They did not climb the rise and again enter the glade that contained the mysterious grave, but Frank led the way down through the woods till they came out to the rocky shore of the island, along which ran the path they had left some time before. Now they struck into this path and followed it round the island. Not a word passed between them till they came to the old granite quarry. There on their right the bluff of rock rose nearly a hundred feet in the air, with cedars growing away up on the heights. There were drill marks on the face of the rock. A weed-grown railroad ran into the quarry, and on the track sat a flat car, loaded with granite. "By jingoes!" exclaimed Browning. "It's plain enough there was some business done here some time." Frank looked at the face of the broad wall of granite. "I wonder why they ceased quarrying it?" he speculated. "I suppose the fishermen would say it was because the island was haunted." "More likely because the granite was not of the best quality. Now that stone does not look to me as if it is first class. It seems to me it is poor granite, and that is why the quarry was abandoned." "Guess you are right," nodded Bruce. They walked along the track which led out of the quarry and down toward some sagging sheds, in which they could see other flat cars. When the sheds were reached, they turned to the right and saw at a distance a house. Beyond the house was a large square building with many windows. Not far from the car sheds was an old wharf. "There is the house where the boss must have lived," said Merry; "and beyond it is the boarding house for the laborers." "Let's go look them over," said Bruce, who seemed remarkably energetic for him. So they walked over to the house. It was securely locked, and the windows were fastened down. Near the house was a well, from which they drew water and took a drink from an old dipper that hung on a rusty nail driven into the curb. From the house a path led down toward the boarding house. They walked down there and could look down into a beautiful little cove close at hand. "Why didn't we run in there and anchor, instead of anchoring away round back of the island?" said Bruce. "Simply because no one mentioned this cove, and I did hear Bold Island harbor mentioned," answered Frank. In the distance they could see three or four white sails. Far away beyond a group of islands rose a trail of smoke that told some small steamer was passing. A gull was circling over the cove, and a black crow cawed dismally from the top branch of a tall spruce. For all that the sun was in the sky, there was something oppressively lonely and deserted about Devil Island. "Let's try the doors here," suggested Bruce. The front door was fastened, but they found a back door that they were able to force open, as the nails that held it had rusted in the rotten wood till they readily bent before the pressure. "I don't know as we have any right to go in here," said Frank.