A Terrible Slip.
The two boys hurried off in the direction taken by the blacks, hastening through the ruins in the full expectation of coming upon them at any moment, till the mazy wilderness of stones and trees closed in and farther progress was checked.
“We can’t have passed them, can we?” asked Mark.
“No; impossible.”
“Well, then, where are they?”
For answer Dean gave a shout, and another and another, the two boys standing awestricken as they listened to the strange, hollow echoes that multiplied and magnified the hail till it slowly died out in whispers. But there was no reply.
“I say, they must have managed to top this wall in some way, or known of some passage by which they could get outside into the further ruins.”
“I don’t know,” said Dean, in a whisper. “I say, this place seems to grow more strange and weird the more you wander about it. Doesn’t it to you?”
“Yes, sometimes—horribly creepy, only it is stupid to think so, but I can’t help feeling as if we are surrounded by things that are watching us.”
“What do you mean? Those dog monkey brutes—the baboons?”