"Nonsense," he said, cheerfully, "you are getting as bad as Chris and the captain. I repeat, it is a bell: listen how regularly it tolls."
As though in mockery at his words, the long, even reverberations changed to a quick, harsh, discordant clatter and suddenly ceased.
For awhile both boys sat silent, Walter striving to overcome the superstitious dread tugging at his heart, and Charley searching his active brain for some explanation of the mysterious sound, that would harmonize with common sense and reason.
At last Walter, by sheer will, regained his mental balance. "I am tired and nervous, or I would never imagine such foolish things," he said. "Of course it is as you say, produced by natural causes, and I will likely laugh at my fears as soon as we stumble on the key to the mystery. And now I am going to insist upon your going back inside, Charley. It won't do for us to have you down with the fever again. For our sakes, as well as your own, you must be very careful."
Reluctantly, Charley retired to the wigwam and Walter once more was left alone.
With the first hint of gray in the east, he began to prepare for his departure. What cooked food was on hand he stored in the bow of the canoe, and casting off the painter took his seat in the stern. Then he paused for one last look around before dipping his paddle.
Away in the distance a moving speck on the water caught his eye. For a few minutes he watched it in suspense, then gave a cheer of delight.
It was the captain's canoe.