As it did so, the sun slowly
sank behind the western bluffs; and though the boy did not look up from
the wet sand on which he had flung himself, he knew instinctively that
another night, with its darkness, its chill, and its nameless terrors,
was upon him.
He was so numbed by this latest disaster that he had not the heart even
to seek a place of shelter for the night. What good would anything
that he could find or construct do him? He had neither matches nor
food, dry clothing nor bedding. What did it matter, though? He would
probably be dead before the sun rose again, anyway. So the poor lad
nursed his misery, and might, in truth, have lain on those wet sands
until he perished, so despairing was he, when all at once he was
aroused by a sound so strange to hear in that place that, though he
raised his head to listen, he thought he must be dreaming. He wasn't,
though, for there came again to his ears, as distinct as anything ever
heard in his life, a merry peal of clear girlish laughter. Not only
that, but it sounded so close at hand that the boy sprang to his feet
and gazed eagerly in the direction from which it came, fully expecting
to see its author standing near him.
CHAPTER XIV.
A PEAL OF GIRLISH LAUGHTER.
In vain did Winn gaze in every direction, up and down the river, across
its darkening waters, and into the shadowy thicket behind him.
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