“Because she is slightly crazy,” said the hermit. “She was in these woods when I came here, and, in time we grew to be good friends. It seems that years ago her whole family was killed by the Indians, she alone escaping. It turned her brain, and ever since then, she imagines that nearly all men are murderers. I wonder she has not accused you of the crime,” and the hermit smiled a little.
“She certainly acted queer,” admitted the professor, “but I thought it was because she took you to be—er—”
“Oh, I don’t mind having you refer to it,” put in the old man. “She often accuses me of the crime to my face. I humor her, and admit sometimes that I am a desperate criminal, and that I am going to give myself up to the authorities. It sort of calms her down.”
“What did you mean by saying that she would come whenever you called her?” asked Jerry. “Is she near by?”
“She stays in a little cabin I built for her, not far off,” replied the hermit. “When I want her to go on an errand for me, for she is very swift and reliable, I merely blow this horn,” and he showed a big conch hanging on the wall. “I will call her to show you the way back to your camp when you are ready.”
The professor and the boys thought it was about time to leave. They promised the hermit they would come and see him again, and then the old man, taking down the horn, unbarred the door, and, stepping out blew three shrill blasts that reverberated through the woods. It was just getting dusk, and the echoes, ringing back from the distant hills, sounded weird in the gathering darkness.
For a few seconds no answer came, then, from far off in the woods sounded a faint cry.
“Here she comes,” said the hermit. “She will take you the shortest way.”
In a little while the crackling of the brush could be heard, and, a few seconds later Kate appeared. She did not seem surprised not to find the travelers all murdered.