“Well, if you come to that,” said Jem, “yes. Poor old Tomati, for one; and it can’t be very nice for Ngati here, who has lost all his tribe.”
Ngati looked up sharply, watching them both intently in the gloomy cabin.
“But he don’t seem to mind it so very much.”
“What do you say to escaping without spears?”
“Oh, I’m willing,” replied Jem; “only I wouldn’t be in too great a hurry. Those chaps wouldn’t mind having a shot at us again, and this time they might hit.”
“What shall we do then?”
“Better wait, Mas’ Don. This sort o’ thing can’t last. We shall soon eat up all the fruit, and then they’ll make a move, and we may have a better chance.”
Don sighed and lay with his eyes half-closed, watching one particular star which shone in through the doorway.
But not for long. The star seemed to grow misty as if veiled by a cloud; then it darkened altogether; so it seemed to Don, for the simple reason that he had fallen fast asleep.
It appeared only a minute since he was gazing at the star before he felt a hand pressed across his mouth, and with a horrible dread of being smothered, he uttered a hoarse, stifled cry, and struggled to get free; but another hand was pressed upon his chest, and it seemed as if the end had come.