"No more than I," said Sam. "Maybe this is all a dream."
"You mean a nightmare."
Moodily, they sat around; conversation lagged; an hour dragged slowly by. Then Bob Somers, who had been gazing dejectedly through half-closed eyes, started up.
"Look, fellows—look!" he cried, excitedly.
"Where—where? What is it?" asked Dave.
"A light—don't you see? Straight ahead."
"Jiminy crickets! As I live, it's Neil Prescott's bonfire, on Promontory Island," gasped Sam. "Gee, but that's good to see."
"Wish we knew what in the world he's up to," said Bob.
"Thought you might find out when Tommy and I went to the mountains," replied Sam, gloomily.
With intense interest they watched the speck of light. At intervals, it almost disappeared, then shone forth again, and finally burned steadily like a beacon against the dark sky.