“Think there’s any in now?”
“Bound to say there are. They comes and goes, though. Listen: p’r’aps you’ll hear one.”
As it happened, just then there was a peculiar splashing and wallowing sound from some distance farther in, and it ended with an echoing report, as if one of the animals had given the surface of the water a heavy blow with its tail.
“No mistake—eh?” said one of the voices.
“Let’s get the lanthorn and go in,” said one eagerly.
“Nay, you stop wheer you are. Old Jarks is wild enough as it is about some one being here. If he finds any of us larking about, he’ll get hitting out or shootin’, p’r’aps.”
“I say,” said another voice—all sounding curiously near, and as if whispering for the two fugitives to hear—“think anybody’s been splitting about the place?”
“I d’know. Mebbe. Wonder it arn’t been found out before. My hye! I never did see old Jarks in such a wax before. Makes him sputter finely what he does blaze up. I don’t b’lieve as he knows then whether he’s speaking French or English.”
“Well, don’t seem as if we’re going to ketch whoever it is.”
“What! Don’t you be in a hurry about that. If old Jarks makes up his mind to do a thing, he’ll do it.”