This was a low, carefully-made mound that, in shape and significance, could be confounded with no other sort of mound, wherever met. Both recognized it at once, and even upon Adrian the shock was painful; but its effect upon superstitious Pierre was far greater. With a shriek that startled the silence of the forest he flung himself headlong.
CHAPTER XVII
DIVERGING ROADS
“GET up, Pierre. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
It needed a strong and firm grasp to force the terrified lad to his feet, and even when he, at last, stood up he shivered like an aspen.
“A grave!”
“Certainly, a grave. But neither yours nor mine. Only that of some poor fellow who has died in the wilderness. I’m sorry I piled the brush upon it, yet glad we discovered it in the end.”
“Gla-a-ad!” gasped the other.
“Yes, of course. I mean to cover it with fresh sods and plant some of those purple orchids at its head. I’ll cut a cedar headstone, too, and mark it so that nobody else shall desecrate it as we have done.”
“You mustn’t touch it. It’s nobody’s—only a warning.”
“A warning, surely, that we must take great care lest a like fate come on us; but somebody lies under that mound and I pity him. Most probable that he lost his life in that very whirlpool which wrecked us. Twice I’ve been upset and lost all my belongings, but escaped safe. I hope I’ll not run the same chance again. Come—lie down again and go to sleep.”