"Hasten yonder," ordered Von Donck. "Bring me as much dry wood as you can bear, and ask no question, or I shall heave you down the face of this cliff, which it has well-nigh killed me to climb." When Geoffrey returned with a few dry pine sticks, Von Donck was collecting some moist moss from the underpart of the rocks. The moon stood above the granite nose of the colossal face, and by her light the Dutchman drew an imaginary line from the twin projections, which became invested by distance with an exact similitude of the human mouth, to a hole in the rock some twelve yards away. Here he built a fire, placing above the grass and dry sticks a pile of white moss. Then he sat down and well-nigh choked with laughter. "Prepare to strike a spark," he whispered. "But let no smoke arise if you would escape hanging. The troop shall carry away with them a tale to make these crystal mountains feared for ever." "What plan is this?" said Geoffrey irritably. "We stand upon the most exposed spot of these mountains, and do you propose to light a fire so that all who are concerned may know where we may be found?" "Control that voice and temper," whispered Von Donck. "Every sound carries over yon ravine. Come, sit near me, and watch as pretty a piece of art-magic as brain of man ever devised. Show not yourself above the great face, or we are undone, and drop no spark into that fire if you love your life." Geoffrey crawled along the side of the face and lay flat beside the Dutchman's knee. The latter proceeded: "The Indians have great fear of these mountains. I promise you yonder Frenchmen are driving their guide at the point of the sword, and feeling none too secure themselves at entering the devil's country. A man who fights a good sword shall sweat when a bird screams o' night. So soon as they show themselves the old man of the mountains shall lift up his voice, and you shall find, boy, that his tongue is mightier than our swords." When Von Donck had spoken a breath of wind swept the exposed ridge. As it passed a faint groan arose from the rock, and passed, leaving them staring at each other fearfully. "It was but the wind," Geoffrey muttered. "San Nicolas!" stammered the Dutchman. "This comes of playing with the powers of darkness. 'Twas the groan of a lost spirit." "Stay!" whispered Geoffrey. "I thought that the sound proceeded from yonder stone." His comrade regarded the round mass which had been indicated with starting eyes, but when he saw nothing supernatural, crawled near and examined it nervously, asking: "Think you some spirit is imprisoned within?" "See this hole?" exclaimed Geoffrey, pointing to a small aperture visible at the base. "'Tis what they call a blow-stone, if I mistake not. Here the wind enters and so makes the noise that we heard." "Soft," said Von Donck, vastly relieved. "Soft, or you spoil my plan."