“Too bad to disappoint you,” said Mrs. Maguire.  “Now, girls, get comfortable, and we’ll be all right in the morning.  Try to sleep.”

Ruth and Alice declared it was out of the question, and for a long time they remained wide awake.  Mrs. Maguire, who had traveled with many road companies, and had often slept under adverse circumstances, did manage to doze off.  Russ had first watch, and Paul was tired enough to fall into a slumber.

Finally Ruth and Alice also slumbered, leaning against each other, with Mrs. Maguire as partial support.  Russ found his head nodding as the long night wore on.

“Come, this won’t do!” he told himself, sitting up with a jerk.  But nature was insistent, and he became sleepy again.  He was suddenly awakened by what seemed some horrid, human cry close to the boat.

“Oh!” screamed Ruth, startling the others into wakefulness.  “What was that?”

The cry was repeated—­a cry that brought a chill to the heart.

CHAPTER XXII

ASHORE

The boat rocked and trembled under the impulse of the moving bodies—­swayed so and tilted, that Russ sharply called: 

“Steady all, or we’ll upset!”

“Oh!” screamed Ruth.  “Never!  Do be quiet, Alice!”

“I’m not moving; it’s you!”

“Quiet, girls,” called Mrs. Maguire, softly.  She had really been sleeping soundly, and the sudden awakening rather confused her.  “What’s it all about?” she asked.

“Oh, didn’t you hear it?” gasped Ruth.  “Such a horrible cry!”

“Maybe it was some one calling to us—­some of the searching party from the Magnolia,” suggested Paul.

“Let’s give an answer, then,” came from Russ.

“Magnolia ahoy!” cried Paul, and the young moving picture operator joined in with his powerful voice.

There was no answer for a moment, and all about in the black woods was silence.  Off on shore glowed the faint sparks of the smudge-fire.

“They didn’t hear you,” said Alice, softly.

And then, vibrating on the night, and echoing through the trees, came that dreadful cry again; weird, long-drawn-out, a howl—­a fiendish laugh, ending in a choking giggle and then a shrill whine.

“Oh—­oh!” gasped Ruth, and she and Alice clung together, leaning on Mrs. Maguire.

“It’s like the wail of a lost soul,” whispered Alice.

“Sure, and it must be an Irish banshee!” murmured Mrs. Maguire.  “I’ve heard my mother tell of ’em!”

“It’s a wild beast, that’s all,” said Paul, though his voice was not steady as usual.  For the cry, coming out of the darkness, perhaps from a spot where some animal crouched, ready to spring down on them, was not reassuring.

“That’s it—­some animal,” added Russ.  “Hand me that gun, Paul, I’ll try—­”

“Oh, you’re not going after it—­in the dark, are you?” interrupted Ruth.