“Yes, sir, an hour. Well, if they knew the way we came and followed on, it would take them hours more than it has taken us.”
“Why?” said Cyril sharply.
“Why, sir? because,” said John Manning, with one of his dry chuckles, “they’ll have to come along very slowly, searching among the trees as they come, for fear of overrunning the scent; for as it’s dark, they’ve got nothing to guide ’em, and I hope they won’t find much when it’s light, for the sun will soon dry up the dew which shows the marks made by brushing it off. We’re all right till they hit the track we’ve come, and that won’t be till some time to-morrow, if they hit it then.”
“Oh, they’ll know the way we’ve come,” said Perry, who was breathing hard from excitement.
“They must be very clever then, sir,” said John Manning drily. “I should say they’ll think we’ve made for the way we came.”
“Speak lower,” said Cyril. “Why?”
“Because, says they, these white fellows haven’t got any guides now, and they only know one road, so they’re sure to take it.”
“Yes, that sounds likely,” said Perry sharply; “but how was it we could hear them shouting?”
“I know that,” said Cyril. “The air is so clear right up here in the mountains, and the wind is this way. It’s like seeing. You know how close the peaks seem when they’re twenty miles away.”
“Yes, sir, and sounds run along a hollow like this wonderfully. Why, I remember in one of the passes up in India, we in the rearguard could hear the men talking right away in the front as easily as if we were close to them.”