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Updated: May 23, 2025
And even as the red spark went out in the darkness a lonely birdcall floated across the river the strange squealing plaint of the great cock-o'-the-pines. She answered, imitating it perfectly. Then a far voice called: "Hallo-o-o! How's fishin'?" She picked up her pine candle, hurried out to the bank and crept cautiously down the crazy, wooden stairs.
It was then that disaster struck. Ross heard no birdcall warning this time. Though he was on guard, he never sensed the approach of the man who struck him down from behind. One moment he had been trailing McNeil and Ashe; the next moment was black nothingness. He was aware of a throb of pain which carried throughout his body and then localized in his head.
A note, deeper than the others, a little too strong, came from far down the shaded hollow. To Wetzel's trained ear it was a discord. He manifested no more than this attention, for the birdcall was the signal he had been awaiting. He whistled a note in answer that was as deep and clear as the one which had roused him. Moments passed. There was no repetition of the sound.
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