"All right."
They found a path by which they could climb the bank, making it plain that human beings had traveled on the island not a little at some time, even if the place was deserted then.
Following the path a short distance, they came to three small camps built of logs. The camps were not in a very pleasant location, although it was a sheltered spot.
After looking around the huts a few minutes, they turned from the path and struck straight up through the woods, which were thick and dark. Beneath their feet twigs crackled and the dead leaves of a year before sometimes rustled where they had piled together but had not rotted. The woods were dark and in places the ground was covered by moss, so that their feet made not a sound.
Higher and higher they climbed, till they came out into a natural opening that was surrounded by the gloomy trees. This seemed close to the highest ground on the island, which could be seen rising rocky and bare through the trees at one side of the glade.
And in the midst of the glade was a grave that had not been made many months, and a granite stone stood at the head.
"It's the grave the cock-eyed man told us of!" exclaimed Frank. "Let's look at the stone."
They approached the grave, and Frank bent down to
look at the stone. As the cock-eyed man had said, on it were the words:
"Sacred to the memory of Rawson Denning."