“Of course we see it,” Don whispered. “Don’t talk. We’ll wait; see what it does.”
We stood a moment. The thing was motionless. It was in a patch of shadow, but, as though gleaming with moonlight, it seemed to shine. Its glow was silvery, with a greenish cast almost phosphorescent. Was it standing on the path? I could not tell. It was too far away; too much in shadow. But I plainly saw that it had the shape of a man. Wraith, or substance? That also, was not yet apparent.
Then suddenly it was moving! Coming toward us. But not floating, for I could see the legs moving, the arms swaying. With measured tread it was walking slowly toward us!
Don’s shotgun went up. “Bob, we’ll hold our ground. Is it—is he armed, can you see?”
“No! Can’t tell.”
Armed! What nonsense! How could this wraith, this apparition, do us physical injury!
“If—if he gets too close, Bob, by God, I’ll shoot. But if he’s human, I wouldn’t want to kill him.”
THE shape had stopped again. It was fifty feet from us now, and we could clearly see that it was a man, taller than normal. He stood now with folded arms—a man strangely garbed in what seemed a white, tight-fitting jacket and short trunks. On his head was a black skull cap surmounted by a helmet of strange design.
Don’s voice suddenly echoed across the rocks.
“Who are you?”