Petrified, dumb, our senses almost paralyzed by the shock, our ears still deafened by the watery crash of that gigantic something that had fallen into the lake, and our eyes starting from their sockets, we stared at the darkness.
Slap—slash—slush went the waves, hitting the shore with a clashing sound almost metallic. Vision and hearing told us that the water in the lake was rocking like the contents of a bath-tub.
"G-g-good Lord!" whispered Brown. "Is there a v-volcano under that lake?"
"Did you see that huge, glittering shape that seemed to fall into the water?" I gasped.
"Yes. What was it? A meteor?"
"No. It was something that first came out of the lake and fell back—the way a trout leaps. Heavens! It couldn't have been alive, could it?"
"W-wh-what do you mean?" stammered Brown.
"It couldn't have been a f-f-fish, could it?" I asked with chattering teeth.
"No! No! It was as big as a Pullman car! It must have been a falling star. Did you ever hear of a fish as big as a sleeping car?"
I was too thoroughly unnerved to reply. The roaring of the surf had subsided somewhat, enough for another sound to reach our ears—a raucous, gallinacious, squawking sound.