silhouetted them.
“Supposin’ these riders are not ghosts—as I don’t believe they are,” Terry murmured. “What do you suppose the idea is?”
“To frighten the people of Verdure and the outlying ranches, of course,” Hilda answered promptly.
“Yes, but—why? What’s the point of doing that?”
“No idea. It’s something I never got around to thinking about. I suppose I should have done.…”
“If we’re to tie things up properly, you should,” Terry said; then he became silent again, his gun in his hand in case it might suddenly be needed. He noticed Hilda, too, had her .38 resting in a niche of the rock beside her. She was quite the most replete Western girl he had encountered—unafraid, direct, and yet still a woman.
It was half an hour later, and they were both beginning to feel cramped and chilled through inaction, when Hilda suddenly raised a hand warningly, her whole attitude one of intent listening. Terry listened, too—then, after a while, he heard the far-off drumming of hoofs on the hard-baked earth. Straining his eyes, he peered beyond the chasm entrance to where the rich pasture lands spread right up to it.
“There!” Hilda said abruptly, gripping his arm. “See them?”
He nodded, peered at four white specks visible in the moonlight against the blackness of the pastures. They came nearer, and the hoofs drummed into echoes until the canyon walls began to reflect them.
Terry said nothing, but he was conscious of a little thrill, as he watched the quartet. They moved with a steady precision, dead in line with each other. Had he been at all superstitious, he could have believed they were phantoms. Not being woolly-minded, however, he put the quartet’s perfect riding down to fine horsemanship and an accurate knowledge of the terrain to be covered, which made for almost military movement.
They came nearer. Riders and horses were visible how as all white. Hats, clothes, horses—white as snow, reflecting the moonlight. They reached the canyon entrance and still kept going. Their eyes fixed on them, Terry and the girl watched. They passed below, moving swiftly, the horses snorting at intervals, then as they went on the sharp twist in the canyon hid them from sight and the echoing hoofbeats died away.
Terry took a deep breath and drew his shirt sleeve over his face. He realised the girl was looking at him intently.
“Well?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“I can sure understand now why the folks think they’re phantoms,” he said. “First time out it’s a bit unnerving. Mebbe the moonlight and the silence. They sure look the part.”
“I felt the same way the first time. But you surely don’t think for one moment that they’re—”
“Ghosts? Hell, no!” Terry got on his feet and helped Hilda to hers. They holstered their guns.
“Good disguise,” Hilda admitted, thinking.
“Yeah—but I never heard of a ghost-horse snorting! And I never heard of a ghost-horse making noise enough to echo. If those were real phantoms, they’d go through everythin’ and not make a sound.”
Hilda gave a smile of relief. “You’re the kind of man I’ve been hoping for, Mr. Carlton! You think things out logically instead of rushing behind shutters and talking rot about the Other World.”
“Might as well see where they’re headed,” Terry added, moving towards the horses. “This business has got to be solved—and quickly—before anything else happens. I can’t believe these phoney riders are prancing about in the moonlight each night just for the fun of keepin’ a legend going.… Let’s move.”
His strong arms lifted the girl into her saddle, then he swung up on his mare. Together they returned down the rocky slope they had formerly ascended, and in a matter of minutes reached the canyon floor. Here Terry again dismounted, and the girl sat and watched him as he inspected the dusty hard-baked ground in the moonlight. Unsatisfied, he thumbed a lucifer into a brief glimmer, cupping it in his hands and peering at the ground. As the light extinguished he gave a chuckle.
“What?” the girl asked, as he came over to her.
“Just the fact that those horses have very material shoes,” he replied. “Real ghosts wouldn’t leave footmarks behind, I guess. Anyways, let’s see where we can go by following this canyon.”
“I can tell you that right now. It leads straight out to the mesa. After that, there’s nothing until the next town of Luna Mucho.”
“We’ll go, anyway,” Terry decided, and swung back into the saddle. This time he went first, his gun ready, Hilda coming up behind him. As he went, Terry watched the surroundings carefully. Once beyond the bend in the canyon down which the horsemen had vanished, the canyon walls came inwards suddenly, until towards the centre of it there was room for perhaps only six horses abreast. From here the canyon widened out again and in ten minutes Terry found himself gazing at the moonlit expanse of the mesa, the canyon trail running down towards it like a zigzagged white ribbon.
“No sign of ’em now, anyway,” he said quietly. “I sort of thought there might be, out on the desert there. White against black. It would show.”
“Might,” Hilda muttered. “Unless they’re out of sight.”
They became silent. The mystery of the night had closed down again. It was queer the effect it had in these lonely spaces. Even with the physical evidence of horses’ hoofs, in the dust Terry somehow felt uncertain.…
Struck by a sudden thought, he ignited another lucifer and held it cupped in his palm as he dropped from the saddle. Hilda alighted beside him. He didn’t know quite what to think when he found there was no trail of hoofs except those of his own and the girl’s mount.
“But—it’s silly!” Hilda protested.
“Yeah. Course it is.” The lucifer dropped and expired in the dust. “They must have gone straight on because we know they didn’t turn back, just as we know they couldn’t have turned aside and gone upwards—not with these sheer walls.”
Terry looked about him. Three hundred foot high escarpments at this point. No vegetation, no rockery niches, no acclivities. Either the four horsemen must have gone upwards, or—?
“I don’t get it,” Terry confessed finally. “Better go back a bit and see if there’s any sign of their trail leading off to some place.”
Hilda nodded, and leading their horses, beside them, they returned along the canyon floor. The moon had risen high now. It was possible to see the dust at their feet and the prints their own mounts had made on the previous journey. And presently they came again to the spot where the prints of a whole party of horses had been tramping.
“But look—!” the girl almost whispered, pointing in the moonlight; and Terry flared another lucifer just to make sure.
He couldn’t explain what he saw. It was next to uncanny. The trail of the four horses was mixed with the trail of his own and the girl’s horse but, whereas the trail of his and Hilda’s mounts went straight on, the others stopped short. Up to a certain point they were clear enough, then, without turning aside, they simply ceased to be.
“Sure is tarnation
