Shuddering with distaste, I carried the package back to the vehicle, set it down on the seat beside Crockett, and attempted to undo the cord, which had been tied with a devilish ingenuity. As I continued to struggle with the recalcitrant knot, the frontiersman suddenly said: “Let me have a go at her, pard.”

Taking the string in both hands, he gave a single, forceful tug—accompanied by an emphatic grunt—and snapped the twine in two. The wrapping fell open—the contents of the package lay exposed to view—and I stared down at the strange, the unaccountable object before me with a sensation of utter bewilderment and dismay.

“What in Sam Hill—?” muttered the frontiersman.

It was a length of animal hide that had been carefully rolled into a coil. Taking one end of this odious object in his fingers, the frontiersman raised it aloft, causing it to unfurl to its full length of approximately two and a half feet To judge from the color, texture, and condition of the hide, it had evidently been stripped from the body of a horse suffering from a severe case of the mange. Adding to its intensely unsavory appearance were the mucilaginous particles of sinew and fatty tissue clinging to its underside, as though it had been freshly removed from the body of the dead—or dying—beast.

“What do you reckon it means, Poe?” Crockett asked, eyeing the repellent object with a look of extreme aversion.

I was on the brink of replying that I had not the slightest conception of its import when I perceived that, in its overall dimensions, the horsehide strip bore a rough approximation to a leather strop. All at once, I emitted a startled gasp of realization.

“Have you ciphered it out?” asked Crockett, regarding me with narrowed eyes.

“I have indeed deduced the significance of this loathsome object,” I replied grimly. “It is a reminder of a threat which you yourself communicated to me during our journey to the ill-fated house of Asher—a message from one who has vowed, as you reported, to ‘use my skin for a razor strop.’”

Several moments elapsed while the frontiersman simply stared at me in baffled silence. All at once, his eyes widened—his mouth gaped—and he exclaimed: “You mean that pestiferous varmint, Neuendorf! Why, hang me up for bear-meat, Poe, if you ain’t hit the nail plumb on the head!”

CHAPTER 22

It is a phenomenon of our nature that a superabundance of any experience—whether pleasurable or painful—diminishes the impact of any single sensation. Just as a plethora of sensual delights renders any individual indulgence less intense, so too does a surfeit of woes reduce the onerous effect of any isolated affliction.