The Best Psychic Stories. Various

He was resolved not to face that road in the dark, and with head bowed on knees, he dozed, waiting for daylight.

      How long afterward he did not know, he was awakened by the yapping bark of a young coyote. As he looked about and located it on the brow of the hill behind him, he noted the change that had come over the face of the night. The fog was gone; the stars and moon were out; even the wind had died down. It had transformed into a balmy California summer night. He tried to doze again, but the yap of the coyote disturbed him. Half asleep, he heard a wild and eery chant. Looking about him, he noticed that the coyote had ceased its noise and was running away along the crest of the hill, and behind it, in full pursuit, no longer chanting, ran the naked creature he had encountered in the garden. It was a young coyote, and it was being overtaken when the chase passed from view. The man trembled as with a chill as he started to his feet, clambered over the fence, and mounted his wheel. But it was his chance and he knew it. The terror was no longer between him and Mill Valley.

      He sped at a breakneck rate down the hill, but in the turn at the bottom, in the deep shadows, he encountered a chuck-hole and pitched headlong over the handle bar.

      "It's sure not my night," he muttered, as he examined the broken fork of the machine.

      Shouldering the useless wheel, he trudged on. In time he came to the stone wall, and, half disbelieving his experience, he sought in the road for tracks, and found them—moccasin tracks, large ones, deep-bitten into the dust at the toes. It was while bending over them, examining, that again he heard the eery chant. He had seen the thing pursue the coyote, and he knew he had no chance on a straight run. He did not attempt it, contenting himself with hiding in the shadows on the off side of the road.

      And again he saw the thing that was like a naked man, running swiftly and lightly and singing as it ran. Opposite him it paused, and his heart stood still. But instead of coming toward his hiding-place, it leaped into the air, caught the branch of a roadside tree, and swung swiftly upward, from limb to limb, like an ape. It swung across the wall, and a dozen feet above the top, into the branches of another tree, and dropped out of sight to the ground. The man waited a few wondering minutes, then started on.

II

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      Dave Slotter leaned belligerently against the desk that barred the way to the private office of James Ward, senior partner of the firm of Ward, Knowles & Co. Dave was angry. Every one in the outer office had looked him over suspiciously, and the man who faced him was excessively suspicious.

      "You just tell Mr. Ward it's important," he urged.

      "I tell you he is dictating and cannot be disturbed," was the answer. "Come to-morrow."

      "To-morrow will be too late. You just trot along and tell Mr. Ward it's a matter of life and death."

      The secretary hesitated and Dave seized the advantage.

      "You just tell him I was across the bay in Mill Valley last night, and that I want to put him wise to something."

      "What name?" was the query.

      "Never mind the name. He don't know me."

      When Dave was shown into the private office, he was still in the belligerent frame of mind, but when he saw a large fair man whirl in a revolving chair from dictating to a stenographer to face him, Dave's demeanor abruptly changed. He did not know why it changed, and he was secretly angry with himself.

      "You are Mr. Ward?" Dave asked with a fatuousness that still further irritated him. He had never intended it at all.

      "Yes," came the answer. "And who are you?"

      "Harry Bancroft," Dave lied. "You don't know me, and my name don't matter."

      "You sent in word that you were in Mill Valley last night?"

      "You live there, don't you?" Dave countered, looking suspiciously at the stenographer.

      "Yes. What do you mean to see me about? I am very busy."

      "I'd like to see you alone, sir."

      Mr. Ward gave him a quick, penetrating look, hesitated, then made up his mind.

      "That will do for a few minutes, Miss Potter."

      The girl arose, gathered her notes together, and passed out. Dave looked at Mr. James Ward wonderingly, until that gentleman broke his train of inchoate thought.

      "Well?"

      "I was over in Mill Valley last night," Dave began confusedly.

      "I've heard that before. What do you want?"

      And Dave proceeded in the face of a growing conviction that was unbelievable.

      "I was at your house, or in the grounds, I mean."

      "What were you doing there?"

      "I came to break in," Dave answered in all frankness. "I heard you lived all alone with a Chinaman for cook, and it looked good to me. Only I didn't break in. Something happened that prevented. That's why I'm here. I come to warn you. I found a wild man loose in your grounds—a regular devil. He could pull a guy like me to pieces. He gave me the run of my life. He don't wear any clothes to speak of, he climbs trees like a monkey, and he runs like a deer. I saw him chasing a coyote, and the last I saw of it, by God, he was gaining on it."

      Dave paused and looked for the effect that would follow his words. But no effect came. James Ward was quietly curious, and that was all.

      "Very remarkable, very remarkable," he murmured. "A wild man, you say. Why have you come to tell me?"

      "To warn you of your danger. I'm something of a hard proposition myself, but I don't believe in killing people … that is, unnecessarily. I realized that you was in danger. I thought I'd warn you. Honest, that's the game. Of course, if you wanted to give me anything for my trouble, I'd take it. That was in my mind, too. But I don't care whether you give me anything or not. I've warned you anyway, and done my duty."

      Mr. Ward meditated and drummed on the surface of his desk. Dave noticed that his hands were large, powerful, withal well-cared for despite their dark sunburn. Also, he noted what had already caught his eye before—a tiny strip of flesh-colored courtplaster on the forehead over one eye. And still the thought that forced itself into his mind was unbelievable.

      Mr. Ward took a wallet from his inside coat pocket, drew out a greenback, and passed it to Dave, who noted as he pocketed it that it was for twenty dollars.

      "Thank you," said Mr. Ward, indicating that the interview was at an end. "I shall have the matter investigated. A wild man running loose is dangerous."

      But so quiet a man was Mr. Ward, that Dave's courage returned. Besides, a new theory had suggested itself. The wild man was evidently Mr. Ward's brother, a lunatic privately confined. Dave had heard of such things. Perhaps Mr. Ward wanted it kept quiet. That was why he had given him the twenty dollars.

      "Say," Dave began, "now I come to think of it that wild man looked a lot like you—"

      That was as far as Dave got, for at that moment he witnessed a transformation and found himself gazing into the same unspeakably ferocious blue eyes of the night before, at the same clutching talon-like hands, and at the same formidable bulk in the act of springing upon him. But this time Dave had no night-stick to throw, and he was caught by the biceps of both arms in a grip so terrific that it made him groan with pain. He saw the large white teeth exposed, for all the world as a dog's about to bite. Mr. Ward's beard brushed his face as the teeth went in for the grip of his throat. But the bite was not given. Instead, Dave felt the other's body stiffen as with an iron restraint, and then he was flung aside, without effort but with such force that only the wall stopped his momentum and dropped him gasping to the floor.

      "What do you mean by coming here and trying to blackmail me?" Mr. Ward was snarling at him. "Here, give me back