“O-oh! look at it shake its fist at us, would you! It’s ten feet high, if it’s one!” came from the quivering lips of Buster.
But Jack as yet had not said a word, though he was staring just as hard at the remarkable sight ashore as any of them. It was something different from anything that had ever before crossed his path. Perhaps Jack might have felt a little chilly sensation as he looked; but he was not at all frightened.
Up on the rise of the mysterious island there had appeared a dim figure that seemed, just as Nick vowed, to be all of ten feet in height. At first it was like a curling column of smoke, when a certain kind of wood has been thrown on the fire. Then it seemed to take form, and change to a flickering yellow glow.
The groaning sounds continued all the while, as though this disturbed spirit from the other world might be in great pain. And certainly the figure was waving one of its arms as though waving them off.
All of this Jack saw, yet no panic gripped him as it seemed to do the rest, who were crouching there, staring, and gasping for breath.
“Jimmie, hand me my shotgun, and let’s see if it can stand Number Threes!”
Jack called this out in a loud, clear voice. Not that he wanted the gun to any great extent; but he had an object in saying it.
But Jimmie really believed he meant what he said. While he groped for the gun he was saying aloud:
“Sure, now, ’tis mesilf as doan’t belave ye kin knock the daylight out of that banshee wid little shots, Jack, darlint. But if so be ye mane to thry, take the gun, while I shut me eyes.”
“’Tain’t any use,” broke in George; “the thing’s disappeared!”