“Yes, and we must have that skin. Ah, take care, Mak!”
For the black was advancing towards the dangerous enemy, and he looked back at the doctor, laughed, showing his glistening teeth, and then seizing the broken haft of his spear, he planted one bare foot upon the creature’s shoulder, gave a tug or two, and drew it away, to stand looking dolefully at the two pieces of the weapon, which he held together as if to see whether it was possible to mend them again.
“Now, doctor,” said Sir James, as the two boys stood together, whispering, “we must run no more of these horrible risks. It is quite likely that another of the furious beasts may be lying not far away. What do you say, Denham?”
“Yes, sir; there’s another one of them, I expect—dead or alive—not far off, and perhaps we had better wait till daylight. Suppose we go right up to the fire, for nothing will follow us there.”
“The fire!” said the doctor sharply. “How was it we were surprised like this? You should have made it up, Mark. It was your duty to do so at the end of your watch.”
“I did, sir,” protested Mark, in a injured tone, “and told Peter Dance to keep it well up when I left him.”
“Dance!—Ah, yes, Dance,” cried the doctor. “Where is he? Has anyone see him?”
There was no reply, but eyes were turned in all directions, as if it were possible that he might be lying there.
“Poor fellow!” said Sir James sadly. “Something must have happened to him. Here, someone, hail. He may be lying wounded, and looking to us for help.”
“Cooey! Cooey! Cooey!” cried Bob Bacon, and then “Cooey!” again, while in dread of fresh calamity all listened for the reply that did not come.