He drew a long sigh of fatigue and gazed meditatively below. The next moment he gave a quick start. There along the ledges and niches of the great Bluffs, climbing down diagonally with the agility of a cat, was a dark figure, that at the instant he could hardly recognize as beast or man—or might it be some mysterious being that the cavities of the rock harbored! As he remembered the stories of the witches of Keedon Bluffs, which he had flouted and scorned, he felt a cold thrill quiver through every limb. A sharp exclamation escaped his lips. Instantly he saw the climbing creature give a great start and then stand still as if with responsive fright. He bent forward and strained his eyes. He had not yet recovered his normal pulse; his heart was still plunging with wild throbs; nevertheless he noted keenly every movement of the strange object, and as it turned in the direction whence came the intrusive voice, it looked up apprehensively. Ike said nothing, but gazed down into the pallid face lifted in the white moonlight. VIII. “Hello!” cried out the figure. “Hello!—hello!—hello!” the echoing voices of Keedon Bluffs sepulchrally hailed the boy. Now Ike would have been indignant had some one suspected him of being afraid of the witches of the Bluffs. But he was immensely relieved by this form of address. For although he had never held intimate converse with witches he felt sure they did not say “Hello!” He leaned over and responded in a sturdy tone “Hello, yerse’f!” “Hello yerse’f!” cried out the prompt echoes. Ike drew back a little. Although he had acquitted the climbing man of being a witch, he could not repulse an odd uncomfortable feeling that scores of mischievous invisible spirits of the rock were assisting at the conversation. He could imagine that they nudged each other as they repeated the words. Perhaps they all fell to silently laughing when a belated voice far down the river called in a doubtful and hesitant tone, “Hello yerse’f!” “Who’s that up thar?” demanded the man, still looking up. “Ike Guyther,” the boy replied. He could not accurately distinguish the sound, so confused was he by the iteration of the meddlesome echoes, but it seemed to him that the man uttered a sudden gruff imprecation at the revelation of his name, and surely the tell-tale rocks were presently grumbling in an uncertain and displeased undertone. Ike strained his eyes to recognize the features, but the man looked down suddenly and coughed dubiously. There was something vaguely familiar in his voice that might have served to establish his identity but for the repetitious sounds that followed every word. “What air ye doin’ up thar?” demanded the man, and all the echoes became inquisitorial. “Been a-coon-huntin’. What ye doin’ down thar?” said Ike, at last thinking it but fair that he should ask a few questions himself.