“Then promise me that you will sleep to-night—­sleep soundly.  That thought will cheer me as I go on my way.”  Britt started along, making no reply.  “I bespeak for you sleep without dreams,” the Prophet called after him.  “Your dreams, Pharaoh, might be colored with some of the realities—­and that would be bad, very bad for your peace of mind.”

Once more Britt strode back from the vapors.  “Are you trying to provoke me to smash my fist into your face?  Are you trying to cook up a blackmail damage suit by the advice of that crook lawyer who bailed you out?  I’m beginning to see why a lawyer was enough interested in you to get you back into this town.”

“You guess shrewdly, Pharaoh.  You have avoided the deep plot against your wealth.  Let the thought make you sleep soundly to-night.  I’m glad to make my confession and hope it will add to your peace of mind.”

Usial Britt had appeared in the door of his cottage; he leaned lazily against the jamb.  “It will be a fine night for sleeping,” he remarked, amiably.  “This fog is sort of relaxing to the nerves!”

“Hold one moment, Pharaoh!” pleaded Elias.  The appearance of the hated brother had started the magnate off once more.  “I am anxious to make your night a peaceful one.  If you see me go away, knowing that I shall not return again before your face, the comfort of your knowledge will lull you to sleep.  Wait!”

He stepped to the door of the cottage, reached inside, and secured a long staff.  He picked up from the floor a huge horn—­a sort of trump.  He settled the curve of the instrument over his shoulder.  He blew a long and resounding blast.  Then he marched away, taking long strides.  He loomed in the first stratum of the vapor, the radiance from the open door showing him as an eerie figure; then the fog swallowed him up.  Every few moments he sounded a mighty blast on the trump.  The blare of the horn rolled echoes afar in the murk.  Steadily the volume of the sound decreased; it was plain that the Prophet was traveling at good speed.

“Well, I’ll be dimdaddled!” grunted Mr. Bangs.  His was the only comment on the departure of Prophet Elias from the land of Egypt—­that is to say, the only comment passed by the group in front of Files’s tavern.  Tasper Britt went his way toward the Harnden home, his lodgings still.  Usial Britt closed his cottage door.  Bangs found the sticky chill of the fog uncomfortable.  He and his helper went in and upstairs to their rooms.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE SHADE WHO MEDDLED

Sometime in the night Vaniman awoke, not suddenly, or with the sense of having been disturbed, but torpidly, with the feeling that he had been especially deep in slumber.  He recovered his senses slowly.  Therefore, only gradually did he become aware of a peculiar new condition of affairs in the camp.  He wondered idly, trying to make up his mind as to what was different in the place this night.  He heard the “yeak-yeak” of the crickets outside.  He heard nothing else.  Then he understood.  His three comrades were not vocalizing their slumber in snores.  He had endured the torture philosophically night after night.