The wind moaned through the trees with a dreary sound, dying away like a sigh. The woods were still. The trees and the thickets seemed to listen and wait for some sign of life in that motionless figure.
Stark called to Hogan and Crauthers as he stumbled along the path. He uttered exclamations of annoyance, pain, and anger when branches whipped him stingingly across the face. Three or four times he stumbled and fell, but he was up again and hurrying on in a twinkling.
“Where are those fools?” he grated. “What do they mean by running away and leaving me like this!”
He paused a moment to listen, and then he gave a great start, for right beside him a voice spoke:
“They run like cowards.”
“Bunol!” exclaimed Stark, far from pleased. “What in blazes do you mean by following me so closely? I didn’t hear you behind me.”
“You all run off,” said the Spanish lad. “Why you think I should stay?”
“You did the trick! You should have remained to make sure he was dead or alive, one or the other.”
“Bah!” said the other. “If he is dead, it do no good to stay. If he is ’live, he come out of it after while, and I care not to be round. He no see who hit him. If he is ’live, I no want him to have some proof.”
“You were a fool to strike so hard with that club!”