“What’s that?” Murphy exclaimed, suddenly crossing himself and pointing excitedly off into the forest. He was actually trembling.
The sudden exclamation startled Scott. The cat owls had given him the jumps. He followed the direction of Murphy’s gesture and saw a tall white form apparently rising from the palmetto scrub a short distance to one side of the right-of-way. It was an uncanny sight and he shivered in spite of himself.
“Let’s go see,” he whispered with a good deal more confidence than he really felt. They had been whispering again ever since they had entered the swamp.
Murphy hesitated an instant, but followed him closely. They picked their way cautiously through the brush, making as little noise as possible. They were within thirty yards of the hazy white form which seemed now to be sinking stealthily down into the scrub as they approached. Scott could not make it out. He heard the faint click of the safety lock on Murphy’s Luger. His attention was fixed so intently on the crouching figure that he forgot his feet. The next instant he stepped in a hole and fell sprawling.
He jumped to his feet half expecting to find the mysterious figure ready to spring at his throat. It had not moved. He glanced at a stick he had picked up when he fell and dropped it in dismay. He stared at it horrified for an instant. It was a human bone. He relaxed with a nervous laugh. He saw that he had stepped into a grave, the brick top of which had fallen in and exposed its gruesome treasure. When he realized what it was he had no difficulty in recognizing the ghost as a tombstone. Its apparent movement was caused by the shadow of a palm leaf which was waving gently before it in the breeze. It was such a relief that he laughed aloud.
He laid his hand on Murphy’s arm and was surprised to find him trembling violently. Another screech from the cat owls started him pattering a prayer. Murphy was willing and ready to fight anything human at any time regardless of size or weight, but he was superstitious, and the combination of cat owls and graveyard had upset his nerves completely.
Scott could not help but recall the contemptuous look which Murphy had given him back in the boat and he was strongly tempted to remind Murphy now that there was nothing there for a man to be afraid of, but he needed Murphy’s help and did not risk making him angry. However, he enjoyed the joke just the same when Murphy growled, “Let’s get out of here!” and beat an almost precipitous retreat to the railroad track.
Just as they were about to step out on to the open track they stopped and stood as rigid as the trees about them—for a voice had called in impatient tones from no great distance, “Hello, is that you, Bud?”
CHAPTER XI
Scott was thinking fast. He had to decide on a course of action and that quickly. Should they try to hide or should they meet this man and trust to his being a stranger? The voice was too close to give them much chance to hide and the owner of it was probably a good woodsman, thoroughly familiar with the country. On the other hand, this man could not have received any notice from the mill and would have no reason to suspect them. He decided to go ahead; he might learn something from this stranger.