To the great surprise of the boys the two blacks dashed at them, caught them by the wrist, drew them close up to the heap, and tried to bend them down so that they might draw away the loose rubbish.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” said Mark merrily, snatching away his wrist. “I am not going to have my hand used as a trowel to save yours, you lazy beggar. Here, Dean, get hold of Pig and do as I do. Let’s give them an object lesson.”
The little fellow smiled with pleasure as Dean caught him by the wrist, and then the two boys, to use Mark’s expressions, proceeded to use the black palms and digits as trowels; but the smiles of both blacks changed to angry frowns. They snatched their hands away and backed off from the heap, Mak shaking his head fiercely.
“Well, that’s cool,” said Mark. “Here, come back;” and he pointed to the heap and stamped his foot. “We are not going to do the dirty work and let you keep your hands clean, my fine fellows. Come—dig out—gun!”
Mak shook his head angrily and imitated Mark’s action of stamping his foot and pointing to the heap.
“Dig—out—gun,” he said, imitated the while by the pigmy, who repeated the words “Dig—dig” to Dean.
“No—no—you two!” cried Mark.
“No—no—you two!” cried Mak; and he pointed again at the heap, running close up to it and pointing to where some parched up fern leaves had been scattered about.
He only stayed there a moment, and then darted away, to stand with his little companion, shaking his head and chattering away as he energetically kept on signing to the boys to act, and shouting.
“Gun! Gun!”