Chapter Forty.
How the Roar proved to be—a Roar.
The task proved more simple than Mark had anticipated, and he went on, step by step, learning how it was that the Indians tracked their prey. Every now and then he was at fault, but on these occasions some other eye detected the trampled ferns, a broken twig, or a cane dragged out of place, and the result was that in a couple of hours the opening was reached where the rocky scarp rose up high toward the mountain, and the mouth of the cave yawned open before them.
Here there was a pause. What to do next?
“It’s awkward,” said the major, “supposing our friend’s at home. I don’t want to go first, and I’m sure I don’t want you to go, Strong.”
“Shall we send Billy Widgeon in first, sir?” said Small. “He’s a little un, and knows his way. Here, Billy, where are you?”
An inarticulate noise above their heads made them turn, to find that Billy had rapidly climbed a tree.
“Well, of all the cowards! Here, you come down,” cried Small.