"I never heard it before Mon Chef."
"And may never hear it again. It lives only in the most doleful and
solitary swamps, and I doubt if there is another place in all the
wide territories save here, where you may hear its voice."
It had now grown so dark that the horses could only tread their way
by instinct, and at every noise or cry that came from the swamp,
Jeans' blood shivered in his veins. He had no idea where his master
was leading him, and had refrained from 'asking all along, though the
query hung constantly upon his tongue. Then a pair of noiseless wings
brushed his cheek, paused, and hovered about his head; while two red
eyes glared at him.
"In the name of God what is it?" he screamed, smiting the creature
with the handle of his whip. "Where are you leading me Mon Chef?"
"Peace Jean, I did not believe that you were such an arrant coward.
You shall soon see where I go. It is seldom that man is seen or heard
in this region, and the strange creatures marvel. That was one of the
large night-hawks which so terrified your weak senses. Do you see
yonder light?"
From a point which appeared to be the head of the valley, came a
piercing white light, and its reflection fell upon the wide, black,
shining stream that ran through the valley, like the links of a
golden chain.
"Yonder, Jean, is the abode of Mother Jubal--thither am I bound."
"What, to Madame Jubal, the Snake Charmer, the witch, the woman that
comes to her enemies when they sleep at nights, and thickens their
blood with cold? I thought, Monsieur, that she lived in hell, and
only appeared on earth when she came to do harm to mankind."
"You will find her of the earth, Jean; but she has ever been willing
to do my behests."
By the reflection of the light could be seen a hut standing in a
cup-shaped niche at the head of the valley. It was ringed around with
draggled larch and cedars; and a belt of dark hills encircled it. No
moonlight penetrated here, save toward the dawn, when pale beams fell
slantwise across the ghostly swamp.
As the horses, drew near there was heard to come from the hut a low,
suppressed yelp, half like the bark of a dog, yet resembling the cry
of a wolf. The door was open, and by a low table, upon which burned
the clear, unflickering light which the two had seen so far down the
valley, sat the old woman. Upon hearing the approach of footsteps,
she blew out this light, and through the hideous gloom the Too whit,
Too whoo of an owl came from the cabin. Then several pairs of eyes
began to gleam at the intruders out of the dusk, and all the while
several throats went on repeating in ghostly tones Too whit, Too whoo.