Outside Thornton stumbled against old Jed.
"The Ship's sailing!" the quavering, foolish words startled Thornton; "you best get aboard, sir, anchor's lifting!" Jed staggered away, grinning and muttering.
Thornton stared after the swaying figure. Then he thought of the Philippines, his old battle ground—he would go back! The idea caught and held him.
On the river road his horse stood nibbling the grass; a woman was beside it—a lean, stooping woman with a home-spun shawl clutched over her sunken breasts by one hand, in the other was a massive, rusty gun!
She turned and confronted Thornton. She knew him at once, but he merely frowned at her as he eyed the weapon uneasily.
"Who are you?" he asked. The place, the experience were getting to be too much for his shaken nerves.
"That don't matter," Mary raised her deep eyes, they were burning with superstitious intentness; "but I have a message for you—you best heed it. We don't stand for strangers hanging around here. See there!" Mary pointed to The Rock—Thornton's excited fancy caught the wavering outlines of The Ship.
"All that's wise—goes with that." Mary turned away. "You best heed!" she muttered as Jed had, and slunk off.
Thornton shivered. He had not eaten for many hours; he was weary and beaten.
"My God!" he muttered as he mounted the horse; "what—a conspiracy! What a hole to get away from. She thinks I'm looking for stills. Stills!" he gave a weak laugh.