the girl answered, glancing at the clock. “They usually appear around midnight in the mountain foothills or on the trail which leads that way. I saw them once, and from then on Dad forbade me to leave home at night, After that the sheriff issued an order that everybody was to stay put and shutter their windows and bar their doors during the hours of darkness.”
Terry got on his feet and took his gun from his holster. He jerked it open and eyed the loaded chambers.
“This is good enough insurance for me against ghosts,” he said. “I’ll take a ride around until midnight and see if I can spot anything. I’ll soon decide then whether we’re dealing with spooks or not.”
“I’ll come with you,” Hilda said, turning to the door which was evidently that of her bedroom.
“You’ll stay right here, gal!” her father snapped. “1 gave you an order, an’ I mean to see you obey it! If Mr. Carlton wants to go, that’s his business, but no daughter of mine is—”
“I’m going, Dad,” the girl interrupted deliberately. “1 mean no disrespect to you, but this is the chance I’ve been waiting for—to have a man by my side who thinks as I do. As a lone woman trying to knock sense into a lot of superstitious fools, I’ve had no chance—but it’s come now, and I’m taking it. I’ll be with you in a moment, Mr. Carlton.”
Terry nodded and began to roll himself a cigarette. He looked under his eyes at old man Marchland as he stood frowning into the fire. Finally, he flung himself back in his rocking chair and scowled.
“I don’t see you can blame your daughter, sir,” Terry remarked, striking a lucifer on his thumbnail. “If these ghost are phoney, it lets out everybody in town. They don’t need to move on. You said yourself you don’t want to, so surely—
“I’m saying no more,” Marchland snapped, with a fiery glare. “I just say it isn’t right to dabble in things beyond us.”
“Yeah?” Terry gave a dry smile as he inhaled smoke. “Never yet found anything that was beyond me. Usually a six-shooter solves more mysteries than any durned sheriff—”
He turned quickly as Hilda reappeared. She had change quickly into a riding skirt and blouse, a leather mackinaw placed slackly across her. Terry’s eyes travelled to the gun swinging at her hip as she tied a floral kerchief about her dark hair.
“You wear a gun like you’re usta it, Miss Marchland,” Terry commented, and she turned to smile at him.
“You just can’t afford not to be used to it in this region, Mr. Carlton.” She turned to her father and kissed his forehead. “’Bye for now, Dad. And don’t worry so.”
He said nothing. Terry gave the girl a glance, then opened the door for her. Together they passed through the hall and presently gained the moonlit porch. A cold but gentle wind stirred about them.
“I’ll get the horses,” the girl said. “I’d bedded yours down for the night. Do you suppose he’ll be able to make the trip, or has he done enough for one day?”
“I imagine he has,” Terry said with regret. “Unless you can loan me another one, I’m afraid he’ll have to try—”
“I’ll fix it,” Hilda said, dodging away into the gloom. “I’ve a mare you can borrow.”
Terry nodded and lounged down the pathway to the gate. He opened it and then stood looking down the dark stretch of the main street. It went straight into the black vista of the town. It was a sombre, unnerving scene, the buildings turned into leprous white by the reflected light of the rising moon. It might have been three in the morning instead of around half-past nine.
Then the girl returned, mounted, leading the mare beside her. Terry vaulted easily into the saddle and followed the girl as she turned away from the town and headed instead for the open trail, down which Terry himself had come only a little while before.
In a matter of minutes all traces of Verdure had been left behind, and they were cantering along easily in the fresh night wind, the stars about ready to drop out of the cloudless dome overhead.
Terry glanced about him, determining his surroundings as he remembered them from his ride at sunset. As usual, the Western night was impressive, giving Terry the conviction that he and the girl were alone in the universe. The night wind brought with it the intangible aroma of untamed spaces, the smell of the mesa and desert, mixed also with the scent of pine. There was not a sound across the motionless expanses of brittle-bush to either side of the trail. No sign of activity until a night bird fled close beside the girl’s head. Far away, disturbing the silence at last, was the remote bass roar of a mountain lion.
To left and right the illimitable brittle-bush fields rolling into the wastes of the desert: behind, a town full of frightened people. Ahead, the mighty pinnacles of the mountain range, their saw teeth cutting fantastic diagonals and segments into the gleaming backdrop of the stars.
Terry drew a deep breath and smiled to himself. This was life as it ought to be, made even more so by the presence of the girl at his side. He found himself thinking how naturally he seemed to have become acquainted with her; how completely she evidently trusted him to thus ride with him through the night.
They were nearing the mountain foothills when she broke her long silence.
“I’ve seen the ghost riders more than once, Mr. Carlton,” she said, “only I didn’t dare say so before Dad. You can see how he feels about such things. Not that I blame him really, since he has never seen anything of the world beyond Verdure— However, to get back to my topic. Each time I’ve seen the riders they have gone through Star Canyon, over yonder.”
She drew rein and pointed. Terry drew up beside her. In the pale light of the rising moon, he studied the foothills ahead. At one point the mountains came down to a lower level and were split in a gigantic ‘V’, to the very base of which the stars glittered. The actual trail leading into the canyon was as yet indistinguishable from the all-surrounding greyness.
“I’ve always seen them from a distance,” Hilda added. “I didn’t dare go too close in case anything happened. Now I have you with me I’ll take the risk.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” Terry murmured.
“I don’t hand them out for the sake of it.” The girl’s voice had its usual directness. “I can tell from your manner and voice that you’re not any ordinary saddle-tramp. I feel safe with you. I never have with any other man around here.
“Thanks again,” Terry grinned, and he could see her face turned to him in the moonlight. “Let’s get nearer that canyon and see if anything happens. You lead the way: I’m foreign around these parts.”
Hilda nodded and spurred her mount forward again. Terry kept close beside her, and presently they hit the rocky incline which led to the canyon trail. Before they had moved halfway along its length, however, the girl moved, her horse to one side. Terry followed her through an outcropping of small cedar trees and they emerged again on a higher level of ground studded with rock spurs.
“Here’s a good place,” Hilda said, dismounting. “We can tie the horses here and then, by lying on our faces at the rimrock over there, we can see the riders if they pass through the canyon.”
Terry nodded and dropped to the ground. In another three minutes he and the girl were lying on their faces at
