“Well, speak up!” growled the voice.  “What ’s wanted?”

It was not in my nature to fear men, and this was evidently a man.  I could feel the warm blood surge back to my heart.

“You surely startled me, friend,” I explained.  “Are you the overseer?”

“I reckon I am, but what I want to know is, who you are?”

“I?” striving to regain my wits.  “Why, I am—­am Philip Henley; we—­we have just got in from the North.”

“How did you git out yere?”

“A negro drove us from the station—­old Pete who worked here once; maybe you know him?”

The man grunted.

“What become of the nigger?”

“He simply dumped us out at the gate, and drove back as though the devil was after him.  He said the place was haunted.”

“And he hit it about right at that, as ye’r’ likely to find out afore mornin’.  Is that a woman with you?”

“Yes—­may we come in?”

“Oh, I reckon I ain’t got no license to turn yer away, if yer mind ter risk it.  Lord knows I ‘m willin’ ‘nough to hav’ company.  Git yer duds, an’ I ’ll light up, so yer kin see a bit.”

He disappeared, and I lugged the grips to the top of the steps, where we waited.  Then a faint light streamed out through the open door, a moment later outlining his figure.

“Come on in,” he said, still gruffly.  “Yer don’t need be afeerd o’ me, mam, and the housekeeper be yere directly.”

I confess I entered the dim hall reluctantly, obsessed by some strange premonition of danger, but Mrs. Bernard clung to me, and the sight of her white face gave me new courage.

CHAPTER XI

A PLEASANT WELCOME

It was an old-fashioned living room into which we entered, the floor unswept, the chairs faded and patched.  Curtains were drawn closely at the windows, while the single oil lamp stood on a center table littered with old newspapers.  I dropped the grips on the carpet, not so much interested in my surroundings as in the appearance of the man in charge.  The shading of the light gave me only a partial view of the fellow, but he was big, loose-jointed, having enormous shoulders, his face so hidden by a heavy mustache, and low drawn hat brim, I could scarcely perceive its outline.  He appeared a typical rough, wearing high boots, with an ugly-looking Colt in a belt holster.

“Where are you from?” I asked, surprised at this display of firearms.

“Texas,” with a grin, not altogether pleasant.  “That’s an ol’ friend.”

“No doubt, but I see no sense in wearing it here.  What are you afraid of?”

He stroked his mustache, eyeing me.

“Wal, personally, stranger, I ain’t greatly feerd o’ nuthin’, but I wus hired fer to keep people outer this shebang.  There ain’t no work goin’ on, so I don’t hav’ no niggers to keep folks out.”

“Who employed you?”