The Haunting of Autumn Lake by Marcia Lynn McClure Page A

where Cat Russell was concerned. So one night, he snuck into the room that Cat and Ritt were sharin’.” Autumn lowered her voice, leaned forward, and whispered, “Cat and Ritt were sharin’ a room…and a bed…even though they’d never married.”
    Gentry shook his head, feigning astonishment. The girl was too entertaining! Her eyes were as big supper plates—and as sparkling with mischief as any diamond ever was.
    “Elliot Tyler snuck into the room where Cat and Ritt were sleepin’…and while they slept…he slit their throats with a big knife!” Autumn told him. Running her hand across her throat, she made a noise like a throat slitting and exclaimed, “Slice! Just like that! He slit them ear to ear and then watched them both bleed out on their bed and die!”
    Gentry again shook his head, but this time he was truly amazed. “That’d be a gruesome way to go, wouldn’t it?”
    “It would, Mr. James,” Autumn agreed. “And that’s why they hung Mr. Elliot Tyler. They didn’t even give him a trial. You see, even though Cat had taken up with Ritt when he’d arrived in town, all the men in town still loved her too. So they lynched Elliot Tyler. They strung him up in a big oak tree, slapped his horse on the haunch, and hanged him. The only thing was Elliot Tyler’s neck didn’t break.” Autumn shook her head. “No, sir. That mob of men who lynched him? They just stood there and watched Elliot Tyler strangle to death. They watched him kick and struggle and choke for near to ten minutes before he finally died. Then they cut him down and buried him in the old graveyard just outside of town.”
    “So…this Elliot Tyler…he’s this ghost you were talkin’ about?” Gentry asked.
    But Autumn shook her head. “No, sir…he is not. Ritt Houston is the Specter, Mr. James. He and Catherine Russell are buried out there in the old graveyard too. But it seems that since Ritt died first, he somehow doesn’t know that Elliot Tyler was hanged. And every two years—every other harvest season—he rises from his earthen grave…and rides his black horse hither and yon, lookin’ for Elliot Tyler…lookin’ for his revenge. Folks say he’s lookin’ for Cat too. Some say when he sees a woman with long dark hair, the Specter mistakes her for Cat, his lover…and tries to spirit her away with him.”
    Gentry watched as Autumn braided her hair, tied it with a small ribbon she’d pulled from her apron pocket, and left the long raven braid hanging over her left shoulder. She was such a pretty girl, such an innocent girl. For a moment, Gentry James wished he was worth something—instead of being worth nothing.
     
    “Have you ever seen him?” Gentry asked.
    Autumn sighed with disappointment. “No. Never,” she admitted. “Though I sometimes think I’m the only girl in town who hasn’t. And that’s not at all fair, since I’m the one who most wants to.”
    “You want to see this cowboy ghost?” Gentry asked, obviously astounded. “What in the world for?”
    Autumn shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Because he’s a ghost, I suppose. Not that I believe in ghosts. But then again…too many strange things go on in the world for me not to believe in them.”
    Gentry smiled, and his dimples caused Autumn to sigh.
    “So you all have your own legend here…like the headless horseman in a book I read once,” Gentry offered.
    “Oh, no!” Autumn countered, feeling very protective of the local specter. “Our ghost is vastly different than Mr. Irving’s headless horseman.”
    “Sounds the same to me. Your ghost rides around town, scarin’ the waddin’ out of folks and lookin’ for someone to spirit away,” Gentry said.
    “Oh, they’re vastly different, Gentry James,” Autumn argued, however. “For one thing, our ghost has a head.” Gentry chuckled, and Autumn was glad she’d made him happy. “Furthermore, he only rides out every two years. And usually, then, it’s only if someone disturbs his