“Not a soul crreature,” declared Mr. Larkins. “Forthy year ago they used to come here for the furr-seals, but they got the last of ’em in a shmall bit of a time. No pay in comin’ for the little hair fellies. ’Tis said they’s gold here, too, but I’ve never met the man that saw the color of it.”
We rose and walked on. We had grown a bit chilly, sitting, and would presently return to the vessel. All at once, Edith Gale stopped and held up her hand.
“Wait—listen!” she commanded.
Borne to us on a light breeze from the south, came the sound of a voice singing.
We looked at each other startled. There was something about it, most uncanny.
“My good lawd!” groaned Zar. “Dat’s a sho sperritt! Lemme get outen heah an’ back to dat boat.”
Mr. Larkins detained her.
“Wait,” he said. “There’s a bit of an echo hereabout. The singin’ ’ll be comin’ from the ship, I think.”
There was a wave of relief. Then Gale dissented.
“That’s not from the ship. The wind isn’t right. It’s from the land——”