“Hold on, lad. What’s the matter?”
He panted and drew his breath in a catching way for a few minutes before whispering back,—
“Nothing. Only a sudden giddiness.”
Jem made no comment, but gripped his hand tightly, and they stood listening, for the shadow cast faintly on the walls was motionless, and it was evident that their enemy was listening.
“I’m going on, Ramsden,” said the boatswain. “Come along!”
“All right, sir. Join you as soon as I’ve got my prisoners.”
“Hold ’em tight,” shouted the boatswain, and then there was a loud rustling sound, followed by the words faintly heard, “Look sharp. It’s of no use fooling there.”
Don could hear Ramsden mutter something, but he did not seem to be coming on; and mastering the dull, sluggish feeling, accompanied by a throbbing headache, the lad stole cautiously back to where he could look round and see their approaching enemy between them and the light.
To his intense surprise he found the man had his back to them, and was retiring; but as he watched, Ramsden made an angry gesticulation, turned sharply and came on again, but seemed to catch his foot against a projecting piece of rock, stumble and fall forward, his cutlass flying two or three yards on before him with a loud jingling noise.
What followed riveted Don to the spot.