Don felt the hot blood surge through his veins as one of the three guards gave him a harsh thrust with his spear, but he did not wince, only lay back patiently and waited till the men had gone. They secured the way into the pah, after which they squatted down, and began talking together in a low voice.
Don listened to them for a time, and then turned over to where Jem lay as if asleep.
“Is it dark enough?” he whispered.
“Plenty. I’m ready.”
“Can you manage to get over?”
“I will get over,” said Jem, almost fiercely. “Wait a little while, Mas’ Don.”
“I can’t wait, Jem,” he whispered. “I feel now as if I must act. But one minute: I don’t like leaving these poor creatures in their helplessness.”
“More do I; but what can we do? They won’t stir to help themselves. Only thing seems to me is to get away, and try and find some one who will come and punish the brutes as brought us here.”
Don’s heart sank, but he knew that his companion’s words were those of truth, and after a little hesitation he touched Jem with his hand, and then began to crawl slowly across the open space toward the fence.
He looked back to make sure that Jem was following, but the darkness was so thick now, that even at that short distance he could not see him. Just then a touch on his foot set him at rest, and he crept softly on, listening to the low muttering of the men at the gate, and wondering whether he could find the rough part of the fence to which Jem had directed his attention.