing. I was too lazy even to fish, though an excellent trout stream ran not far from the house, through the woods at the back. Neighbours were not likely to trouble me, nor I them. So far I had had but little intercourse with the people about, except for professional visits and the usual country exchange of greetings when I drove into the town for my mail. In Lennox's time this task had fallen to Peter, but it was some years since I had enjoyed the use of a horse, and I took pleasure in these short trips.

The housekeeper was subdued but efficient; she looked after my wants methodically enough and rarely offered conversation, which suited me. With Peter I got on all right. As Lennox had said, he was docile, willing and capable, and did his work reliably. He seemed devoted to the mare, and would converse with her at great length over the morning grooming.

Lennox had a fairly good library. In ways the house was comfortable enough, and I fancy he must have had some small private income in addition to the proceeds of his practice.

I had my first tiff with Pete when I had been there nearly a fortnight. Kerosene had given out; the oilman had omitted to call as usual, and Mrs. Searle, the housekeeper, only made me aware of the deficiency at supper-time. After the meal I ordered Peter to hitch up and drive down to the village to get it.

To my utter amazement he refused almost point-blank to go. He had a lot of work to do; the buggy wasn't washed down yet; the mare hadn't finished her feed. He'd go first thing in the morning.

"Nonsense, Pete," I said. "The oil's wanted now. The mare hasn't done five miles today, and it'll do her good! You washed the buggy this afternoon, because I saw you."

"Dat so, sah?" He rubbed his head. "Yes, I specs dat's so, now I think. I dis-remembered it."

"Then hurry up. You can be back by eight."

His eyes rolled on me.

"But it done get _dark_ by eight, sah!"

"Well, you can take the carriage lamps!"

"I ain't gwine take no kerridge lamps--no, sah! All de time I wuk fur Doc' Lennox he ain' ask me to do no thing like that--no, sah; an' ef he ask me _now_ I ain' gwine do it."

"But you've driven the doctor at night, you fool, time and again!" I cried, losing patience with him. "Don't stand there and tell me lies!"

He kept his ground, obstinate, deferential.

"Yessir, I done druv Doc' Lennox. I ain' sayin' nothin' 'bout that. I'se gwine drive you, doctah, ef yoh ask me, but I ain' gwine no village affer dark tonight ter git no ker'sine. I ain' gwine monkeyin' wi' no ha'ants, an' I d'want no ha'ants monkeyin' wid _me_!"

That potent darkie word "ha'ants" gave me a clue. I strode out into the kitchen to Mrs. Searle.

"What's this nonsense with Peter? What is he afraid of?" I asked her.

Mrs. Searle's grey faded eyes rested on me a moment inquisitively. Then she went on with her dish-washing.

"I reckon Peter's scared of the dark, sir," she answered civilly. "Them niggers is jest like that! The oil can wait, as well as not. There's more'n I thought, or I wouldn't have mentioned it to you."

"It isn't going to wait," I said. "I'm not going to have this absurdity in any house I live in!"

I went back to Pete in the dining-room. I had left the doors purposely open, and I swear he fairly squirmed when he saw me come in.

"Now, Pete," I said. "You put the mare in at once. You're going after that oil and I'm going with you, if you're such a holy coward that you're afraid to drive a mile of road after dark alone!"

If I had hoped to shame him, it was without result.

"All right, sah!" he answered grandly, though I saw the relief in his eyes. "Ef you'se gwine I'se gwine. Dey ain' no one gwine call _me_ no cowa'd, doctah!"

He went off to put the mare in, and in ten minutes I heard the grate of wheels before the house. It was already dark outside, but a moon was rising, and before we had driven far the carriage lamps were scarcely needed. Pete was subdued; I think he was trying to preserve his dignity in silence. I was tempted to a lecture, but remembered what Lennox had said of the futility of trying to combat darkie superstition. I was sure that Pete still carried his beloved rabbit foot, and I hope it gave him comfort on the drive.

We reached the village, took in our can of oil, which Pete stowed under the buggy seat, and started to drive back. The moon was full overhead now, but obscured more or less by fleeting clouds. I saw Pete glancing several times at the buggy lamps. Presently he slackened the reins a little.

"I reckon we mought put dem out now, sah! Dey ain' no need er dem lamps to see by."

"As you like, Pete. Get down and put them out. I'll hold the reins."

"I ain't got no need er gittin' out, sah! I kin raich 'em from here."

He leaned over the splashboard at some inconvenience and extinguished the lamps, it seemed to me with unnecessary alacrity. I could not put his anxiety down altogether to the price of kerosene.

"What's your worry about those lamps, Pete?" I asked.

He turned guileless yet uneasy eyes upon me.

"Dey jest ain' no _sainse_ burnin' 'em! Dey worry a pusson drivin' dem lamps do."

I let it go as one of his unplumbed darkie mysteries, and we drove on. We were just entering upon the densest stretch of wood between the house and the village when a curious sound caught my ears. It was like the scrambling rush of some big bird through the trees to the left of us; a night-hawk, probably, though the confused wing-flaps were more like a turkey-buzzard. Coming unexpectedly on the silence it startled me, but before I could turn to Pete he had dropped the reins and flung himself upon me, a frenzied babbling lump. He clung and muttered, while I strove to hold him off, and the mare, taking fright at the moment, sent the light buggy rocking from side to side on the road. I gave the man a push that nearly threw him out. Once free of his clutch it was only a moment's work to secure the reins, but we shaved a bad accident by the skin of our teeth. Luckily we were not far from the house. My grip startled Pete into sanity--it was at least flesh and blood that had him there--and by the time I had pulled the mare to a standstill before the gate he was able to get out, shaking still miserably from head to foot, and seize the bridle.

Between us we got the mare unharnessed and into the stable. She was in a lather over head and shoulders, and I stood over the cringing Pete while he rubbed her down. I think he never ceased praying the whole time.