time for Morales and Armagnac to return, should they spy any one in the neighborhood. The sound of a heavy splash might carry to the road through the woods.
The flashlight glimmered through the trees as Morales and Armagnac retraced their footsteps. In the moonlight, the squat form of Jose was monstrous as it worked above the prisoner, taking care to attach the stones so that they could not possibly come loose.
Pierre Armagnac had passed the death sentence; Alfredo Morales had given the orders; Jose was to be the executioner of Vic Marquette, who was doomed by these fiends to a terrible death.
Only the moonlight showed on the mound of rock above the quarry— the moonlight which brought flickering shadows and among them a long, motionless silhouette which neither executioner or victim could see.
A blotch at the edge of the great quarry—nothing more than a shade of night. Such a trivial, formless object alone lay between Vic Marquette and the death which yawned below!
CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW THAT LIVED
JOSE'S task was completed. The powerful henchman of Alfredo Morales had applied the sinking stones to the ropes which bound Vic Marquette. Crouched over the form of his intended victim, the squat, greasy-faced man paused to listen.
There was no sound from the woods behind. Long minutes had gone by. Morales and Armagnac had not returned. Obviously they had found the road deserted, and had gone back to the cottage. There would be no witnesses to the death of this bound man. The judges had washed their hands of it.
Jose grinned. This task was to his liking. A push—a long wait—a clunk from the water beneath. How easy it was to kill, and how pleasant! Jose was a villain who liked variety in methods of dealing death.
Vic Marquette moved feebly. His eyes stared straight up and saw the cruel, merciless face of Jose. This was a man with whom he could not treat. Jose was a creature who obeyed one master. That master had decreed death.
Jose sneered as he saw those eyes. He wanted to see the victim plead; but all he received was a cold, firm gaze.
Jose had encountered men before who had not feared death. There was no use wasting time with them.
Stepping back, Jose leaned forward to raise the body on its way.
Then the clutching hands that gripped the body of Vic Marquette paused in response to Jose's gaze.
Looking over the body, to the brink of the precipice a scant five feet away, Jose saw a flat shadow in the moonlight. It lay there, a long, gruesome shade, projecting from the edge of the precipice, directly over the path where Jose intended to roll the victim's body!
That wide streak of black was motionless, but it made Jose tremble; for it was almost identical with the black shape that Jose had seen upon the floor of the main room in the cottage!
Jose's hands trembled; then, with an angry snarl, the villain pressed the body forward. Why should he fear shadows? Even such shapes might move. This one seemed to be swaying now. What of it? Morales was right; no danger could lurk in moving patches of blackness.
The lust for murder was stronger now in Jose's mind than any superstitious reasoning that might normally dominate him. The intended killer rolled his victim's body forward as he raised his head to sight the edge of the cliff.
Then came a gargling cry from Jose's greasy lips. It was the low, snarling whine of a hunted, beaten beast.
Leaping backward, Jose forgot the mission that he was here to perform. Then his trembling limbs failed him. He cowered on the mound of rock, staring across the body of Vic Marquette, that lay face downward in the moonlight.
THERE, before Jose's bleary eyes, was a shadow that lived! It no longer lay as a substanceless shade across the flatness of the rock. It was a real form, a solid form, rising like a grim specter from the limitless depths of the quarry, emerging over the edge of the cliff like a figure of avenging doom!
Upward came that dread form until it stood as a tall, weird shape in black. It was a being that had the semblance of a human. Garbed in flowing cloak and broad-brimmed hat, this apparition made a terrifying sight.
Jose tried to rise to his feet. Then he sank again as the folds of the cloak spread outward, impelled by the arms beneath.
Jose had fallen flat on his face, his eyes staring upward toward that monstrous, batlike form that held its ghoulish pose upon the very edge of the great cliff. All the superstitious fears that Jose had suffered during the past few days were molded into reality now.
Weird stories of human vampires—terrible forms of dead bodies that had come to life—grotesque shapes that had appeared like apparitions upon the broad expanses of the Argentine pampas—these were visualized by the cringing coward whose work had been thwarted.
Jose sensed that this was more than a mere ghostly phantom that might disappear as quickly as it had come. In that belief he was correct. It was The Shadow who stood before him; and The Shadow, a living being, dealt vengeance as well as fear.
Skirting the path from the cottage, this creature of the night had preceded the fiends who were marching Vic Marquette to doom. As they had approached, The Shadow had slipped from sight into the one spot where no one could have suspected a concealed observer—over the curving, rough-hewed edge of the quarry, where he had clung with ease to await developments.
There, The Shadow had been secure, ready to loose a surprise attack from an unexpected quarter. He was blocking the path along which Vic Marquette would be pushed to doom.
Had Alfredo Morales and Pierre Armagnac remained to witness the execution, they, as well as Jose, would have tasted the metal of The Shadow's automatics.
But they had gone; now, with only Jose before him, The Shadow had relied upon his spectral guise to strike terror into the heart of the superstitious man who had sensed his presence, and had feared it.
Before Jose could recover from the dread that had gripped him, a sound reached his ears and awakened greater fears. The whispered tones of a mocking laugh came from the being that stood before him.
Those chilling echoes left no room for doubt. This fantastic apparition was a reality. The figure in black that had come from nowhere lived—and living, it uttered mirth that was inhuman.
THE SHADOW was moving forward, step by step. The spreading arms were folded now. To Jose, that advance meant certain death; yet in his panic, he could not turn to flee. Words were spoken by concealed lips - words that were uttered in Spanish.
'Jose'—The Shadow's voice was spectral—'I have warned you! You have known of my presence, even though you have not seen my form until now. Death awaits you if you fail to do my bidding. Unbind this man who lies before you!'
Trembling, Jose looked up to see The Shadow standing just beyond the form of Vic Marquette. For an instant, the cringing man hesitated; then, catching the glimmer of two avenging eyes, he crawled forward by inches until he had reached the bound body.
While The Shadow watched, Jose tugged at the knots until the ropes were loosened. Under the glare of those burning optics, he struggled with frenzied haste. At last, Vic Marquette lay free.
The Shadow's arm formed a long black line in the dull moonlight. Jose saw a finger pointing back toward the cottage in the woods. He moved away in the direction indicated. He stumbled over his rifle and nearly fell.
'Wait!' The Shadow's low command was hissed. 'Remember, I have warned you! If you say to any one that you have seen my presence, I shall strike you dead. I shall kill you, Jose; kill you with the most horrible death that man has ever suffered!'
The words were followed by a fearful laugh that brought new qualms to Jose. He was afraid to leave this spot until he received The Shadow's bidding.
'Pick up your gun'—The Shadow's words were tense and vibrant— 'return to those who left you here.
Tell them that you have done their bidding. Remember: I shall be there to hear you speak!'
Mechanically, Jose plucked the rifle from the mound. He faltered as he backed away toward the path.
