The Galloping Ghost by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER XVIII DREAMING AT DAWN

  After ten winks caught in the scout's cozy cabin, Red Rodgers and BerleyTodd were up before dawn.

  "I don't think much of the bush wolves as weather prophets," Red said ina hoarse whisper. He was ever conscious that their lives were in danger."What a morning! We must get a rowboat and be away for Passage Island."

  "In the light of day?" The girl pressed his arm hard. "They'd see us.Then all would be at an end. But no, perhaps not. There are islands,small islands all in a row that lie half a mile off this main shore. Oncebehind those, we would be hidden."

  "Let's have a look. Which way is the shore?"

  "Over this way." The girl led him down a path that, circling a clump ofbushes, led them past a group of buildings that loomed large in theblue-gray dawn.

  They passed through tall grass drenched with dew, to climb at last a pileof rocks and finally reach a great boulder that overlooked the water.

  In this moment of hushed silence just before dawn, the water was likeglass, smooth white glass.

  "What could be sweeter? We must find a boat at once." Red turned his eyesupon the girl.

  He realized at once that she had not heard him. She was listening insteadfor some sound that must come from far away.

  Without willing it, he also listened; heard it, too, a long, deep,long-drawn sigh. No human sigh was this, but the sigh of great waters. Heheard it again and yet again.

  "It is as if Father Superior were waking from his sleep," the girlwhispered. "It tells of a coming storm. We must not go. We must wait."

  They had not long to wait. As the water took on the faint pink of dawn amist appeared to rise from afar and to steal upon them.

  One by one the distant points of land became misty suggestions, mereghosts of earth. Like ten thousand great white fish leaping in the sea,two miles away white-caps appeared, while in the foreground with thegray-black sky as a reflecting mirror, the water took on a startlingclearness.

  Gulls ceased to soar and scream. Settling upon a rocky ledge, they stooderect, silent, like uniformed officers observing the outcome of a battle.From time to time a member of the party, some aid-de-camp, came soaringin to report the results of his observation.

  And all the time ten thousand spots of gleaming white advanced. Now theywere two miles away, a mile and a half, a mile, half a mile. Like somedirigible swept from its mooring, a fragment of cloud detached itselffrom the vast mass and came sweeping over. It left in its wake adisturbing chill.

  And now the spots of white lay before them, at their very feet. A burstof wind swept the hair back from the girl's temples. The wind increasedin volume. Waves began beating at the rocks. A few large rain dropsspattered.

  And then, with a suddenness that was startling, the storm broke. Raincame down in torrents. Wind twisted at the birches, and set all thespruces whispering and sighing. The ever-increasing roar of water on therocks vied with the din of crashing thunder. The sky, laced andinterlaced by lightning, revealed itself as some vast shroud. There areno storms like the storms of November.

  But even the fury of nature is futile. Men do not agree upon man'sdestiny. No more does nature agree upon its own. Rain beating upon thewater subdued it. White water vanished. The beating of waves subsided.Having outdone itself, in its mad fury, the wind swept the clouds toother lands and other waters. A brief half hour and a scene of surpassingbeauty, a tiny world studded with diamonds lay before the waiting pair.

  "It is over," Red whispered from the depths of a great spruce where theyhad found shelter.

  "For now," came the girl's experienced reply. "For all that, we do notstir from this spot. Superior has moods all its own. And remember,Superior never gives up its dead."

  Leading the way out from their sheltered nook, she perched herself upon ahigh rock. Red took a place beside her. When she spoke again a dreamylook had overspread her countenance.

  "This," she said, spreading her arms wide, "this is Isle Royale. Forgetthe drifting leaves, the gray tossing branches. It is summer now. Nighthas come and a great golden moon paints a patch of silver down the bay.The rippling water seems alive. Every tiny wave bears a tinier craft uponits bosom--the silver schooner of a fairy.

  "Listen! From far down the bay comes, wafted on by the breeze, thefaintest suggestion of a song. What is it, the whisper of a bird talkingto his mate?

  "No. There comes the put-put of a motor, yet even this seems to keep timeto the music that, gathering power and sweetness, floats on and on downthe bay. A craft appears. All white in the moonlight, it seems as unrealas a fairy's dream.

  "Strange men who drift about our island in tiny gas boats. Like gypsiesthey are. They are here. Who are they? You do not care to know. Where didthey come from? The mines, the forests, the pulp mills perhaps. This doesnot matter. They are here. They have a tune for you. They belong to thenight.

  "So, with the moon hanging high, they drift down that silver patch ofmoonlight to vanish into the night. And still, long after they are lostfrom sight, comes wafted in by the wind and waves faint, sweet music thatone cannot forget. This," she sighed, "is Isle Royale in summer. And youhave not seen it, and have never heard it."

  "But all this--" Red smiled down at her. "All this is play. And I neverplay."

  "But you will! You must!" she exclaimed in a breath. "You will play withme here. See! A storm is rising, a three days' storm.

  "See! It is light. We are in danger! We must hurry back to our refuge."Like a gleam of white light she was away.