“Was it very dangerous?” he said.
“Very; or I would not have asked you to be bound. Now, my lad, good-bye.”
“No, no; I have quite a load of meal for you on the horse.”
“There is no time to fetch it. Leave it for me on the chance of my finding it.”
“But where? You never will.”
The convict thought for a moment.
“I’ll tell you,” he said. “Lay it in the crack close to the edge of the precipice where I held you half over that day. Cover it with grass. It will be on your way home, and I shall be able to find it if the coast is clear. Once more: straight away for where your horse is grazing. Can you find it, do you think?”
“Oh yes. I can follow my way back,” said Nic. “I shall see my tracks here and there.”
“Then once more: good-bye.”
He turned sharply and disappeared, while, tired and disappointed, Nic had a hard task to retrace his steps to the horse, whistling for it as he drew near where he felt that it ought to be, and gladdened at last, just as darkness was falling, by a responsive neigh.