Once more came the wailing cry from the inland. Once more it was answered in kind from the water. But to all it was apparent that the sounds were farther removed, and Mr. Hampton broke the painful silence with a whispered:
“They’re moving on, moving away.”
“Look, Dad,” Jack exclaimed excitedly. “I can see those rocks ahead where a minute ago was only the white fog. Why, the fog’s lifting. It’s lifting, Dad, sure enough.”
“You’re right, Jack,” his father replied, low-voiced, but there was anxiety rather than jubilation in his tone. “That will make it bad for us. We’ll be exposed to sight.”
Once again came the wail, faint and far away. As faint came the reply from the water. Both cries were to the north. Originally they had come from that direction. Now they were withdrawing whence they had come. What could it mean?
The next minute a rattle of rifle fire broke the silence. At the same time a cold breeze blew across the crouching figures in the shallow pit and the fog began to shred out fast before it.
Farnum sprang upright, gazing to the north. The others also gained their feet. The shooting now was fast and furious.
“I can’t understand,” said Farnum, in a puzzled tone.
With an exclamation, Jack seized his father’s arm.
“Dad,” he cried, “you said Thorwaldsson might be near.”