“She told me,” Clay resumed, “that it was never safe in this section when three blue lights burned on the river.”
“Did she, now?” asked the boy. “And did you-all see the three blue lights?”
“Twice,” answered Clay. “Last night and the night before—once opposite Wolf Creek and once in the lagoon at that odd-shaped island just up the stream.”
Clay thought that the boy shivered a little in his ragged clothes.
“What is all this about the three blue lights?” he asked in a moment.
The boy shook his head gravely.
“We-uns ain’t allowed to talk about the three blue lights,” he answered.
“You think they are ghost lights, eh?” asked Clay.
“We-uns ain’t allowed to talk about the three blue lights,” repeated the boy. “We never mention them.”
Seeing that further conversation with the boy was likely to prove without result, Clay again turned to face in the direction of the river.