“Perhaps, indeed, that is the fate which eventually befell the unprincipled wretch. For he vanished as though into thin air, and has never been seen or heard from again.”

We rode in sombre, ruminative silence for a moment. “Well, Poe,” the frontiersman observed at last, “you was dealt a mighty bad hand for a young ’un, and no mistake. It is monstrous hard to be an orphan in this world.”

“Harder than is easily imaginable by those who have not suffered such a calamity,” said I. For several moments, I was incapable of further speech, as I inwardly decried the evil fate which had not only deprived me of a mother’s affections but had subsequently thrust me into the heartless care of a harsh and unfeeling guardian.

At length, having regained a measure of self-composure, I continued thusly: “It is solely through the goodness of my aunt’s unstinting heart that I have known, for the first time in my ill-starred existence, the sweetest of all earthly blessings—unconditional mother-love!”

“Them’s mighty fine sentiments, Poe,” Crockett said with an approving nod. “But there ain’t no cause for your Aunty Clemm to fret. Why, so long as Davy Crockett’s around, you’ll be as safe as a baby possum tucked inside its mama’s pouch—even if that pestiferous rascal Neuendorf does come a-huntin’ for you, like he swore.”

So startled was I by this latter observation that I involuntarily jerked on the reins of my horse, causing him to rear slightly and nearly throw me into the little stream that Crockett and I were in the process of fording. Quickly regaining control of the steed, I proceeded onto the opposite bank, then turned to my companion. “Neuendorf? For what possible reason would he have made such a threat—when it was I who endeavored to persuade the police that the bloody markings at the murder scene did not, in fact, spell out his name?”

We had come to a halt on a grassy slope beside a stand of willows. Resting one forearm on the pommel of his saddle, Crockett leaned forward and gently stroked the neck of his steed with his opposite hand. “Why, reason don’t enter into it, Poe—not with a varmint such as that. He somehow took it into his head that, if it warn’t for you, me ’n’ him would’ve never locked horns in the first place. Leastways, that’s what Cap’n Russell has informed me. Now, he’s goin’ around swearin’ that he’ll use your skin for a razor strop and cut out my heart and cook it for stewmeat.”

With an inward shudder, I recalled the savage, long-bladed knife that Neuendorf had wielded so furiously in his encounter with the frontiersman.