Although his voice might have been heard at a long distance, the figure continued its course without indicating, even by a sign, that he had heard the hail.
"Why, what in the devil has got into you, Drysdale?" asked Andrews. "Whom are you shouting at in such a savage way?"
"Don't you see that man down the hill?" he asked, in a perfect agony of fear and excitement. "See! right in line with that pointed rock; why, he is only a few yards off. My God! it can't be possible that you don't see him!"
"Upon my word, Drysdale," said Andrews, "if you keep on, I shall think you are going crazy. What man are you talking about? There is no one in sight, and either you are trying to play a joke on me, or else your imagination is most unpleasantly active."
"Andrews, look where I point, less than ten rods off," said Drysdale, in a hoarse whisper, clutching Andrews by the arm; "do you mean to say that you don't see a man slowly walking toward the creek?"
"I mean to say," replied Andrews, deliberately, "that there is no man in sight from here, either on that hill-side or any where else."
"God help me," muttered Drysdale, as the figure disappeared in the woods, "then it must have been a ghost."
"My dear fellow," said Andrews, sympathizingly, as they continued their ride, "I am afraid you are feverish; you probably imagined you saw something, and you are superstitious about the matter because I did not see it. Tell me what it was."
By this time they had passed some distance beyond the spot where Drysdale had seen the apparition, and he began to recover his strength somewhat. It was evident that he was still very much distressed, but he endeavored to pass the matter over.