"You meant, 'Lo, hear the gentle lark,'" said Bob.
The flautist nodded. "One, two, three, and off she goes," said he; and at once the liquid strains of Bishop's wonderful music echoed through the tent, with its trills and cadenzas, and with, it must be confessed, many variations from the original melody. Ere he had finished nearly all the camp were clustered at the door; even Macguire's party was represented. Then the spell was broken. Evidently the volume of sound created by the flute did not quite satisfy the player's desire for a fuller burden of song. He laid down the flute. "Watch me catch that top note," said he, and, with grim desperation, he opened his mouth and began, "'Lo! hear the gentle la-a-a-a-ark——'"
A yell of horror from the doorway, and a sudden trampling of feet intimated that the bulk of his audience had taken flight. The Shadow squirmed in agony, Jack shuddered, and Bob looked pained.
"Ah, weel," grunted the singer apologetically, pausing in his valiant effort, "I couldna expect ye to appreciate such vera high-class music, but haud on a bit an' I'll gie ye a verse o' my ain construction, set to music o' my vera ain composition; it is called 'The Muskittie's Lament.'"
Straightway he started, and bellowed out this touching little story, in a voice so raucous that even the parrots fluttering in the scrub around screamed out noisily in protest.[A] When he had finished, the Shadow and Jack had vanished, and Bob alone was left to thank him as best he could.
But he was happily spared this call on his prevaricative powers, for the vocalist did not give him an opportunity of expressing his opinion.
"Ye dinna look exactly overjoyed wi' my singin'," said he, quizzically, "but ye must admit it's vera effective."
Bob laughed, but did not venture to disagree.
"Ay," continued Mackay, with a chuckle, "my voice has wonderfu' movin' powers, though, like my whustle, it's mebbe a wee bit trying at close quarters." He proceeded to the box once more, and, to Bob's surprise, extricated a sextant from its depths. He gazed at it tenderly for a few moments, then handed it to his companion, who seized it eagerly, and examined it with deep interest. It was an instrument which had, apparently, seen considerable service, for the handle was grooved by much fingering, and the lacquer on the framework was blistered by the sun's rays, and altogether bare in places. But the silvered arc itself was in perfect condition, and the thin coating of vaseline over it showed that its present owner knew how to take care of the delicate fabric. Mackay gazed curiously on during the young man's work of inspection. It was almost dark now in the tent, the last glimmering rays of the setting sun alighted on the reflecting glasses of the sextant and danced thereon joyously for a moment, then the heavy gloom of night fell, and still Bob clutched the symbol of his unuttered desire, while Mackay seemed wrapt in silent meditation. At length the elder man spoke.
"That was the chief's sextant, Bob," said he, gravely. "It was the only thing I found near the camp where he and his expedition were murdered."