“Tired and hot.”
“So do I, but I didn’t mean that. Do you feel fighty?”
“Fighty? No; not at all. Rather, as if I should like to run away.”
“That’s frank,” said Panton.
“Well, it’s the truth. I’m weak and done up, and I don’t think I’m one of the fighting sort. It doesn’t seem nice either to shoot at human beings, but I suppose we shall have to.”
“Yes, it’s their lives or ours, my lad; but as you say, it’s not nice. You won’t think me a coward, will you, if I tell you that I feel just the same as you do?”
“Hush! don’t talk,” whispered Drew, who was a little way in front, keeping a sharp look-out, “I don’t think they are far ahead. Ready to go on?”
“Yes,” said the others in a breath, and the toilsome march was resumed, Drew, as the lightest and most active, going in front, the two sailors following, and Oliver Lane and Panton, as the weakest of the party, bringing up the rear.
The sun beat down with tremendous force, but the heat was forgotten in the excitement, as, forced by circumstances to imitate the savages, the little party crept cautiously on, taking advantage of every bit of cover and keeping well in under the shade of the trees at the edge of the forest. At any moment it was felt that they might come upon the rear of the enemy, when, if undiscovered, the aim was to remain in hiding. If seen, Drew proposed to wait until there was any attack, and then fire; the others to follow, taking their cue from him, and without hurrying, following one another, so as to give those who fired first time to reload and continue a steady fusillade. This, it was hoped, would drive the savage crew into confusion and enable the party to get on to where they would be opposite to the brig, when they could rush across without running the risk of being fired at by their friends, who would have had fair warning of their approach and be ready to help them.
These were their plans, but everything depended upon the Papuans, who had unaccountably disappeared.