In the middle of the night the boys were aroused by a man's voice outside and the scratching of a stick on the canvas.
"Boys! Guy—Yan! Oh, Guy!"
"Hello! Who is it?"
"Caleb Clark! Say, Guy, it's about half-past eleven now. You have just about time to go to Garney's grave by midnight an' get that stone, and if you [415] can't find the exact spot you listen for the groaning —that'll guide you."
This cheerful information was given in a hoarse whisper that somehow conveyed the idea that the old man was as scared as he could be.
"I—I—I—" stammered Guy, "I can't see the way."
"This is the chance of your life, boy. You get that stone and you'll get a grand coup feather, top honours fur grit. I'll wait here till you come back."
"I—I—can't find the blamed old thing on such a dark night. I—I—ain't goin'."
"Errr—you're scared," whispered Caleb.
"I ain't scared, on'y what's the use of goin' when I couldn't find the place? I'll go when it's moonlight."