“From the blacks.”
“There, I knew it!” cried Nic. “The cunning rascals, and they pretended they had no idea of where you were.”
“Poor fellows,” said the convict, smiling bitterly; “they are faithful enough.”
“But they might have told me,” said Nic. “Even you don’t seem to trust me now.”
“How can a man, who is hunted like a wild beast with dogs and black trackers, trust any one, boy?” cried the convict fiercely. “You know what it would have been if they had found me, and I had run instead of surrendering. They would have shot me down like a savage beast.”
Nic nodded as he gazed up at the fierce countenance, whose eyes seemed to glare down at him.
“There,” continued the convict, “you have found me. Of course you know there is a heavy reward. You can earn it for pocket money.”
“Yes,” cried Nic, speaking fiercely now, “and go over to the village tuck shop, and spend it with my school-fellows.”
“Of course,” said the man banteringly. “Only there’s one drawback, boy. You are caught in a trap there, and when you are found there will only be your bones.”
“Oh, I say, Leather, what a savage you have turned! I say, have a bit of damper? I have some left.”