He remained in this position for about half a minute, and then arose and rejoined us.
“This is a rum start,” he said hurriedly, “but I can’t hear nothing but that blooming wolcano a boilin’ and a spirtin’ away like old Harry! What’s become of them dawgs, and the swabs o’ pirates, is more than I can say. But we mustn’t hang about here; as I take it they’re going to play us some dirty trick or another.”
“Miguel is sure to put them up to something underhand,” I said; “he’s a regular mischief-maker.”
Ned now examined his rifle, and was relieved to find that it was loaded. Unfortunately, however, he had no spare cartridges. Our pistols, which were long heavy ones, were also charged, ready for use; but, of course, we were in the same predicament of being unprovided with any more ammunition. We also had the two swords, which might prove to be valuable weapons. They appeared to be of a military pattern, and were probably of Spanish manufacture—perhaps veritable Toledos.
“Got your wind again, Mr. Darcy?” asked the gunner.
“Yes,” I answered. “I’m quite ready for a start.”
“That’s the sort. We’ll carry on at once,” said Ned, “and make tracks for the coast-line, keeping to the forest all the way. That’s the safest plan.”
We had just started off again at a sharp run, when our ears were assailed with the blood-curdling sound of the sleuthhounds’ bay.
“God preserve us!” exclaimed the gunner, in horror-stricken tones; “the wretches have struck our trail again.”
For a moment we involuntarily turned our heads and gazed back through the vista of trees, which allowed us a partial view of the open country we had so lately crossed.