As he spoke he took the extra cartridges from his pockets and hurriedly distributed them. It was Cal’s rule in hunting never to be without abundant ammunition.
“Now then, Larry,” he said, when the others had pocketed the cartridges, “give your orders; you’re the captain.”
“All right! Come on at a run, but don’t trip and fall. There’s no time to lose.”
Down the trail they went, not at a run, for running was impossible in such a tangle of vines and bushes, but at as fast a trot as they could manage. Suddenly there was a collision. Larry had met Tom “head on,” as he afterwards said. Tom was making his way as fast as he could to the gum tree, knowing that his friends would be in terror when they missed him, while they were hurrying to his rescue. In the darkness and the heavy downpour of rain he and Larry had failed to see or hear each other till they came into actual collision.
“Where on earth have you been, Tom?”
“Why did you fellows retreat before the time?”
These were questions instantly exchanged.
“Why, you gave the signal, Tom. You began moving off and we followed as agreed.”
“I understand now,” Tom answered, resuming the journey, “but it was a mistake of signal. Come on out of here. Let’s go to camp and talk it all over there. I’ve found out all about this thing and it’s interesting.”