“A grave!”
“Certainly. A grave. But neither yours nor mine. Only that of some poor fellow who has died in the wilderness. I’m sorry I piled the brush upon it, yet glad we discovered it in the end.”
“Gla-a-ad!” gasped the other.
“Yes. Of course. I mean to cover it with fresh sods and plant some of those purple orchids at its head. I’ll cut a cedar headstone, too, and mark it so that nobody else shall desecrate it as we have done.”
“You mustn’t touch it! It’s nobody’s—only a warning.”
“A warning, surely; that we must take great care lest a like fate come on us; but somebody lies under that mound and I pity him. Most probable that he lost his life in that very whirlpool which wrecked us. Twice I’ve been upset and lost all my belongings, but escaped safe. I hope I’ll not run the same chance again. Come. Lie down again, and go to sleep.”
“Couldn’t sleep; to try in such a haunted place would be to be ‘spelled’——”
“Pierre Ricord! For a fellow that’s so smart at some things you are the biggest dunce I know, in others. Haven’t we slept like lords ever since we struck this camp? I’m going to make my bed up again and turn in. I advise you to do the same.”
Adrian tossed the branches aside, then rearranged them, lapping the soft ends over the hard ones in an orderly row which would have pleased a housewife. Thus freshened his odorous mattress was as good as new, and stretching himself upon it he went to sleep immediately.