It was only a short distance from where we were to the boat, but it was really to be the most anxious part of all, and as we approached rattlesnake clearing, I involuntarily checked the others to look out cautiously before we left the dark pine-shade.
But all was still, the beautiful young growth glistening in the hot sunshine; and striking the path on the other side, gazing watchfully as we could, ready for attack, and fully expecting to see the Indians in possession of the boat, we finally reached the landing-place, where Pomp was laid in the stern, the weapons were placed ready, and faint and dripping with perspiration, I sank down beside Pomp as the rope was cast off.
Chapter Thirty Nine.
My eyes were for ever running from tree to bush, and plunged into the windings of the path, as Hannibal and Morgan seized the oars, sat down, and, after the head had been pushed off into the current, began to pull a heavy stroke that sent the boat rapidly along and out into the middle of the stream. For after my old experiences of starting from that landing-place, in addition to that which I had gone through that day, the nervous tension was so great that my imagination ran riot at first, and I saw dark faces peering out from among the canes, bronzed arms holding bows, while others drew arrows to the heads, and the loud yells of the Indians seemed to ring through my dizzy brain. But as, after we had reached the farther side of the stream, the boat surged on through the water with no sound really heard but the splash of the oars, I began to grow more calm, the more so that we passed clump after clump, and patch after patch of undergrowth, from which arrows came whizzing last time, to strike into the sides of the boat, or fix themselves in the box with a hollow sounding rap.
As soon as I could collect myself a little, I plunged my hands over the side and bathed my face, and drank. Then hurriedly turning to poor Pomp, I placed his head more easily, Hannibal’s great dark eyes watching me the while, and then took the tin baler, filled it with the cold, clear water, and began to bathe the boy’s temples, pausing again and again to trickle water between his closely-set teeth.
But for a long time he gave no sign of recovery, but lay back breathing faintly, and with his eyes tightly closed.
“Coming to, Master George?” said Morgan.
“No,” I had to reply again and again. And each time at my response I heard the boy’s father utter a sigh.