He heard the leader cursing and trying to calm the fears of the men while it was evident that his own too were aroused. The fellow suddenly drew a pistol and fired a bullet into the forest. Robert heard it cutting the leaves near him. But he merely lay down and laughed. His fantastic impulse was succeeding in more brilliant fashion than he had hoped. Imitating their leader, six or eight of the men snatched out pistols and fired at random into the woods. The cry of a panther, drawn out, long, full of ferocity and woe, plaintive on its last note, like the haunting lament of a woman, was their answer. He heard a gasp of fear from the men, but the leader, of stauncher stuff, cowed them with his curses. Robert moved back on his course, and then gave forth the shrill, fierce yelp of the hungry wolf, dying into an angry snarl. It was, perhaps, a more menacing note than that of the larger animals, and he plainly saw the ruffians shiver. He was creating in them the state of mind that he wanted, and his spirits flamed yet higher. All things seemed possible to him in his present mood. He moved once more and then lay flat in the dense bushes. He fancied that the pirates would presently fire another volley into the shadows, and, in a moment of desperate courage, might even come into the forest. His first thought was correct, as the leader told off the steadier men, and, walking up and down in front of the forest, they raked it for a considerable distance with pistol shots. All of them, of course, passed well over Robert's head, and as soon as they finished he went back to his beginnings, giving forth the owl's lament. He heard the leader curse more fiercely than ever before, and he saw several of the men who had been pulling trigger retreat to the fire. It was evident to him that the terror of the thing was entering their souls. The night itself, as if admiring his plan, was lending him the greatest possible aid. The crimson lightning never ceased to quiver and the sullen rumble of the distant thunder was increasing. It was easy enough for men, a natural prey to superstition, and, with the memories of many crimes, to believe that the island was haunted, that the ghosts of those they had slain were riding the lightning, and that demons, taking the forms of animals, were waiting for them in the bushes. But the swart leader was a man of courage and he still held his ruffians together. He cursed them fiercely, told them to stand firm, to reload their pistols and to be ready for any danger. Those who still slumbered by the fire were kicked until they awoke, and, with something of a commander's skill, the man drew up his besotted band against the mystic dangers that threatened so closely.