"It comes from the scrub," thought Eustace. "He must be there, but awfully far off or ill, for that isn't like his voice. What shall I do? I can't go back and fetch any one, because father said I was not to tell. I daren't wait till father comes, for fear I lose it. It might get fainter and fainter. Oh, I must do something when Bob is calling out for help! If I could find him, if—if I could save him, it would be splendid!"
Just once again he sent out his piercing coo-ee, and this time the answer was distinct enough for him to decide its exact position. Without another moment for reflection, he urged Bolter on, waded through the river, and dashed helter-skelter towards the wood. He thought nothing of the possibility of himself being lost, nothing of the danger of meeting black-fellows. He was going to Bob—that was the central idea. Bob was in danger and called for help. It was the fulfilment of the greatest wish of Eustace's life to serve Bob.
CHAPTER XI.
BLACK-FELLOWS.
In the exultation of the thought Eustace plunged into the scrub and rode on and on unheedingly, lost in dreams of the adventure before him. Always he found Bob, always he rescued him, sometimes with the most thrilling hair-breadth escapes.
The wood was not dark but densely shady, with black distances. It presently began to worry Eustace that it was impossible to keep a straight line for the direction whence the answering cry had come; it was often necessary to wind in and out of the close-growing tree stems to find a passage for himself and Bolter. There was no road, path, or even track to follow.
"This will get muddling," he thought, when he had been twisting and turning, doubling back on his route, for about half an hour. "I guess I ought to have marked the trees with notches as I came along. I'll go back and start again."
He pulled Bolter up, sat back on his saddle, and looked round for the gleam of light through the trunks of the trees that would guide him back to the open; but there was none—nothing but an even monotony of dense distance, no matter where he turned.
The boy's heart stood still in the unpleasant shock of surprise. Which way had he come? He had not the slightest notion, for each way looked so exactly the same as the other. He realized with sickening intensity that he had lost his bearings.
"But I must find my way out, of course," he said, addressing Bolter's glossy ears. "I'll try each way in turn till I see the light. There is nothing to be scared about."