“What for?”
“To protect yourself.”
“Don’t leave temptation in my way, boy,” was the stern reply. “No; I will not have it. Brookes and I might meet. There are plenty of trees to cut myself a stout stick for a weapon, or I can defend myself with my hands. Look, there are three notches in the stone where you can place your feet. Up with you! You can find your way. Good-bye.”
Nic could not say “good-bye,” but he grasped the convict’s hand before climbing up the narrow shaft-like place and raising his head cautiously above the level.
A kangaroo loped gently by—evident proof that there was no danger—and, drawing himself right out, Nic dived in among the trees and rocks, and began to return by the way he came.
He had so much to think of that the way back did not seem to be so very long; and at last he reached the spot where he had left his nag, mounted, and rode home, wondering whether Brookes had found that flour and suspected anything.