The blacks ran out, the settler followed, and the overseer went to the door last.
“I’ve warned you,” he said fiercely, as he turned to face the prisoners. “Make the slightest movement, and those hounds will be at your throats and rend you limb from limb. Good dogs, then—watch,” he shouted; then he banged the door, locked and barred it, and just then the settler’s voice was heard at a little distance.
“Here, Saunders,” he cried; “two of the loaded muskets have been taken from the hooks.”
“Hor, hor!” laughed Pete savagely; “just found that out?”
He ceased, for three dogs sprang to their feet, uttering a furious barking trio which made his heart seem to leap to his throat.
In the intense desire to save himself, Nic sprang up into a sitting position and spoke quickly and gently, calling to the dog which had shown a friendly disposition towards him from the first.
“Don’t do that, Master Nic,” said Pete hoarsely.
But even as the man spoke the dog was upon Nic’s bunk, whining, pawing at him, and thrusting its great muzzle in his hand, uttering the while a low, eager bark.
The others barked too, and, as if in imitation of their companion, made at Nic as well, favouring him with their clumsy caresses, and ending by sitting close up to him, panting loudly.
“Have they killed you, Master Nic?” whispered Pete hoarsely, eliciting a fierce growl from one of the brutes.