“The three peaks are in line, but no trace of the ‘ruby glow’ the cipher speaks of.”
The speaker was Rob Blake. He and Merritt, in the red canoe, were in advance of the other craft. The first level rays of the early sun were slanting down over the precipitous hills surrounding the lake and gilding the placid sheet of water with a glittering effulgence. The canoes seemed to hang on the clear water as if suspended.
Right ahead of the adventurers, the three jagged peaks seen the previous evening had gradually swung into line, until the first and nearest one veiled the other two.
“Let’s run the canoe ashore. May be we shall come across something to make the meaning of the cipher plainer,” suggested Merritt.
Presently the bow of the canoe grazed the beach, and the two active young uniformed figures sprang out. For an instant they looked about them. Then suddenly Merritt gripped Rob’s arm with such a tight pressure that it actually pained.
“Look!” he cried, “look!”
Rob followed the direction of Merritt’s gaze and was tempted to echo his cry. Through the trees a rectangular mound of rock, with a dome-like summit, had just caught the rays of the sun.
In the early morning light it glittered as redly as if bathed in blood.
“The ruby glow!” breathed Rob poetically, gazing at the wonderful sight.
“Must be some sort of mica or crystal in the rock that catches the sunlight,” said the practical Merritt; “good thing we didn’t come here on a dull, cloudy day.”