ose
ranks of the palms were broken by an outcropping of rock, glaring
up hot and sunbeaten at a distant patch of the sky. The air of the
forest was still and languid, its heat tempered like that of a room
with drawn blinds.

I gained the summit of the ridge, and stood upon a bare rock
platform, scantily sheltered by a few trees, large shrubs rather,
with a smooth waxy leaf of vivid green. On the left rose the great
mass of the peak. From far above among its crags a beautiful foamy
waterfall came hurtling down. Before me the ground fell away to
the level of the low plateau, or mesa, as we say in California,
which made up the greater part of the island. Cutting into the
green of this was the gleaming curve of a little bay, which in Mr.
Shaw's chart of the island showed slightly larger than our cove.
Part of it was hidden by the shoulder of the peak, but enough was
visible to give a beautiful variety to the picture, which was set
in a silver frame of sea.

I had not dreamed of getting a view so glorious from the little
eminence of the ridge. Here was an item of news to take back to
camp. Having with great originality christened the place Lookout,
I turned to go. And as I turned I saw a shape vanish into the
woods.

It was an animal, not a human shape. And it was light-footed and
swift and noiseless--and it was white. It had, indeed, every
distinguishing trait of Cookie's phantom pig. Only it was not a
pig. My brief shadowy glimpse of it had told me that. I knew what
it was not, but what it was I could not, as I stood there rooted,
even guess,

Would it attack me, or should I only die of fright? I wondered if
my heart were weak, and hoped it was, so that I should not live to
feel the teeth of the unknown Thing sink in my flesh. I thought of
my revolver and after an infinity of time managed to draw it from
the case. My fingers seemed at once nervelessly limp and woodenly
rigid. This was not at all the dauntless front with which I had
dreamed of meeting danger. I had fancied myself with my automatic
making a rather pretty picture as a young Amazon--but I had now a
dreadful fear that my revolver might spasmodically go off and wound
the Thing, and then even if it had meditated letting me go it would
certainly attack me. Nevertheless I clung to my revolver as to my
last hope.

I began to edge away crab-wise into the wood. Like a metronome I
said to myself over and over monotonously, _don't run, don't