Untamed though she seemed, she was perfectly under Kennedy's
control, and rendered him absolute and unreasoning obedience.
At the cemetery we established a strict watch about the Phelps
mausoleum and the swamp which lay across the road, not a difficult
thing to do as far as concealment went, owing to the foliage.
Still, for the same reason, it was hard to cover the whole ground.
In the shadow of a thicket we waited. Now and then we could hear
Schaef scouting about in the underbrush, crouching and hiding,
watching and guarding.
As the hours of waiting in the heavily laden night air wore on, I
wondered whether our vigil in this weird place would be rewarded.
The soughing of the night wind in the evergreens, mournful at
best, was doubly so now. Hour after hour we waited patiently.
At last there was a slight noise from the direction opposite the
mausoleum and toward the swamp next to the cemetery.
Kennedy reached out and drew us back into the shadow deeper. "Some
one is prowling about, approaching the mausoleum on that side, I
think," he whispered.
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