Having said this, it was instantly silent. The final syllable ended suddenly, but yet with a twang as if some giant had touched the string of a great instrument.
The hush that ensued was appalling. I had sat down, as if struck to the earth, the moment I heard the awful sound, and now I tried to address Ed Mason, who was leaning faintly against a tree. But I made three efforts before my vocal apparatus responded.
"Wh-what was it?" I asked.
He turned toward me, and said something in a whisper, which I could not make out. I sat still for a moment longer, then hitched myself toward him and repeated my question.
But he could not answer me.
Neither could he say whence the sound came. That was the horrible part of it—the vague immensity of the note. We remained motionless for what we thought a long time.
Then Ed suggested that we move our camp. Immediately the problem arose: in which direction should we move? While we deliberated, in whispers, suddenly again, ominous and terrible:—
"K'r-rum!"
That sufficed. In three seconds we were over the wall and running at full speed along the highway. At the crossroads, an eighth of a mile away, we saw the lights of a buggy. It contained certain male relatives.
"Hello, boys! Going home?"