This cheerful information was given in a hoarse whisper that somehow conveyed the idea that the old man was as scared as he could be.
"I—I—I—" stammered Guy, "I can't see the way."
"This is the chance of your life, boy. You get that stone and you'll get a grand coup feather, top honours fur grit. I'll wait here till you come back."
"I—I—can't find the blamed old thing on such a dark night. I—I—ain't goin'."
"Errr—you're scared," whispered Caleb.
"I ain't scared, on'y what's the use of goin' when I couldn't find the place? I'll go when it's moonlight."
"Err—anybody here brave enough to go after that stone?"
"I'll go," said the other two at the same time, though with a certain air of "But I hope I don't have to, all the same."
"You kin have the honour, Yan," said the Woodpecker, with evident relief.
"Of course, I'd like the chance—but—but—I don't want to push ahead of you—you're the oldest; that wouldn't be square," was the reply.
"Guess we'd better draw straws for it."
So Sam sought a long straw while Yan stirred up the coals to a blaze. The long straw was broken in two unequal pieces and hidden in Sam's hand. Then after shuffling he held it toward Yan, showing only the two tips, and said, "Longest straw takes the job." Yan knew from old experience that a common trick was to let the shortest straw stick out farthest, so he took the other, drew it slowly out and out—it seemed endless. Sam opened his hand and showed that the short straw remained, then added with evident relief: "You got it. You are the luckiest feller I ever did see. Everything comes your way."
If there had been any loophole Yan would have taken it, but it was now clearly his duty to go for that stone. It was pride rather than courage that carried him through. He dressed quietly and nervously; his hands trembled a little as he laced his shoes. Caleb waited outside when he heard that it was Yan who was going. He braced him up by telling him: "You're the stuff. I jest love to see grit. I'll go with you to the edge of the woods—'twouldn't be fair to go farther—and wait there till you come back. It's easy to find. Go four panels of fence past the little Elm, then right across on the other side of the road is the big stone. Well, on the side next the north fence you'll find the ring pebble. The coord is lying kind o' cross the big white stone, so you'll find it easy; and here, take this chalk; if your grit gives out, you mark on the fence how far you did get, but don't you worry about that groaning—it's nothing but a yarn—don't be scairt."
"I am afraid I am scared, but still I'll go."
"That's right," said the Trapper with emphasis. "Bravery ain't so much not being scairt as going ahead when you are scairt, showing that you kin boss your fears."
So they talked till they struck out of the gloom of the trees to the comparative light of the open field.
"It's just fifteen minutes to midnight," said Caleb, looking at his watch with the light of a match, "You'll make it easy. I'll wait here."
Then Yan went on alone.
It was a somber night, but he felt his way along the field fence to the line fence and climbed that into the road that was visible as a less intense darkness on the black darkness of the grass. Yan walked on up the middle cautiously. His heart beat violently and his hands were cold. It was a still night, and once or twice little mousey sounds in the fence corner made him start, but he pushed on. Suddenly in the blackness to the right of the road he heard a loud "whisk," then he caught sight of a white thing that chilled his blood. It was the shape of a man wrapped in white, but lacked a head, just as the story had it. Yan stood frozen to the ground. Then his intellect came to the rescue of his trembling body. "What nonsense! It must be a white stone." But no, it moved. Yan had a big stick in his hand. He shouted: "Sh, sh, sh!" Again the "corpse" moved. Yan groped on the road for some stones and sent one straight at the "white thing."
He heard a "whooff" and a rush. The "white thing" sprang up and ran past him with a clatter that told him he had been scared by Granny de Neuville's white-faced cow. At first the reaction made him weak at the knees, but that gave way to a better feeling. If a harmless old Cow could lie out there all night, why should he fear? He went on more quietly till he neared the rise in the road. He should soon see the little Elm. He kept to the left of the highway and peered into the gloom, going more slowly. He was not so near as he had supposed, and the tension of the early part of the expedition was coming back more than ever. He wondered if he had not passed the Elm—should he go back? But no, he could not bear the idea; that would mean retreat. Anyhow, he would put his chalk mark here to show how far he did get. He sneaked cautiously toward the fence to make it, then to his relief made out the Elm not twenty-five feet away. Once at the tree, he counted off the four panels westward and knew that he was opposite the grave of the suicide. It must now be nearly midnight. He thought he heard sounds not far away, and there across the road he saw a whitish thing—the headstone. He was greatly agitated as he crawled quietly as possible toward it. Why quietly he did not know. He stumbled through the mud of the shallow ditch at each side, reached the white stone, and groped with clammy, cold hands over the surface for the string. If Caleb had put it there it was gone now. So he took his chalk and wrote on the stone "Yan."
Oh, what a scraping that chalk made! He searched about with his fingers around the big boulder. Yes, there it was; the wind, no doubt, had blown it off. He pulled it toward him. The pebble was drawn across the boulder with another and louder rasping that sounded fearfully in the night. Then at once a gasp, a scuffle, a rush, a splash of something in mud, or water—horrible sounds of a being choking, strangling or trying to speak. For a moment Yan sank down in terror. His lips refused to move. But the remembrance of the cow came to help him. He got up and ran down the road as fast as he could go, a cold sweat on him. He ran so blindly he almost ran into a man who shouted "Ho, Yan; is that you?" It was Caleb coming to meet him. Yan could not speak. He was trembling so violently that he had to cling to the Trapper's arm.
"What was it, boy? I heard it, but what was it?"
"I—I—don't know," he gasped; "only it was at the g-g-grave."
"Gosh! I heard it, all right," and Caleb showed no little uneasiness, but added, "We'll be back in camp in ten minutes."
He took Yan's trembling hand and led him for a little while, but he was all right when he came to the blazed trail. Caleb stepped ahead, groping in the darkness.
Yan now found voice to say, "I got the stone all right, and I wrote my name on the grave, too."
"Good boy! You're the stuff!" was the admiring response.
They were very glad to see that there was a fire in the teepee when they drew near. At the edge of the clearing they gave a loud "O-hoo—O-hoo— O-hoo-oo," the Owl cry that they had adopted because it is commonly used by the Indians as a night signal, and they got the same in reply from within.
"All right," shouted Caleb; "he done it, an' he's bully good stuff and gets an uncommon grand coup."
"Wish I had gone now," said Guy. "I could 'a' done it just as well as Yan."
"Well, go on now."
"Oh, there ain't any stone to get now for proof."
"You can write your name on the grave, as I did."
"Ah, that wouldn't prove nothin'," and Guy dropped the subject.
Yan did not mean to tell his adventure that night, but his excitement was evident, and they soon got it out of him in full. They were a weird-looking crowd as they sat around the flickering fire, experiencing as he told it no small measure of the scare he had just been through.