These lines from the “Star Song,” the song which Herb had learned from his traitor chum, floated out to him upon Katahdin’s breeze. They struck young Farrar’s ears in staggering tones, like a knell, the sadness of which he could not at the moment understand. But he had a vague impression that the mysterious singer in the deserted camp attached no meaning to what he chanted.
“Look out, I say! I don’t want to come a cropper here.”
It was Dol’s young voice which rang out shrilly among the mountain echoes. Side by side with Cyrus, the boy had just gained the top of the ridge when the guide suddenly backed upon him, Herb’s great shoulder-blade knocking him in the face, so that he had to plant his feet firmly to avoid spinning back.
But Herb had heard that guttural crooning. Just now he could hear nothing else.
Twice he made a heaving effort to speak, and the voice cracked in his throat.
Then, as he sprang for the camp-door, four words stumbled from his lips:—
“By thunder! it’s Chris.”
Chapter XXII.
The Old Home-Camp
The silence which followed that ejaculation was like the hush of earth before a thunder-storm.