My coxswain gave vent to some fierce exclamation, and quick as lightning raised his rifle to his shoulder. He was an unerring shot.
“I’ll pay that thundering rascal out now for having me flogged,” I heard him mutter between his teeth, “and send a bullet through his ugly carcass!”
But Mr. Triggs seized him by the shoulder with a grip of iron.
“Drop your rifle instantly!” he said in an authoritative tone; “do you want to betray our hiding-place to them, man?”
Ned had not been trained in a severe school of discipline for nothing. Though his finger was on the point of pressing the trigger, he instantly lowered his weapon. A strange but relieved expression swept over his face as he turned to us. The sudden access of passion had passed away as rapidly as it had arisen.
“Thank you for the reminder,” he said in rather a husky voice. “’Tain’t often I feel in a revengeful mood, but I must confess I was off my chump for a spell, and could think of nothing but corpsing that chap.”
The gunner rose swiftly to his feet.
“Our best foot foremost, and cut and run,” he said in a low but emphatic tone; “’tis our only chance.”
In a moment we had plunged once more into the forest, striking off in a diagonal, downward direction, so as to bury ourselves deeper in the jungle depths, and yet draw nearer to the sea at every step.
Once more the much-dreaded bloodhounds gave tongue, warning us only too palpably of the proximity of our ruthless enemies. The chief and his henchman Miguel had obviously been taking a survey from the lofty rock, hoping to detect some signs of our whereabouts; but now they had evidently taken up the trail again, determined to hunt us down mercilessly.