“Here we are sir,” cried Bob Bacon. “Me, sir, and Peter Dance.”
“That’s right, my lads. Take hold of Mr Mark and carry him into the waggon.”
“Oh, Mark,” cried another voice, “don’t say you are hurt!”
“Well, but I am, old chap,” said Mark coolly. “No, I say, don’t do that. Don’t be frightened, father, I can walk.”
“Are you sure, boy?” said the doctor, who had handed the rifle with which he had come out armed to the keeper; and as he spoke he passed his hands over Mark’s shoulders, fully expecting to feel the moisture of blood oozing through his clothes.
“Oh!” shouted the boy, and Sir James winced, uttering a low hissing sound the while.
“It’s got him there,” said the doctor, between his teeth.
“Yes, it pricks,” said the boy. “It was only when you touched it.”
At that moment a light appeared from the direction of the first waggon, and the big bullock driver joined the party, ready to open his lantern and cast its rays upon the excited little throng, one of the first faces seen being that of the black guide, who, spear in hand, seemed to become one of the most animated, as he stood with his eyes flashing and his white teeth bared.
“Ahoy! Light’s here, sir!” shouted the sailor.