But they had a scare a quarter of an hour later, the second party of blacks coming into sight suddenly, not twenty yards away, tramping in Indian file, with their spears over their shoulders, and for the moment Jack’s heart seemed to stand still, and he grasped his weapon, ready to make one blow for his life.
For it seemed impossible that the men could pass by—men of such a keen, observant nature—without seeing the pair lying there amongst the trailing growth of the potatoes.
Worse still, they came nearer, so as to avoid a block of stone in their way, and one of the number leaped upon it, and after a look round, uttered the call of his tribe, just as one of a flock of running birds does to keep the rest together.
“Now for it,” thought Jack, as the black looked straight in his direction, and he prepared to spring up as the man leaped down, and seemed about to run at him, spear in hand.
But just when an encounter for life or death seemed inevitable, the savage trotted on, and the others followed, seeming to grow shorter, till one by one they disappeared, shoulders, heads, tops of the spears, dissolving into the coming gloom of evening.
“Oh, scissors!” whispered Ned. “I say, Mr Jack, sir, if I’d held my breath much longer, I’m sure all the works would have stopped.”
“I thought it was all over, Ned.”
“Yes, sir, so did I; but I meant to have a dig at one or two of ’em first. Talk about as near as a toucher, that was nearer. How do you feel now?”
“Heart beats horribly.”
“So does mine, sir. It’s going like a steam-pump with too much to do. But who’s afraid?”