Was the guttural voice which made them human? The English boy
scarcely knew. But as the noise swelled, like the moaning of a dry wind
among trees, he began, as it were, to disentangle it. Words shaped
themselves, Indian words which he had heard before on the guide's
tongue.
"_N'loan pes-saus, mok glint ont-aven,
Glint ont-aven, nosh morgun_."
These lines from the "Star Song," the song which Herb had learned from
his traitor chum, floated out to him upon Katahdin's breeze. They struck
young Farrar's ears in staggering tones, like a knell, the sadness of
which he could not at the moment understand. But he had a vague
impression that the mysterious singer in the deserted camp attached no
meaning to what he chanted.
"Look out, I say! I don't want to come a cropper here."
It was Dol's young voice which rang out shrilly among the mountain
echoes. Side by side with Cyrus, the boy had just gained the top of the
ridge when the guide suddenly backed upon him, Herb's great
shoulder-blade knocking him in the face, so that he had to plant his
feet firmly to avoid spinning back.
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