The mountain, if the captain was right, made no farther sign, and now began the most interesting part of the journey. With the exception of having to be careful not to stumble over the blocks of coral limestone which lay here and there in their road, it was easy walking in spite of the darkness, while this latter was modified by the brilliant stars overhead, the dazzling scintillations of the fireflies, which flittered out whenever any of the bushes which fringed the sands were approached—and the soft, luminous, oil-like appearance at the edge of the lake.
But the sand was soft, and it seemed to Jack as if they would never reach the boat.
In the darkness Edward edged up close to his young master, and whispered—
“Tired, Mr Jack?”
“Dreadfully.”
“Makes one’s legs feel as if they were made of cast lead.”
“Or stones,” said Jack.
“Well, p’r’aps you’re right, sir. Stone is more like it. Let me carry your gun, sir. Seems to get heavier every step, don’t it?”
“Yes; and the cartridges too. Thank you, Ned. I should be glad to get rid of them. No, you’ve got your own to carry, and—I say, how do you feel now? I mean, after your fall.”
“Oh, bit stiff, sir. There’s nothing broken; but I don’t go quite so well as usual. Shan’t be sorry to get back to the yacht. Better give me your gun, sir.”