“There aren’t no other shaft, my lad,” said the man, mysteriously. “It’s what I say. You’ll know better some day, and begin to believe when you’ve seen and heard as much as me. There’s things and critters about these cliffs sometimes of a night, and in a storm, as makes your hair stand on end to hear ’em calling to one another. Why, I’ve knowed the times when—”
“There it is again,” cried Joe, excitedly. “Ahoy!” he yelled. “Where are you?”
There was no answer, and the boy stood staring about him with every sense strained, listening intently; but no further sound was heard, and the man laid his hand upon the boy’s arm.
“Come away, lad,” he whispered, “afore ill comes to us. Didn’t you hear?”
“I heard the cry.”
“Nay, I meant that there whispering noise as seemed to come up out o’ the pit. Let’s go while we’re safe.”
“Nonsense! What is there to be afraid of?” cried Joe, impatiently. “Listen!”
“I don’t know what there is to be afraid of, my lad; but there’s something unked about, and the gashly thing’s given me the creeps. Come away.”
“Ah, there! Why, it’s towards the cliffs. A cry!” Joe shouted, for, very softly, but perfectly distinct, there was a peculiar distant wailing cry. “It’s all right, Sam. He’s alive somewhere, and he’s calling to us for help.”