It might be that his mind was too taken up with the weird influences of
the hour, or that Elsie's senses were strung to a superhuman pitch. Be
that as it may, it was she who sprang to her feet all a-quiver with
agitation.
"Do you hear?" she whispered, and her hand clutched Gray's shoulder
with an energy which set his heart beating high. He did not answer.
He had heard no unusual sound, but he was not without faith in her.
"There!" she panted again. "Some one is hailing. Some one cried
'Elsie.' I am sure of it."
"Guess you'd better toot 'Arthur' on the off chance," said Gray.
Almost the last thing she remembered was the sound of her own wild
scream. There came back to her a stronger shout, and the bark of a
dog. She had a blurred consciousness of a whole troupe of men
scrambling down the choked ravine, of glad questions and joyous
answers, of a delirious dog leaping on board and yelping staccato
assurances that everything was all right in a most wonderful world.
Then she found herself in Courtenay's arms, and heard him say in a
rapture of delight: "I owe my life to you, dear heart. That is the wonder of it. No need
to tell me you ran away from the ship. I know. One kiss, Elsie; then
full speed ahead for the Kansas. By the Lord, to think of it! You
here! At the very gate of the Inferno! Well, one more kiss! Yes, it
is I, none other, and fit as a fiddle. Never got a scratch. There,
now; I really must see to the crew. We must be ready for the turn of
the tide."