Grace awakened with a start, then sank back into a sound sleep, which lasted but a few moments. The support of Emma’s shoulder was suddenly withdrawn, as Emma, uttering a piercing shriek, leaped to her feet. Grace toppled over sideways, but was upright, wide awake in an instant.
In the light of the fire that was now burning low, she saw Emma, half standing, half crouching, her face ghastly pale, her body shaking as from a heavy chill.
“What is it?” demanded Grace sharply.
“I—I didn’t see, I heard,” gasped Miss Dean. “Oh, Grace, it was awful.”
“Tell me what frightened you!” insisted Grace in a severe tone of voice.
“Something screamed and wailed. It sounded like the wail of a lost soul. You know what I mean.”
“Never having heard a lost soul wail, I don’t. The mountain silence must have ‘got your wind up,’ as the soldiers say of a man who is frightened. Lie down and go to slee—”
Grace got no further. The silent, surcharged air split to a piercing scream, followed by a frightful, blood-chilling wail of agony. It was with an effort that Grace restrained herself from leaping to her feet, as Emma Dean again screamed, but the cold chills were racing up and down her spine, her nerves partly out of control.
“I can’t stand it! Oh, Grace, Grace, save me!” Emma, weeping hysterically, threw herself into her companion’s arms as that nerve-racking wail of agony again woke the echoes of the canyon, this time seeming to be directly over their heads.