"A. E. Merritt - Dwellers in the mirage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Merritt A. E)

CHAPTER I.



SOUNDS IN THE NIGHT


I raised my head, listening,--not only with my ears but with every
square inch of my skin, waiting for recurrence of the sound that had
awakened me. There was silence, utter silence. No soughing in the
boughs of the spruces clustered around the little camp. No stirring of
furtive life in the underbrush. Through the spires of the spruces the
stars shone wanly in the short sunset to sunrise twilight of the early
Alaskan summer.

A sudden wind bent the spruce tops, carrying again the sound--the
clangour of a beaten anvil.

I slipped out of my blanket, and round the dim embers of the fire
toward Jim. His voice halted me.

"All right, Leif. I hear it."

The wind sighed and died, and with it died the humming aftertones of
the anvil stroke. Before we could speak, the wind arose. It bore the
after-hum of the anvil stroke--faint and far away. And again the wind
died, and with it the sound.

"An anvil, Leif!"

"Listen!"

A stronger gust swayed the spruces. It carried a distant chanting;



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voices of many women and men singing a strange, minor theme. The
chant ended on a wailing chord, archaic, dissonant.

There was a long roll of drums, rising in a swift crescendo, ending
abruptly. After it a thin and clamorous confusion.

It was smothered by a low, sustained rumbling, like thunder, muted by
miles. In it defiance, challenge.

We waited, listening. The spruces were motionless. The wind did not