“Then you mean to sail soon?” asked the professor, as Monday clambered up the rough sides of the rock.
“Ter-morrer, I reckon,” was the rejoinder. “Yer see thet them boys uv mine are getting pretty ugly. Thet’s one reason why I don’t want to spend too long a time hyarabouts.”
“Good heaven!” exclaimed the professor at the thought of his boy left behind in the camp. “You surely don’t fear an outbreak of trouble while you’re gone.”
“No,” rejoined Lake. “Frankly I don’t, but you kain’t mos’ genally allers tell. Howsomever, I kalkerlate thet Zeb Hunt kin tackle any trouble thet comes along.”
“I sincerely hope so,” said the professor, somewhat reassured. He then turned with the rest to watch with rapt attention what was transpiring on the rocking stone.
Monday had now almost reached the summit, and under his weight the big stone was tipping gradually outward till the part of it he had reached hung above the gulch. It descended as steadily as the arm of a semaphore, and, although the experience appeared to be a terrifying one, the black was smiling as though he enjoyed it.
As the point of the stone—which, as has been said, was cone-shaped—touched the rock ledge Monday nimbly leaped from it and stood on the narrow shelf of stone. The fellow, like most islanders, was as agile as a goat. He smiled broadly back at his companions who, however, were not looking at him, but at the stone, which, relieved of its weight, now tilted back into position again as if actuated by some hidden machinery.
“Wonder how that old sealer felt the first time he tried it?” mused the professor.
“Kind er skeery like, I reckon,” said Simon Lake. “I guess he——”
But Tom interrupted him with a sharp question. It was odd, but the idea which had just struck the boy had not as yet occurred to the others.