“There’s two of them, gen’lemen.”
“Where?” cried Dean eagerly.
“Oh, not far off, sir. Didn’t you hear them shouting? There, you can hear now, surely. I heard them. There!” That to which he drew attention was the low bellowing of oxen being driven in their direction.
“Why, they are coming this way,” cried Mark. “Yes, sir. That’s Hot Tot and the little black. They’ve found the bullocks.”
“Some of them,” suggested Dean.
“All on ’em, sir, as is left alive. They’d hang together when they bolted.—Hullo! Here’s Mak come after us;” and the boys turned eagerly, to find the big black had been following their trail, showing his teeth joyously as he pointed with his broken spear and uttered a low bellowing like a bullock.
“Oh, I am glad,” cried Mark. “Now if we could only find the ponies—”
Mak thrust two fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly, in perfect imitation of Dunn Brown, sending forth the call, which was instantly answered from the distance.
“Hark at that!” cried Mark. “Why, that must be Dunn! Here, Mak.”
The boy thrust his fingers between his lips, withdrew them, and cried, “Whistle! Whistle!”