I am the daughter of a white man, who lived in the hut of a
black king and mated with his daughters. I know the strength of white
men, and their weakness. I failed last night when I met you in the
woods, but now I cannot fail!" Savage exultation thrummed in her voice. "By the blood in your veins I have snared you. The knife of the man
you killed scratched your hand--seven drops of blood that fell on the
pine needles have given me your soul! I took that blood, and Saul Stark
gave me the man who ran away. Saul Stark hates cowards. With his hot,
quivering heart, and seven drops of your blood, Kirby Buckner, deep in
the swamps I have made such magic as none but a Bride of Damballah can
make. Already you feel its urge! Oh, you are strong! The man you fought
with the knife died less than an hour later. But you cannot fight me. Your blood makes you my slave. I have put a conjurement upon you." By heaven, it was not mere madness she was mouthing! Hypnotism, magic,
call it what you will, I felt its onslaught on my brain and will--a
blind, senseless impulse that seemed to be rushing me against my will
to the brink of some nameless abyss. "I have made a charm you cannot resist!" she cried. "When I call you,
you will come! Into the deep swamps you will follow me. You will see
the Dance of the Skull, and you will see the doom of a poor fool who
sought to betray Saul Stark--who dreamed he could resist the Call of
Damballah when it came. Into the swamp he goes tonight, with Tunk Bixby
and the other four fools who opposed Saul Stark. You shall see that. You shall know and understand your own doom. And then you too shall
go into the swamp, into darkness and silence deep as the darkness of
nighted Africa! But before the darkness engulfs you there will be sharp
knives, and little fires--oh, you will scream for death, even for the
death that is beyond death!" With a choking cry I whipped out a pistol and leveled it full at
her breast. It was cocked and my finger was on the trigger. At that
range I could not miss. But she looked full into the black muzzle and
laughed--laughed--laughed, in wild peals that froze the blood in my
veins. And I sat there like an image pointing a pistol I could not fire! A
frightful paralysis gripped me. I knew, with numbing certainty, that
my life depended on the pull of that trigger, but I could not crook my
finger--not though every muscle in my body quivered with the effort and
sweat broke out on my face in clammy beads. She ceased laughing, then, and stood looking at me in a manner
indescribably sinister. "You cannot shoot me, Kirby Buckner," she said quietly. "I have
enslaved your soul. You cannot understand my power, but it has ensnared
you. It is the Lure of the Bride of Damballah--the blood I have mixed
with the mystic waters of Africa drawing the blood in your veins. Tonight you will come to me, in the House of Damballah." "You lie!" My voice was an unnatural croak bursting from dry lips. "You've hypnotized me, you she-devil, so I can't pull this trigger. But you can't drag me across the swamps to you." "It is you who lie," she returned calmly. "You know you lie. Ride back
toward Grimesville or wherever you will, Kirby Buckner. But when the
sun sets and the black shadows crawl out of the swamps, you will see me
beckoning you, and you will follow me. Long I have planned your doom,
Kirby Buckner, since first I heard the white men of Canaan talking of
you. It was I who sent the word down the river that brought you back to
Canaan. Not even Saul Stark knows of my plans for you. "At dawn Grimesville shall go up in flames, and the heads of the
white men will be tossed in the blood-running streets. But tonight is
the Night of Damballah, and a white sacrifice shall be given to the
black gods. Hidden among the trees you shall watch the Dance of the
Skull--and then I shall call you forth--to die! And now, go, fool! Run
as far and as fast as you will. At sunset, wherever you are, you will
turn your footsteps toward the House of Damballah!" And with the spring of a panther she was gone into the thick brush, and
as she vanished the strange paralysis dropped from me. With a gasped
oath I fired blindly after her, but only a mocking laugh floated back
to me. Then in a panic I wrenched my horse about and spurred him down the
trail. Reason and logic had momentarily vanished from my brain,
leaving me in the grasp of blind, primitive fear. I had confronted
sorcery beyond my power to resist. I had felt my will mastered by the
mesmerism in a brown woman's eyes. And now one driving urge overwhelmed
me--a wild desire to cover as much distance as I could before that
low-hanging sun dipped below the horizon and the black shadows came
crawling from the swamps. And yet I knew I could not outrun the grisly specter that menaced
me. I was like a man fleeing in a nightmare, trying to escape from a
monstrous phantom which kept pace with me despite my desperate speed. *       *       *       *       *

I had not reached the Richardson cabin when above the drumming of my
flight I heard the clop of hoofs ahead of me, and an instant later,
sweeping around a kink in the trail, I almost rode down a tall, lanky
man on an equally gaunt horse. He yelped and dodged back as I jerked my horse to its haunches, my
pistol presented at his breast. "Look out, Kirby! It's me--Jim Braxton! My God, you look like you'd
seen a ghost! What's chasin' you?" "Where are you going?" I demanded, lowering my gun. "Lookin' for you. Folks got worried as it got late and you didn't come
in with the refugees. I 'lowed I'd light out and look for you. Miz
Richardson said you rode into the Neck. Where in tarnation you been?" "To Saul Stark's cabin." "You takin' a big chance. What'd you find there?" The sight of another white man had somewhat steadied my nerves. I
opened my mouth to narrate my adventure, and was shocked to hear myself
saying, instead: "Nothing. He wasn't there." "Thought I heard a gun crack, a while ago," he remarked, glancing
sharply at me, sidewise. "I shot at a copperhead," I answered, and shuddered. This reticence
regarding the brown woman was compulsory; I could no more speak of her
than I could pull the trigger of the pistol aimed at her. And I cannot
describe the horror that beset me when I realized this. The conjer
spells the black men feared were not lies, I realized sickly; demons in
human form _did_ exist who were able to enslave men's will and thoughts. Braxton was eyeing me strangely. "We're lucky the woods ain't full of black copperheads," he said. "Tope
Sorley's pulled out." "What do you mean?" By an effort I pulled myself together. "Just that. Tom Breckinridge was in the cabin with him. Tope hadn't
said a word since you talked to him. Just laid on that bunk and
shivered. Then a kind of holler begun way out in the woods, and Tom
went to the door with his rifle-gun, but couldn't see nothin'.