“The smoke got in my eyes, and I could not see whether one fell.”
“Take the dog, then, and see if he can find it,” said the major, smiling to himself. But after a good search the lad came back hot and disappointed.
“Better luck next time, my boy,” said the major. “You are not the only one who did not hit his first bird. Shooting is not so easy as fishing in the sea.”
The question now arose whether to go on further or to return. They had obtained eight good weighty birds, and the heat was great; but Mark was so anxious to try and make better use of his piece that the pigeons just shot were hung up similarly to the first, and they proceeded, to find hopeful signs of an abundance of fruit, some of which was familiar to the major from his having encountered it in different parts of the East, while other kinds looked promising enough for testing.
But though a sharp look-out was kept, no other opportunity for a shot presented itself.
The reason was plain enough—they were unable to get along without making a good deal of noise; and though the smaller birds of brilliant plumage paid little heed, the larger, such as might have been used for food, took flight before they got within shot, as they often knew by the flapping and beating of their wings.
They were slowly descending one beautiful slope after carefully taking in some landmarks so as to guide them on their return, when all at once Mark laid his hand upon the major’s arm and pointed to an opening in the jungle about a hundred yards away.
“What is it?” said the major sharply. “Ah! that looks bad;” and he pressed Mark back under cover.
“Savages?” whispered the lad.
“I’m afraid so. It’s a bad sign and a good sign.”