"Nobody there but Echo, lovely Echo," smiled Milton Rhodes.
Again he raised his voice, and again the words were thrown back at him.
"Hear that, Bill?" he cried whilst the echoes were still sounding.
"I heard it."
"That was no echo."
"No," I said; "that was not an echo."
We waited, listening intently, but that sound which had come with the echoes was not heard again.
Rhodes drew his revolver and examined the weapon most carefully. He looked at me curiously, and then he said:
"I have no desire, Bill, to disguise the fact that this crossing may prove a most, a most—Bill, it may prove to be the—"
"You needn't tell me," said I. "I know very well what it may mean."