“Isn’t it a pity to leave the breakfast for those blacks?”
“Never mind the food, man,” began the doctor; but he checked himself. “Yes: try and get it,” he said; “people must eat.”
“Hold my gun, sir,” said Leather, who was now, full of animation; and, handing the piece to Nic, he dashed back to the fire, while the doctor followed him slowly, scanning the trees in all directions as he kept his cocked piece ready for instant use.
Leather lost no time when he reached the fire, but, catching up the freshly made damper, he dabbed it down into the cross-handled frying-pan on the top of the bacon, placed the tin mugs in the kettle of boiling tea, carried the tea and sugar canisters under his arm, and taking pan-handle in one hand, kettle-handle in the other, he trotted back in safety, the blacks having made no sign.
“Bravo! Well done!” cried the doctor; and Nic noted that the bright, animated look passed away, to give place to a sullen scowl, which came over the man’s face like a cloud.
“Help yourselves, men,” continued the doctor; and Brookes came to them once again.
“Nic,” said the doctor, “I am in agony. It may be all imagination, and if it is I should bitterly regret leaving the waggon. Do you see?”
“No, father; I don’t quite understand. Do you mean you want to ride on to the Bluff, and yet don’t want to because it may only be a scare?”
“Exactly. And if I did decide for us to ride on together, these men would take fright and leave the waggon to be plundered.”
The doctor paused to search the trees again, but all was still.