Chapter Thirty Seven.
After “Wiggling.”
“Where do you suppose we are, Punch?”
“Don’t quite know,” was the reply. “Chap can’t think with his arms strapped behind him and his wrists aching sometimes as if they were sawn off and at other times being all pins and needles. Can you think?”
“Not very clearly; and it has been too dark to see much. But where should you say we are? Quite in a new part of the country?”
“No; I think we came nearly over the same ground as we were going after we left that good old chap’s cottage; and if we waited till it was quite daylight, and we could start off, I think I could find my way back to where we left the old man.”
“So do I,” said Pen eagerly. “That must be the mountain that the contrabandista captain took us up in the darkness.”
“Why, that’s what I was thinking,” said Punch; “and if we had gone on a little farther I think we should have got to the place where the Frenchies attacked us. Of course I ain’t sure, because it was all in the darkness. But, I say, Mr Contrabando and his fellows have given up the pursuit. I haven’t heard anything of them for hours now.”