But of Billy Priske there was no sign at all. We stared at each
other and rubbed our eyes; we two, left alone out of our company of
six. Although the sun would not pierce to the valley for another
hour, it slanted already between the pine-stems on the ridge, and
above us the sky was light with another day.
And again, punctual with the dawn, over the ridge a far voice broke
into singing. As before, it came to us in cadences descending to a
long-drawn refrain--_Mortu, mortu, mortu!_
"Billy! Billy Priske!" we called, and listened.
"_Mortu, mortu, mortu!_" sang the voice, and died away behind the
ridge.
For some time we stood and heard the hogs crashing their way through
the undergrowth at the head of the glade, with a snapping and
crackling of twigs, which by degrees grew fainter. This, too, died
away; and, returning to our camp, we sat among the baggage and stared
one another in the face.
CHAPTER XIV.
HOW BY MEANS OF HER SWINE I CAME TO CIRCE.
"So saying I took my way up from the ship and the sea-shore.
But on my way, as I drew near through the glades to the home of
the enchantress Circe, there met me Hermes with his golden rod,
in semblance of a lad wearing youth's bloom on his lip and all
youth's charm at its heyday.
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