Jack said nothing, but began to crawl away as fast as his tingling, helpless limbs would allow, feeling that so long as they got away from their captors it did not so much matter which direction they took. He turned his head from time to time to see if Ned was all right, and found that he was lamely struggling on after him, but always gave him a cheery look.
Jack followed the rugged little ditch-like place, which had evidently been carved out by one of the rivulets which ran down from the mountain, but after following it some time and turning to look back at Ned, he suddenly dropped flat on his face and began to crawl out of it, and toward the shelter of the forest, which came close up.
“What’s the matter?” said Ned.
“Don’t lift your head; creep as flat as you can, and let’s get among the bushes.”
“That’s right enough; but why? It won’t be such good going.”
“We’ve been crawling higher and higher,” said Jack, “and when I turned to see how you were getting on, I looked down over your shoulder, on to the smoke of the fire, and the blacks were lying about it, and just at that moment one of them jumped up, and then all the rest followed, and they must have missed us!”
“Shall we get up and run then?”
“No, no, they may not come this way. Hark! what’s that?”
“Wind. Why, I didn’t see it coming, only thought it was evening. We’re in for a storm.”
“Never mind, if it will only keep them from following us, Ned.”