except in one direction. Here, Andrews reined in his
horse a moment, to take a last look at the beauty of the scene, while
Drysdale passed on a few yards in advance.

The spot was rather wild and perhaps a little weird; on the right was a
dense forest, rising some distance above the road, which curved around
the hill-side about mid-way to the crest; on the left the hill descended
rapidly to the creek, along which ran a heavy belt of timber, which
permitted only an occasional gleam of water to be seen; the abrupt
hill-side between the road and the timber was nearly cleared of
undergrowth, but it was filled with large boulders and creeping vines;
over the tops of the timber the country stretched away in dissolving
views as the mists of night began to form and spread over the landscape.
Having paused an instant, Andrews spurred his horse forward just as
Drysdale uttered an exclamation of horror. As he came up, he saw that
Drysdale had stopped and was holding his reins in a convulsive grasp;
all color was gone from his face, and he was trembling violently.

"What is the matter, Drysdale?" said Andrews, drawing up beside him.

"My God! look there!" broke from Drysdale's ashy lips, as he pointed
down the hill-side.

At the distance of about fifty yards the figure of a young man was
moving down the slope toward the timber. He walked slowly on, with a
measured pace, turning his eyes neither to the right nor left. He was
apparently about twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, and his face
was indicative of intelligence, ability and energy. His course was
nearly parallel to the direction of the road at that point, and only his
profile could be seen. He wore a business suit of light gray clothes,
but he had no hat on his head, and his curly hair was tossed lightly by
the evening breeze. As he moved further from the road, the back of his
head was more directly exposed, presenting a most ghastly sight. The
thick brown locks were matted together in a mass of gore, and large
drops of blood slowly trickled down upon his coat; the whole back of the
skull seemed to be crushed in, while the deadly pallor of his face gave
him the appearance of a corpse.

Drysdale seemed to rally his faculties a moment and shouted in powerful
but hoarse tones:

"Say! you, sir! Who are you, and where are you going?"

Although his voice might have been heard at a long distance, the figure
continued its course without indicating, even by a sign, that