“Trees, rocks, sky; nothing more,” said Mark; “but the sea must be straight before us, and it cannot be many miles away.”
He turned and began to climb down backwards, and reached the level at the bottom of the steep scarp, when, looking up, he could not help smiling at the great care Billy displayed in descending, for he lowered his short legs over the edge as he held on and began feeling about in a most absurdly comical manner for the nearest projection which he could touch.
He was in this position, about fifteen feet above the spot where Mark waited, when, with a noise that was almost deafening, the frightful roar which had startled the whole party burst out from just inside the cave where they had slept.
The sound was so awful in its intensity that Mark shuddered as he stood there almost petrified, while at the first burst poor Billy Widgeon loosed his hold and dropped down shrunken up together as if he were trying to emulate the manner of a hedgehog, and as he fell, he just touched the ground, sprang up, and began to run.
“Mr Mark, sir, run—run, my lad, run!”
To his credit, be it said, that he stopped short and waited for Mark to come up, terrified as he was, and then sent him on first, while he covered him from behind.
Neither spoke for some time, but, regardless of direction, ran where they could, but oftener walked, or even crept, through the dense forest, always with the sensation that the huge beast that had uttered that frightful roar was crashing through the trees on their track.
By degrees though they recovered their confidence somewhat, gradually realising that there was no sound behind them, and at last they paused panting and exhausted to wipe the perspiration from their brows, and listen.
“Hear it coming, Mr Mark, sir?”
“No,” said Mark after a few moments, “I can hear nothing.”