I'll be in late. The rest of the party will
stay over at Pine Glen."
Alone on the peak where he had sat with Sibyl the day of their last climb,
Aaron King watched for the buzzards' telltale, circling flight--and tried
not to think.
It was one o'clock when the artist--resting his eyes for a moment, after a
long, searching look through the glass--caught, again, that flash of light
in the blue haze that lay over Fairlands in the distant valley. Brian
Oakley had said,--when they had seen it that first day of the
search,--that it was a common sight; but the artist, his mind preoccupied,
watched the point of light with momentary, idle interest.
Suddenly, he awoke to the fact that there seemed to be a timed regularity
in the flashes. Into his mind came the memory of something he had read of
the heliograph, and of methods of signalling with mirrors Closely, now, he
watched--three flashes in quick succession--pause--two flashes--pause--one
flash--pause--one flash--pause--two flashes--pause--three flashes--pause.
For several minutes the artist waited, his eyes fixed on the distant spot
under the haze. Then the flashes began again, repeating the same order:
--- -- - - -- ---.
Pages:
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429