He caught the boatswain’s arm again and tried to draw him away back into the darkness. For the moment Strake resisted, then he gave way and allowed himself to be drawn toward the man on guard.
“Now we shall lose him, sir,” said the boatswain in a gruff whisper. “I’d got my eye on him, and was just a-going to give a pounce when you stopped it.”
“Yes; but look here, Strake,” whispered Syd. “Each time it has been seen it came up this way from somewhere close to the gun. If we stop here we shall trap it.”
“But will it come back by here?”
“Yes, I feel sure. It goes up there to prowl about and get food, and then it comes back to hide somewhere here in these cracks among the rocks.”
“Werry good, sir; I dare say you knows best. What shall I do—shoot it, or give it a chop with the cutlash?”
“No; it may be a man—and we don’t want to shed blood.”
“Right, sir. Then we watches here?”
“Yes,” said Syd, taking his place behind a block of stone, though it was so dark there was hardly need to hide. Strake followed his example, and they crouched down, with their ears on the strain, satisfied now that the clicking sound of stones striking together was made by this creature, whatever it was.
“You must be on your guard, sir,” whispered Strake. “Whatever it is, it’ll be sure to scratch or bite. But so sure as you make a grab I shall be there, and he won’t kick much with me atop of him. Hist!”