“Or Brookes.”
“Was he anywhere near, Nic?”
The boy nodded.
“That’s bad, my boy,” said the convict, with the bright look fading out of his face, to leave it cold and hard. “There, the sun is getting low; we have the tunnel to go through, and then you have a long walk back to your horse. We have been going too fast, Nic. I’m afraid you must wait some time before you come again.”
Nic looked pained, and sat gazing at his companion sadly.
“Must I go now?” he said.
“Yes.”
Nic thrust his stockings into his pocket, tied his shoes together to sling over his arm, and picked up his gun. Then reluctantly he followed his silent companion to the mouth of the tunnel-like cavern, where a bigger piece of touchwood was lit, and they commenced the return journey.
It was up hill, but it did not seem half so far; and at last they stopped close to the well-like opening, down whose side the water trickled musically.
“Frank,” said Nic, “I’m going to leave you my gun.”