Both turned to stare upward toward the distant cave. There was no sign of movement. Only the dim bulk of the rock obscuring the entrance could be distinguished. They looked at each other, a nameless fear stirring at their hearts. Then Frank shook himself and laughed.
"Pshaw," said he, "this lonesome place seems spooky. I know what it must have been. It must have been Tom shouting a farewell to the fellows."
"Reckon you're right," said Stone, brightening. "Sure, that must be it. Well, let's go back. We'll be starting in a couple of hours, if all goes well."
"All right," said Frank, reaching to pluck one of the oil flares out of the ground.
Stone halted him. Again he looked anxiously toward the cave.
"Let's not take the torches," said he.
"Why not?"
"Just playing a hunch," said Stone. "I have the feeling that all may not be well up at the cave."
Frank dropped his voice unconsciously, as if fearing eavesdroppers in that lonely spot.
"To tell you the truth," said he frankly. "I feel the same way. I say! I have an idea. Let's edge out of the light without hurry, not toward the cave, but out that way," pointing in the direction taken by the airplane. "We'll put our hands up to our eyes and pretend to be watching the sky for the airplane's flight. It would be natural for us to want to get beyond the light of these torches, if we were trying to follow the boys with our eyes."