The glowing figure swiftly moved forward, and seemed about to attack the gold-hunters. Jack hastily lifted his pistol and fired, then sprung to his feet as though in readiness for the struggle.
When the smoke-cloud lifted, he rubbed his eyes in amazement. All was black before him. Nothing was to be seen. The apparition had vanished as though swallowed up by the earth.
Only for a moment did he hesitate. Then, still clutching his pistol, he darted from the shanty and glanced around him. All was vacancy.
He leaped upon the sand-bank, and swept his eyes around. The result was the same. No light—nothing save a far-distant flash of lurid lightning.
A disinterested spectator would have laughed outright, could he have seen Tyrrel's face at that moment, so full of blank amazement was it. And yet there was nothing in it of superstitious fear.
Only for the first few moments had Jack yielded to this feeling, and then simply because his comrades had done so. This quickly vanished and anger took its place. He was startled at the new effect of his shots, because he had great confidence in his own skill. Then, too, he marveled greatly at the abrupt disappearance, but that he wisely attributed to clever skill.
Thoughtfully scratching his curly pate, Jack retraced his steps and entered the shanty. In silence he lighted his pipe at the still smoldering embers, and then puffed away vigorously, covertly eying his comrades the while.
"Well, boys," he at length uttered, between puffs, "what d' you think of it, anyhow?"
"It is gone, then?" muttered Duplin, in a husky voice.
"Yes—cleverly, too. A smart chap, whoever it may be," quoth Tyrrel.