and beautiful. In front of me was a grove of trees, but there was sea débris right up to their edge, and I guessed that at times storms had submerged this corner of the island.
Then unexpectedly I saw Neil's house. It was an old farmhouse, extending over quite a large stretch of ground, and built solidly of stone. At some early date it had probably been the country home of some Colonial gentleman.
The edge of the sun had dipped down into the bay. Nothing was stirring in the quiet of the evening. The sails of the boats hung listlessly; I could no longer see the fishermen aboard. But something was hanging overhead. It was a hawk. And another hawk joined it, coming apparently from the direction of the sanitarium. Then a third and fourth came into view.
Fish hawks, I thought. Nothing remarkable about their presence there. But what was it that the old fool had said about hawks? "When you see them hawks, look out for trouble!"
Well, I saw them, and a fifth, and a sixth, and I had no presentiment of trouble. Only a sense of pleasure in the mildness of the evening as I approached the door of Neil's house. I noticed that the windows were all tightly shuttered in front and on both sides of the house, and wondered at that a little, for Neil had been a fresh-air fiend in our early days. I passed up the worn, crazy-stone path and tapped at the door.
I was conscious that the hawks had been following me, but I thought nothing of that. I knew that hawks would follow fishermen—at least, fishing hawks; and the fact that some eight or nine of them were circling above my head aroused no particular emotion in me. I tapped at the door of the shack, anticipating the moment of Neil's delighted recognition of me.
No answer came, and I tapped again, more loudly. Then I heard Neil's voice inside:
"Who is it? What do you want here?"
Strangely harsh and uncouth it sounded. But I guessed that he had been made the victim of the crazy suspicions of the villagers.
"It's Jim Dewey. Didn't you expect me?" I called.
"Jim Dewey? Why didn't you wire me, man, as I asked you to do?"
"I did wire. I guess the telegraphic system is a little slow in this part of the world," I answered. "Aren't you going to let me in?"
"Sure, but—you're alone, are you, Jim? There's nothing with you?"
"Of course not," I answered.
There sounded the shuffling of Neil's feet inside the door, then the cautious removal of a chain. Inch by inch the door opened, until Neil stood before me. I was amazed at the transformation in him. The desert heat and sun had browned and wasted him, there was a three days' stubble of a beard upon his face, his clothes hung loose about his wasted frame. He looked years older.
"Well, Neil, you don't seem half glad to see me," I said, putting out my hand.
I saw his hand advance; then he glanced over my shoulder, and a cry burst from his lips. I thought he was going to slam the door in my face.
"The hawks! The hawks! Keep them out!" he shouted.
And as we stood there, the birds, huger than any hawks I had ever seen, suddenly swooped for the door with incredible velocity. I was half inside and half outside, and in an instant the two of us were involved in a tangle of fluttering pinions.
