CHAPTER XVI GRETA'S SECRET
That night the dark-eyed Greta found herself in the midst of a naturelover's paradise. Yet she was not at that moment thinking of anyparadise. She was listening with all her ears, listening to the sounds ofthe night, waiting, too, for some other sound that she hoped might come.
"Will it play tonight," she whispered to herself, "the phantom violin?"
That her ear might catch the faintest sound, she was sitting up in bed.And such a sweet-scented bed as it was! Blankets spread over nature'sthick mattress of dry moss and balsam tips.
"Why can't I forget and fall asleep," she asked herself.
Once again she leaned forward to listen. "How sweet!" she murmured as shecaught the night call of some small bird, a single long-drawn note. "Justa call in the night."
And then, muscles tense, ears strained, she sat erect.
"There it is again!"
No bird this time, no single note, but many notes. Yet it was all soindistinct.
"The phantom violin!" Her lips trembled. "Like the singing of angels!"she told herself.
"There, now it has faded away." Regret was registered in her tone.
Once again she crept under the blankets to the warm spot at Florence'sside.
They had come far that day, with pack on back over rough moose trails.The stalwart Florence had carried the heaviest load. Now, oblivious toall about her, she slept the deep sleep of one possessed of a clear headand a healthy body.
The spot they had chosen for their night camp was down from the verycrest of Greenstone Ridge but a dozen paces.
Greta was very weary. They had traveled farther that day than had beentheir intention. There were no fit camping places along the moose trail.At last, just as shadows were falling, they had decided to climb to thecrest, a hard task for the day's end. They had made it, for all that. Andon the far side of that ridge they had discovered the very spot. A flatrock, some twenty feet across, offered support for an improvised hearthof stones. A mossy bed above this invited them to sleep.
"Plenty of wind. No rain tonight," had been Florence's prophecy. "We'lljust make our bed beneath the stars."
And so, here they were, and here was Greta, sitting up, wide awake,dreaming in the night.
Florence had known Greta for only a short time. The true nature of thisdark-eyed girl was for the most part as yet to her a veiled secret. Shedid not know that the nature of these slender, black-eyed ones oftendrives them unflinching into places of great peril, that roused by angeror intrigued by mystery they will dare all without one backward look.
The story Swen had told Florence could not have frightened Greta fromtaking a part in this great adventure. Truth was, she knew it all, andmore. She treasured a secret all her own, did this dark-eyed girl. Shewas thinking of it now.
"He called them white flares," she murmured low. "Said if we were ingrave danger or needed help in any way, to light one of them. He wouldsee the white light against the sky and come. Vincent Stearns said that."
She had met Vincent Stearns, a sturdy, sun-tanned young man, a famousnewspaper camera man, at Tobin's Harbor only two days before. Swen hadtaken her to the Harbor in his fishing boat. On the way he had told herof the mysterious someone who, he was sure, lived on Greenstone Ridge.She had repeated the story to Vincent Stearns.
"Yes," the photographer had said, "I've heard the story myself. So youare going up there on a camping trip--just two girls?" He had arched hisbrows.
"Oh, but you should see Florence!" Greta had exclaimed. "She's big as aman and strong! You can't know how strong she is."
"All the same," he had insisted, "you may find yourself in need of help.Take these. They are white flares. If you need help, set one on a flatrock atop the ridge and set it off. I use 'em for taking pictures ofmoose at night. It can be seen for miles, that white light.
"I'm going to be hunting moose with a camera on the lakes near the farend of Rock Harbor. Wherever you are, if I see that flare I'll come."
Greta had accepted the white flares. They were in her kit bag now. "Notthat we'll need them. But then, you never can tell."
After listening a long time for the return of the bewitching phantommusic, she cuddled down and fell asleep.
* * * * * * * *
It was at about this same hour that Jeanne, looking from her porthole inthe _Ship of Joy_, watching the brown old lighthouse tower that stood alldark in the moonlight, saw at one of the windows a wavering light. Thiswas followed by a steady yellow gleam.
"Who is it?" she asked herself. "Is that truly Swen's home? And has hereturned? Or is that the head hunter making himself comfortable for thenight?"
One more problem returned to her before she fell asleep. The bear hadbeen to the mainland. Doubtless he had missed her and had followed byswimming. He had not, however, returned for some time. What had he donethere on land?
"Probably nothing," she told herself. She could not be sure, however.
In the morning she was to learn much and wonder still more.
* * * * * * * *
Greta had not slept long before she found herself once more wide awake,staring up at the fleeing clouds. "Something must have disturbed mydreams," she murmured. "What can it have been?"
Then, as minds have a way of doing, her mind took up an old, old problemand thought it all through again. This problem had to do with her future.A very rich woman had heard her playing the violin in a very smallconcert. She had, as she had expressed it, been "charmed, charmedindeed," by Greta's modest efforts. She had offered to become her goodangel, had this very rich and rather pompous lady. "You shall study at myexpense, under the very great masters," she had said. "No expense shallbe spared. And in time--" her bulging eyes had glowed. "In time you shallhave the world at your feet!"
Greta had not said "I will do it." Instead, she had replied, "I must talkit over with my mother. I will see."
She was still "seeing." This was one of the problems yet to be solved.She did long to study under great masters. And yet, she loved her ownfamily. She wished that they might do for her all that was grand andglorious. "To invite a rich stranger into one's life," some wise personhad said to her, "is often to shut one's humble friends out."
"The world at my feet," she repeated, then laughed softly to herself.Beneath them, rolling away like billows of the sea, was the gloriousgreen of that primeval forest; and beyond that, black and mysterious inthe night, lay the waters of Lake Huron.
"The world at my feet! I have that tonight!" she murmured. "I--"
She sat straight up to listen. The wind had changed. It was rising. Theright side of their tent was sagging. Borne in on this wind, the soundthat had puzzled her before came sweeping in like the notes of some longforgotten song.
"Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana!" Her astonishment knew no bounds.Surely there _was_ someone on Greenstone Ridge! Someone who played theviolin divinely.
"And yet," she thought more soberly, "in this still air sound carriesfar. May be on some boat out there on the black waters."
Peering into the night she strained her eyes in a vain attempt todiscover a light on the lake. There was no light.
She had just snuggled down in her warm corner once more when every muscleof her supple form stiffened in terror. She sprang to her feet. From somedistant spot, yet startling in its distinctness, had come one wild,piercing scream.
"Wha--what could that have been?"
Gripping at her heart to still its mad beating, she sank back in herplace.
"Boo! How cold!" She drew the blankets about her.
Her mind was in a turmoil. Who had screamed? That it was a person, notsome wild creature, she could not doubt. But who?
Should she waken Florence? Her hand was on the big girl's shoulder. "Butwhy?" she asked herself. "We are two girls. What can we do in the nighton a ridge we do not know? Fall into a crevice. No help to anyone."
Once again she crawled down beneath the blankets. Once more she caughtthe notes of that mysterious music. It had not stopped. Plainly thatperson was not associated in any way with the scream.
The wind began whispering in the pines. The sound blended with thatstrange music. Together they became the accompaniment to a dream. Sheslept. And still at her feet lay the glorious little world that is IsleRoyale.