“Hush! There’s some one coming,” whispered Don, drawing his companion farther back into the darkness.
“All right, Mas’ Don! Take me in again where the bad air is; poison us both. Good-bye, Sally, my gal. It’s all over now; but I forgives you. Shake hands, Mas’ Don. I don’t bear you no ill-will, nor nobody else. Here they come.”
There was a rustling and panting noise, and they were on the tip-toe of expectation, when there was a heavy concussion, a deep-toned roar, and then an echoing rumble as the sound reverberated among the mountains. Then utter silence.
Jem gripped Don’s arm with force, and stared at him wildly.
“Well!” whispered Don. “It was only a gun from the ship to recall the boats.”
Jem stooped down and gave his leg a slap.
“You are a clever one, Mas’ Don, and no mistake. Why, o’ course it is. I never thought it was that.”
“What did you think it was, then?”
“Some o’ them hot water-works gone off, bang! And blown up the mountain.—There!”
He pointed to a hideous-looking head appearing above the edge of the shelf, and seen by the evening light as it fell athwart it, the countenance with its blue lines and scrolls ending in curls on either side of the nose was startling enough to make any one fear danger.