It was so far off and unlike any whistling he
had ever heard before, that he half guessed it to be the movement of a
breeze through the willows, but the wind was hardly strong enough to
make this sound. For a full five minutes he listened without moving
his horse. Then came the thing for which he waited, a phrase of melody
undoubtedly from human lips.
What puzzled him most was the nature of the music. As he rode closer
to the trees it grew clearer. It was unlike any song he had ever
heard. It was a strange improvisation with a touch of both melancholy
and savage exultation running through it. Calder found himself nodding
in sympathy with the irregular rhythm.
It grew so clear at last that he marked with some accuracy the
direction from which it came. If this was Silent's camp, it must be
strongly guarded, and he should approach the place more cautiously
than he could possibly do on a horse. Accordingly he dismounted, threw
the reins over the pony's head, and started on through the willows.
The whistling became louder and louder. He moved stealthily from tree
to tree, for he had not the least idea when he would run across a
guard. The whistling ceased, but the marshal was now so near that he
could follow the original direction without much trouble.
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