The attention of the slaver’s men had evidently been attracted by the sounds, for from where Murray crouched down among the thick growth, he saw that two of the party had stopped short to gaze straight away before them, but not in the direction where the fugitives waited to be discovered; and the young officer, when he afterwards thought over the matter, decided that though they must have heard the noise that was made, it was when several of their companions were talking aloud, so that the listeners had not been able to tell with certainty from whence the cry had come. For after a short colloquy, during which Murray could distinctly see that the two men in question were addressing their fellows who surrounded them, there was a little gesticulating, a pointing towards a different portion of the forest, and the gang went off along what proved to be a well-beaten track.
“Hah!” ejaculated Murray, after waiting impatiently for what seemed to be a full quarter of an hour. “I think we’ll make a movement soon, Tom May.”
“Right, sir. Where to? One moment first. You’d better take my musket, sir, because I shall have to carry Mr Roberts. I wish they’d come to their senses so as we could make sure that they don’t let out again as if they wanted to tell the enemy where we are.”
“What’s the matter?” cried Roberts, in a tone which made his brother midshipman start. “Has some one been hurt?”
He was in pain, but seemed to be quite calm and sensible now, as he listened to Murray’s explanation of the position in which they were.
“It’s bad,” he said. “I can hardly understand it, for I’ve been in a regular feverish dream. But tell me, what are you going to do?”
Before Murray could answer, Titely sat up suddenly.
“That you, Tom May?” he said huskily.
“Ay, messmate,” was the reply. “Me it is. What is it?”
“Take the tin, mate, and dip me a drink o’ water.—Why, hullo! Where are we now? Not out in the forest?”