“Yes, Bungarolo pidney.”
“Tell him he is to go right away and hide till the police fellows are gone.”
“Bungarolo pidney. Mine tell Leather fellow jump right away, and police fellow baal find.”
“That’s right. Go as soon as it’s dark.”
“You come along see?”
“No, I won’t watch you.”
The black nodded, and then laughed at some antics performed by the dogs, while Nic walked away feeling more comfortable in his own mind than he had since his father had returned—though that did not mean much.
He was fully on the qui vive, and several times went out into the dark, still night to listen for the tramp of horses, but the police did not come, and he went to bed to dream of Leather being shot down in the bush because he would not surrender.
The next morning, as soon as he was up, Nic went to look for his black messenger, but he was missing, and the other two blacks professed ignorance of his whereabouts.
“He has gone and not come back,” thought Nic; and he felt hopeful that, knowing his danger, the convict would escape right away along the gorge, and hide in some far-away fastness where he would be safe. But about the middle of the morning, to the boy’s horror, he saw Bungarolo come crawling up to the station driving a flock of sheep.