“And my father thought you had run away, and that we should never see you again.”
“How Joeboy run away? Bullock no run. Run other way.”
“Yes,” I said, laughing; “they are always ready to go in the wrong direction. Do you know”—I was going to say something about the rising of one of the rivers up in the mountains somewhere near, but I stopped short, for my companion suddenly darted to Sandho’s head and pressed him sidewise towards a pile of rocks which offered plenty of shelter from anything in front.
“What is it, Joeboy?” I said. “A good shot at something?”
For answer he pointed upward at the rocks beside the pass which went by the name of Echo Nek—the place which we had nearly reached, this great gap in the mountains being the only spot for many miles on either side where a horse could cross. As to wagons, a far greater détour was necessary to find a road.
I looked in the direction he pointed out, but for some moments I could see nothing. Then a faint gleam from something moving gave me warning of what had taken place, and directly after I caught sight of the bearer of the rifle from whose barrel the sunlight had flashed.