“I arn’t in a hurry,” came in a surly growl.
“But I am. I want to get back before it’s light; we don’t want to be seen.”
“Don’t matter whether we’re seen or whether we arn’t; they’ll be awaitin’ for us.”
“Can’t help it, Pan,” said Syd with a sigh; “we’ve got to go through it.”
“I hope, Master Syd, you won’t get no rope’s-end.”
“I’d take yours for you if I could, Pan.”
“Ah, you say so,” sneered the lad, as he dragged one foot after the other, “but you know you can’t.”
“I know I would,” cried Syd, hotly. “But it’s of no use to talk. We’ve got to go through it like men would.”
“Men don’t have no rope’s-ending,” grumbled Pan.
They went on back for another half-mile, with the stars shining brightly, and seeming to wink derisively at them; and just as Sydney had fancied this, as he gazed up at the broad band of glittering light seen through the dense growth of trees which shut them in on either side, a loud, ringing, mocking laugh smote their ears, that sounded so strange and jeering, that the boys stopped short.