“Mumkull? Afraid Leather would kill them for telling?”
“That’s it, sir, safe.”
There was something to stir the pulses of Nic soon after, and he somehow felt glad that he did not know the convict’s hiding-place, for a dozen of the colonial mounted police rode up, followed by half a dozen black trackers and a couple of chained and muzzled, fierce-looking dogs, whose aspect sent a shiver through Nic, excited the indignation of the collies, and drove Nibbler into a fit of fury, making him bound to the end of his chain so savagely that he dragged his tub kennel out of its place and drew it behind him, making him look like some peculiar snaily quadruped trying to shed its shell.
“Better shut up your dogs, sir,” said the policeman who had been once before. “Letter for Mrs Braydon.”
The dogs were quieted and shut away, so that they could not commit suicide by dashing at the powerful brutes held in leash; and once more, while the police were being refreshed, Mrs Braydon read her letter over to her children, who learned that the governor was no better, that the doctor was bound to stay, and that while he regretted this, and the bad news about the assigned servant, every assistance ought to be given to the police who had come to fetch him back to the chain gang.
Nic said nothing, but after a time he saddled Sorrel, and rode with the police leader as they started for their first search.
“Now, Mr Braydon,” said the man, “your father said that we must take this fellow; so as in all probability you know where he is, perhaps you’ll tell us which way to go and capture him.”
“I don’t know,” said Nic quickly.
The man smiled.
“You needn’t disbelieve me,” said Nic warmly. “I tell you I haven’t the least idea.”