While the officer was speaking, George gave all his attention to the sounds approaching, and his restless eyes scanned the darkness all round. What he had thought to be coming from the east now sounded to be from the west.
"Very good, sir," he replied, as Forsyth finished speaking. "But it strikes me you are either wrong about the direction of the sounds, or there are others coming towards us from the west."
The officer listened, but he remained convinced that what he had heard came from the direction he had said.
"No, I am right," he said, at last. "There is no sound to the west. Don't forget your instructions," and he turned his horse and disappeared in the darkness, the clatter of his horse's feet soon becoming deadened by the heavy sand.
"You're right, Mr. Helmar, and he's wrong, though it wasn't for me to say so," said Brian, in tones of firm conviction. "As the officer disappeared, did you notice how quickly the sound of his horse's hoofs died away?"
"Yes," replied Helmar. "But what has that to do with it?"
"Simple enough," replied the other; "he's forgotten about the wind. There isn't too much, it's true, but what there is is coming from the west, and consequently the sound travels with it. Now, you listen. You can't hear a sound of him now."
It was as the Irishman said. Strain as they would, there was not a sound to be heard from his retreating horse.
"You're right," said George, at last, "and the other sound is still to be heard, which means——"
"Which means that some one is approaching us from the west, and the sound is travelling with the wind. Before he gets back we'll have trouble on our hands, or I'm—I'm—a Dutchman," he finished up in his broad Irish brogue.