feel sure
he had not actually uttered them.

"What is the matter, Eustace? I have asked you a question three times,
and you haven't answered me."

"I really beg your pardon. I--I--suppose I was thinking of something
else. Do you mind asking it again?"

The strange harshness of his voice struck her. It was well for him--
well for both of them--that the friendly darkness stood him in such good
stead.

"I asked you, how far do you think Tom would have to ride before finding
the sheep?"

"Tom" again! He fairly set his teeth. "Well into the Gaika location,"
was the savage reply that rose to his lips. But he checked it
unuttered.

"Oh, not very far," he answered. "You see, sheep are slow-moving brutes
and difficult to drive, especially in the dark. He'll turn up soon,
never fear."

"What is that? Look! Listen!" she exclaimed suddenly, laying a hand
upon his arm.

The loom of the mountains was blackly visible in the starlight. Away in
the distance, apparently in the very heart of them, there suddenly shown
forth a lurid glow. The V-shaped scarp of the slopes stood dully in
relief against the glare, which was as that of a furnace. At the same
time there floated forth upon the night a strange, weird chorus--a wild,
long-drawn eerie melody, half chant, half howl, faint and distant, but
yet distinct, though many miles away.

"What can they be up to at the location, Eustace? Can it be that they
have risen already?" ejaculated Eanswyth, turning pale in the starlight.

The reddening glare intensified, the fierce, wild cadence shrilled
forth, now in dirge-like wail, now in swelling notes of demon-like and
merciless exultation. There was a faint, muffled roar as of distant
thunder--a clamour as of fiends holding high revel--and still the wild
chorus gathered in volume, hideous in its blood-chilling menace, as it
cleft the dark stillness of the night.

"Oh, let us turn back!" cried Eanswyth. "There is something horrible
going on to-night. I really am quite frightened now. That hideous
noise! It terrifies me!"

Well it might. The deep-toned thunder note within the burning heart of
the volcano is of terrible import, for it portends fire and ruin and
widespread death. There were those who were then sitting on the verge
of a volcano--a mere handful in the midst of a vast, teeming population
of fierce and truculent savages. Well might that weird chorus strike
dismay into the hearts of its hearers, for