“Can’t be,” said Dorn. “No donkey has been here. Think of his coming up those steps!”
“But he has,” said Doris. “Look! There’s another footprint. And over there’s another.”
“A fresh mystery,” said Dorn, acknowledging the proof.
“But we must be getting down. Don’t want to be caught up here in the dark.”
“No—o,” said Doris. “We do not.”
But we must not forget Curlie Carson and the strange girl who drummed so mysteriously in the night upon a native drum.
The show which Curlie had thought ended when the strange dark-haired girl stepped from the greensward stage to his corner of hiding was continued and that almost at once. Curlie found time to note only one further fact. Crouching close beside the girl was an unusually large dog.
“Hate to mix with him,” he thought.
The next instant his attention was drawn back to the narrow stretch of green. Figures were darting back and forth across the narrow clearing.
“Those can’t be wild creatures,” Curlie told himself. “There are none in the island like that. They’re natives. And the girl has called them with the drum. What can they be doing at such an hour in such a place?”