Lead Thou me on."
And as the rough voices swelled upwards, a weird answering chorus floated back to them from the summit of the mountain, and lo! several dark forms appeared outlined against the starry sky. Emu Bill ceased his vocal exercises at once, and squirmed about uneasily until the flute stopped.
"Say, mates," said he, anxiously; "I hope it ain't no corroborree song they is singin'."
Mackay glanced upwards, then hastily grasped his rifle, but the vague voices in the air broke afresh upon his ears just as he was about to pull the trigger, and he laid the deadly weapon down with a shudder.
"They are actually mimicking that bonnie hymn," he said nervously. "I—I haven't the heart to shoot——"
"And aren't their voices almost musical!" cried Jack, whose ear was keenly attuned to melody. "They make a very much better attempt than our corroborree savages did about a week ago; their voices were simply hideous."
"The aborigines are born mimics, Jack," answered Mackay; "but, as you say, their song is usually enough to drive a man to drink—providin' he can get it. Still there may be a different sort o' savage in this mysterious country. If the land itself is better, it would influence the people, and who knows maybe they have acquired some accomplishments unknown to their brethren on the flats."
"I can't make them out at all," said Bob, quietly. "Everything seems so unreal, so—so uncanny about here, and these niggers singing that hymn have given me the creeps."
"Let me have one go at 'The Muskittie's Lament,'" pleaded the Shadow. "I reckon it would bust them up to mimic that high note——"
"You leave that long-suffering muskittie alone," said Mackay. "We'll bust them up wi' something more solid in the morning. I'll climb that mountain or go under trying."