For there was a faint rustling of the dry corn-leaves, which stopped, and went on again in the utter darkness, while beyond it the low murmur of talking continued.
“The talking kept on to cover Humpy’s movements,” thought Nic. “He has heard us, and is coming to listen.”
Pete snored again, moved uneasily, and began to mutter in a low tone:
“Couldn’t throw Humpy Dee?” he said. “Let you see. Better wrastler than him. Snore—snurrk!”
The rustling ceased, and then went on again.
“Where’s that there moog o’ zyder, lads?” muttered Pete in a dull, stupid way. “Where’s the huff-cap?”
Then he smacked his lips, and said “Hah!” softly, turned himself over, yawned, and began to snore, keeping it up steadily, while the rustling went on; but it sounded now as if the man who made it was retiring.
Nic listened, with every nerve on the strain, while Pete kept on the snoring, and a minute later he made out clearly enough that Humpy Dee had returned to his companions, and distinctly heard the change in the conversation, as the man whispered the result of his investigation.
Pete’s snore was lower now, and sounded as if it would last; but it did not, for the next moment Nic was conscious that his comrade was leaning over him; a pair of lips touched his ear, and a voice whispered:
“He thinks he’s clever, but we can be too sharp for him.”