Chapter Nineteen.
Among the Pigmies.
In utter weariness the two boys now stood their guns up against the nearest trees and let themselves sink together upon the thin bed of moist leaves that had not been eaten up, as it were, by the root action of the trees, glad of the relief to their now weary limbs, and for some time they sat in the silent darkness, utterly stunned—minutes and minutes, possibly half an hour, before Mark started to his feet, and, nerved by his cousin’s movement, Dean followed his example.
“Hear someone coming?” he cried, in a hoarse whisper.
“No!” raged out Mark.
“What are you going to do, then?”
“What we ought to have done hours ago. We must have been asleep.”
“Asleep! No.”
“Well, our brains must have been. There, catch hold of your gun.”
As the boy spoke he seized his own by the stock, held it up with one hand as high as he could, and fired, with the sound thrown back as their voices had been by the trees. Then they sat and listened.