At this Mark’s first idea was to awaken the overcome boy by snatching his rifle from him and ordering him to go off to bed.
“And I will too,” he said, half aloud, “and shame him in his disgrace.”
He was in the act of stooping over to seize the rifle, but there was no rifle to seize.
“He has stood it up somewhere,” thought the boy. “Oh, who could have believed it! And at a time like this when we might be surprised and speared before the alarm could have spread. I’ll go and tell the— no, I won’t. It shall be our secret; but I’ll say words to him that shall make him too much ashamed ever to take the watch again. Oh, where has he stood that rifle?”
Mark was trying to penetrate the darkness as he stepped cautiously along, looking here and there for the missing weapon, when he felt as if a hand had been pressed upon his throat to check his breathing, for there, dimly-seen, standing pressed close up to the rock which ascended behind their camp, was the figure of an armed black, motionless as a statue, and with his spear, which looked somehow distorted, resting against his arm.
For a few moments the boy could not breathe, but his heart beat with a heavy throb against his breast, while his lips parted to utter a cry that should alarm the camp. But no sound escaped from him: the silence was broken by a deeply whispered, “Baas!”
“Ah–h–h–h–h! You, Mak!” sighed Mark; and the words, “How you startled me!” were ready for utterance, but they were not spoken.
“Him—him—sleep,” whispered the black. “Mak watch.—Got gun.”
As he spoke he raised Dean’s rifle, which was resting upon the ground in company with the black’s spear, and Mark caught at it eagerly.
“Baas watch too,” said the black. “Pig gone see.”