“But that cry!” panted Joe.
“It didn’t come from there. It was sea way.”
“Yes; there it is again!”
Sounding more faint and distant, the strange cry floated from away to their left, and a strange thrill ran through Joe Jollivet, as he yielded to the man’s hand, and suffered himself to be drawn right away from the mouth of the hole.
“Yes, I heard it,” said Hardock, in a low tremulous voice, and with a look of awe, which accorded ill with the man’s muscular figure. “Don’t you know what it was?”
“No; do you? Could it be Gwyn calling for help?” The man nodded his head and spoke in a low mysterious whisper, as if afraid of being overheard.
“I dunno about calling for help, my lad; but it was him.”
“But where—where?” cried Joe, wildly.
“Out yonder. We couldn’t see ’em, but they must ha’ come sweeping out of the pit there, and gone right off with him, like a flock of birds, right away out to sea.”
“Oh, you fool!” cried Joe. “It’s horrible to listen to you great big fishermen and miners with your old women’s tales. If it’s Gwyn calling, he must be somewhere near, I know. There’s another shaft somewhere, and he’s calling up that. Come and see.”