“Oh,” she whispered as her head drooped with disappointment. “But then,” she exclaimed, “who knows what is back of this wilderness? On the map it is marked ‘unexplored.’ It is unexplored. No white man has ever been over—over—” she caught herself to stammer on, “has been—been across this great bush to the beyond. There may be—there must be just one city, one gorgeous city left.” Standing upon the rock, she threw her arms wide as she exclaimed: “There must be! There must!”
Would they go on over that trail to the great beyond? What call could be stronger? What fear could hinder? In vain Johnny told himself he must go back, back to Pant and the red lure, back to fight the treacherous Daego. All in vain. He owed it to this magnificent girl’s father to take her back. In vain he recalled old Hardgrave’s words: “They killed all white men who came to their camp except me.” They must go on. They would go on.
“Johnny,” said the girl suddenly, “we ought to have some sort of—of signal.”
“Signal?” Johnny was puzzled.
“Yes. Something one could shout or sing, if lost from the other.”
“I have it!” she exclaimed suddenly. “I read a story a short time ago. In that story the heroine taught the hero a strange sort of song. I believe it was called ‘An Indian Love Song.’ Anyhow, the first part, or prelude, went something like this:
‘Whoo-hoo-hoo,
Whoo-hoo-hoo,
Whoo-hoo-hoo.’”
Her clear voice rose high as she sang the notes. A distant cliff caught them and threw them back to her.