“I’m afraid so. You heard Tomati say that there were desperate fights sometimes.”
“Don’t call him Tomati; I ’ates it,” growled Jem. “Well, I s’pose it is danger, then.”
“And we must look the matter in the face, Jem. If we go back those people will be at the village before us. Perhaps we shall meet them, and be made prisoners; but if we go on here, we shall save an hour, perhaps two. Yes, I shall climb down.”
“No, no; let me go first, Mas’ Don.”
“Why?”
“Because I shall do to tumble on if you do let go, or any bush breaks.”
“Here seems to be about the best place, Jem,” said Don, without heeding his companion’s last remark; and, setting his teeth, he lowered himself down, holding on by the bushes and aerial roots of the various tough, stunted pieces of vegetation, which clung to the decomposing volcanic rock.
Jem’s face puckered up as he set his teeth, and watched Don descend a few feet. Then, stooping over, he said cheerily,—
“That’s the way, Mas’ Don; take it cool, stick tight, and never think about the bottom. Are you getting on all right?”