The Bungalow Boys North of Fifty-Three. Goldfrap John Henry

the dim light each lad could read fear and perplexity in the other’s countenance.

      “Wh-wh-what is it?” gasped out Jack.

      “I der-der-don’t know,” stuttered Tom, equally at a loss and almost as badly disturbed by the weird nature of the wailing cry.

      CHAPTER IX – TOM CALMS JACK’S FEARS

      “Wow-yow-wyow-ow-oo-oo-oo!”

      Again came the cry, punctuating the night in the same ghastly, unaccountable manner.

      “Is it wer-wer-wer-wolves?” stammered Jack.

      Tom shook his head.

      “Nothing like them. It beats me what it can be. I never heard such a sound.”