They found a path by which they could climb the bank, making it plain that human beings had traveled on the island not a little at some time, even if the place was deserted then.
Following the path a short distance, they came to three small camps built of logs. The camps were not in a very pleasant location, although it was a sheltered spot.
After looking around the huts a few minutes, they turned from the path and struck straight up through the woods, which were thick and dark.
Beneath their feet twigs crackled and the dead leaves of a year before sometimes rustled where they had piled together but had not rotted. The woods were dark and in places the ground was covered by moss, so that their feet made not a sound.
Higher and higher they climbed, till they came out into a natural opening that was surrounded by the gloomy trees. This seemed close to the highest ground on the island, which could be seen rising rocky and bare through the trees at one side of the glade.
And in the midst of the glade was a grave that had not been made many months, and a granite stone stood at the head.
"It"s the grave the c.o.c.k-eyed man told us of!" exclaimed Frank. "Let"s look at the stone."
They approached the grave, and Frank bent down to look at the stone. As the c.o.c.k-eyed man had said, on it were the words:
"Sacred to the memory of Rawson Denning."
As Merry was looking at the headstone it seemed that a voice in the air above them hoa.r.s.ely whispered:
"Dead and buried!"
CHAPTER XIX.
IN THE DARK WOODS.
"Eh?" gasped Browning, amazed. "What was that?"
"Dead and buried!"
Again that mysterious, awesome, uncanny whisper that seemed to float in the air. They looked around, they looked upward, they saw nothing but the blue sky above the leaves and somber trees that surrounded them.
"Dead and buried!"
Now it seemed to come from the ground--seemed to issue from the grave before them! It was as if the dead man hidden away down there had uttered the words.
Frank Merriwell shrugged his shoulders, while his companion shivered and felt for his revolver. A cold chill swept over the big Yale man, as if he felt the touch of a dead hand. He was awed despite the fact that there was nothing superst.i.tious in his character.
They listened, expecting to hear the whispers again, but there was such a silence in the woods as seemed to press down on them like a crushing weight. Not even a breath of a breeze reached the spot to rustle the trees, and no sound of the surf chafing against the distant rocky sh.o.r.e reached their ears.
It seemed at that moment that they alone were the only human living creatures on that uncanny island. A sense of desolation came upon them and made them feel as if they were far, far from human beings, buried as in the heart of a mighty desert.
They did not stir; they stood there listening.
Silence.
Once, far on a Western desert, Browning had experienced the same feeling of loneliness, but then there was not the grewsome, ghostly fear that now clutched at his heart and chilled its beatings so it seemed to be struggling feebly like an imprisoned bird fluttering against the cruel bars of a cage.
The big fellow choked. There seemed to be a lack of pure air for him to breathe. He longed to cry out, but his tongue lay stiff and paralyzed in his mouth.
Then came the thought that some uncanny spell was being wrought about him, and that soon he would be body and soul in the power of the evil spirit of the island.
With a mighty effort he moved, he spoke, he said:
"Come, Frank, let"s get away from here!"
His voice was husky and hoa.r.s.e, so that he was startled by its sound.
Merriwell glanced toward him, lifting a hand with a gesture that warned to silence, while he bent his head toward the grave and listened.
For some moments both stood still, and again Browning felt that strange spell stealing upon him, as if hypnotic eyes were peering out from the shadows and looking down into his soul. He shook himself, he even looked around in search of those eyes; but he saw nothing save the dark, gloomy woods and the funereal shadows.
Frank straightened up. There was a queer look on his face.
"Did you hear it?" he asked, in a whisper.
"Of course I heard it," answered Browning, thinking he spoke of the whisper. "The words came to my ears distinctly."
"No, no; I did not mean the whisper."
"Then what did you mean? I heard no other sound."
"It is strange, for I fancied I heard it distinctly."
"Where did the sound come from?"
Without a word, Merriwell pointed downward toward the grave. There was a look on his face that made his companion shiver.
Bruce swallowed down the lump in his throat.
"I am a fool!" he thought. "I am ashamed of such childish fears!"
Then he forced himself to distinctly ask:
"What kind of a sound did you think you heard?"
"A rustle--a movement. It was as if the body down there had turned restlessly in its bed of earth!"
Never did Bruce forget how those words sounded in the deep silence of the black woods. Never did he forget the sensation of unutterable horror that they brought with a shock to his soul. He stared at Frank, his jaw dropping, while awful thoughts ran riot in his brain.
They had heard the whispered words, "dead and buried," which at first seemed to float in the air, and then appeared to come up from the grave before them. Browning fancied the dead lips down there uttering those words. He fancied the murdered man turning restlessly in his cold, dark bed--turning, twisting, unable to rest till he had been avenged.
What thoughts fled through Frank Merriwell"s brain? Surely he was besieged by uncanny fancies, but never in all his life was he more on the alert. The very air of mystery that surrounded him was a stimulant.
He had solved many mysteries, and now he was determined to solve this one.
Down the slope in the shadows of the dark woods below there was a rustling sound. Quick as a flash, Merriwell wheeled, rifle in hand, and bounded in that direction.
Browning did not care to be left there alone beside that grave, and he followed Frank in a hurry. He saw Merry disappear amid the trees, heard a sudden chattering, and then there was a flash of fire and the clear report of a rifle. Frank had fired at something while he was on the run.