Then, a cry so
horrid, harsh and piercing that even the sceptical, sneering Curtis
gave vent to an expression of fear. Again a hush, and increasing
darkness and cold. Kelson called out--
"Don't do that, Leon."
"I'm not doing anything," Hamar said testily. "Pull yourself
together." A moment later he said to Curtis, "It's you, Curtis. Shut
up. This is no time for monkeying."
"You are both either mad or dreaming," Curtis replied. "I haven't
stirred from my seat. Hulloa! What's that? What's that, Leon?
There--over there! Look!"
As Curtis spoke they all three became conscious of living things
around them--things that moved about, silently and surreptitiously and
conveyed the impression of mockery. The hills, the valley, the trees
were full of it--the whole place teemed with it--teemed with silent,
subtle, stealthy mockery. The senses of the three men were now keenly
alive, but a dead weight hung upon their limbs and rendered them
useless. And as they stared into the gloom, in sickly fear, the
firelight flickered and they saw shadows, such as the moon, when low
in the heaven, might fashion from the figure of a man; but yet they
were shadows neither of man, nor God, nor of any familiar thing. They
were dark, vague, formless and indefinite, and they quivered--quivered
with a quivering that suggested mockery.
Suddenly the shadows disappeared; the flickering of the flames ceased;
and in the place of the fire appeared a seething, writhing mass of
what looked like white luminous snakes.
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