“My pakeha! My pakeha!” said a deep voice; and Jem became aware of the fact that the big chief he had so often seen on board the ship, and who had come to them with the present of fruit when they were guarding the boat, was kneeling down and gently rubbing Don.
“Is he dead?” said Jem in a whisper.
“No, not this time,” said the gruff voice out of the darkness. “Pretty nigh touch, though, for both of you. Why didn’t you hail sooner?”
“Hail sooner?” said Jem.
“Yes. We came in the canoe to fetch you, but you didn’t hail, and it was too dark to see.”
“We couldn’t hail,” said Jem, sulkily. “It would have brought the boats down upon us.”
“Ah, so it would,” said the owner of the gruff voice. “There’s three boats out after you.”
“And shall you give us up?”
“Give you up? Not I. I’ve nothing to do with it; you must talk to him.”
“My pakeha!” cried the big chief excitedly.