He told the watcher, too, that the black fellows ashore were still keeping up their fire, stopping probably to eat sometimes, but at others re-making the fire till it blazed again, and playing in the bright light at “Here we go round the mulberry bush.”
But the little incident that gave Carey the most satisfaction was that soon after Bostock’s return to his post at the skylight there was a soft rustling, a light thud on the floor, and directly after the black squatted down close by where the lad was seated, and, though he could not make out his figure, he felt sure that the Australian was watching him with the dumb patience of a dog.
“That you, Jackum?” he said, softly, and he stretched out his hand, to find it touched the black’s rough head, which seemed to press itself into his palm.
“Iss. Jackum eat big lot. ’Top here now. Car-ee go sleep.”
The boy sighed, and then there was silence till he spoke again.
“Will the black fellows come back soon?” he said, as he thought of the idea he had had about keeping them off.
“No come back. Go sleep roun’ fire. ’Top all snakum eatum.”
Twice over it seemed to Carey that he lost consciousness, though he never went fairly off to sleep, but sat there suffering terrible mental pain and the burning sensation in his chest as if he were being seared with a hot iron.
The night seemed as if it would never come to an end. Mallam had begun muttering hoarse threats again, and at last startled all into preparation for action by firing three times, each shot striking some place on the upper part of the staircase, and once shivering some glass.