“Not by a danged sight, Captain,” Crockett replied. Then, casting me a solemn look, he said: “I’m afeard our set-to will have to wait for a spell, Cricket. Thar’s some mighty bad business that needs taking care of first.” And with that he cocked his head sharply towards the bed which stood against the far wall of the chamber and whose presence I had only dimly noted in the few moments since I had arrived upon the scene.

A gasp of utmost horror escaped my lips as I stared with disbelieving eyes at the ghastly figure lying prone upon the mattress. It was the body of an elderly woman with her throat so frightfully cut that the head was nearly detached from the body. The look upon the victim’s face—the bulging eyes—the gaping mouth—offered vivid evidence of the unspeakable terror she had suffered in her final moments. The body itself was dreadfully mutilated—so much so as to scarcely retain any semblance of humanity. Thickly clotted blood was everywhere—soaking the bedclothes—bespattering her limbs—even staining the wall above the bedstead. Never had I beheld a spectacle so dire—so hideous—so profoundly appalling.

My brain began to reel from the stupefying sight. I stretched out my hand and placed it against the nearest wall in order to steady myself. Here, I reflected dully, is the gruesome confirmation of an all-too-dismal truth: that nothing in the realm of supernatural terror—not the doings of demons nor the depredations of ghouls—can surpass the atrocities visited regularly by men upon their fellow-beings.

As if in reply to this thought, the frontiersman—who had been observing my reaction from several feet away—grimly remarked: “Cricket, I’ve seen things that would curdle the blood of the divvil hisself, but this here beats all. Why, the savagest redskin wouldn’t have dealt so unmercifully with that poor old widder-lady.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but fear had so depleted my tongue of moisture that I could not effect the simple act of vocalization. “Who …?” I managed to stammer at last. “How …?”

“All of us is wonderin the same,” Crockett remarked, expelling a rueful sigh. “The nifarious deed was found by the chambermaid when she come to rouse Mrs. Macready at daybreak, and that’s the only fact we know for a cartainty. Poor gal is upstairs right now, prosterated with grief.”