For just then the overseer shouted, and signed to the gang-men to come to him.
“To begin another job—log-rolling, I think,” growled Bart, shouldering his hoe.
At that moment, as Abel followed his example, there came in a low, eager tone of voice from out of the jungle, twenty yards away—
“Bart!—Abel!—Abel!”
“Don’t look,” whispered Abel, who reeled as if struck, and recovered himself to catch his companion by the arm. “All right!” he said aloud; “we’ll be here to-morrow. We must go.”
Chapter Twelve.
In Deadly Peril.
It was quite a week before the two young men were at work in the plantation of young trees again, and during all that time they had feverishly discussed the voice they had heard. Every time they had approached the borders of the plantation when it ran up to the virgin forest they had been on the qui vive, expecting to hear their names called again, but only to be disappointed; and, after due consideration, Abel placed a right interpretation upon the reason.