“What could you make out of that?” he mumbled.
Then he turned over in his deer-skin bag and went to sleep.
CHAPTER III
A FIGHT IN THE NIGHT
| “Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest, Yo—ho—ho, and a bottle of rum. Fifteen men and the dark and damp, My men ’tis better to shun.” |
For the fiftieth time Johnny heard those words ground out by the record that had rolled down the hill to meet him. Fifty times he had searched in vain for its meaning. For that it was not chance that had sent it rolling to his feet, but purpose, the mysterious purpose of an unknown some one, he was certain.
If the man had something to say to him, why did he not say it? Why veil his meaning in an apparently senseless song? It was getting on his nerves.
He sprang to his feet and began pacing the floor. For the first time since the record came into his hands, he had an idea. Somewhere, he had read part of that song, perhaps all. But where? He could not think.