Nothing moved. Nothing stirred. One should feel a great peace on such a night, and yet …

Alec felt no peace, only a sudden dread. He tried to shake it off and couldn’t. He had the crazy thought that the captain would not have let him leave the hammock even if it hadn’t been for the storm. Why did the captain want him there?

The strange house where he must spend the night loomed before him.

IMAGES AND OMENS
7

Alec was given a bedroom on the second floor. After washing, he went to the open window that looked out over the swamp to the south and west. He still had no idea why the captain was in the Everglades. It had to be for reasons other than privacy, although Alec was sure that must have something to do with it. Was it, as well, to retrace the steps of his long-dead ancestor, the guide to a Spanish Conquistador? If so, why?

Alec could feel the throbbing in his temples; he knew it to be a self-warning of danger despite the aura of peace and quiet that had settled over the hammock and the swamp.

Why did he feel the need to be so alert when everything appeared to be perfectly all right? The message had been sent to Sugarfoot Ranch. In the light of early morning, he would be on his way back.

Yet appearances could be deceptive, and the captain seemed anything but normal. Alec remained at the window, his face silhouetted against the light, breathing in the night air.

He wasn’t afraid, he told himself, only concerned and cautious. If he had been afraid, he would have been able to smell his fear; it had a scent of its own and was unmistakable. He hated it.

He had every right to be suspicious. He couldn’t be certain Odin had taken the message to the Indian village and that it would reach the ranch. However, there was nothing he could do about it except to be alert every minute he remained on the hammock. Caution was not cowardice. Caution was born of wisdom that he had acquired the hard way. Like the captain, he, too, was a professional.

Alec gazed at the vast expanse of saw grass and wondered how much of it was tinder-dry. The afternoon storm had done little to relieve the drought, but at least it was the forerunner of the wet season to come, when torrential rains would help keep the Everglades alive.

He saw no evidence of smoke or fire as a result of the lightning. Yet he knew that in some areas the deep deposits of peat soil were powder-dry and, once ignited, might smolder for days, if not weeks. There was always the danger of the sea of grass becoming a sea of fire from such a storm. It was not a prospect to make one feel at ease. He turned away from the window and left the room.

He had reached the top of the dimly lit stairs when he heard the music. It was very faint at first, then it swelled, mounting to a clash of cymbals before fading away again.

Alec started down the stairs. The captain must be playing a record on the phonograph he had seen earlier. The music had a strange, dreamlike quality.

He heard a thin, haunting piping sound and, despite his knowing that he was listening to a record, a shiver went up his back. It was a long flute passage, mysterious and remote, and yet he was certain he had heard it before!

Alec came to a dead stop, for the music suddenly created a feeling that something was about to happen. The haunting flute passage ended but other sounds from other instruments came to him in the darkness of the stairs, taking him far beyond the house to the outer world of stars and distant solitude.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the strange mood that had come over him. It was weird music, almost uncanny.