The steam jet hissed, and the vapour rose like a dim spectral form; the water gurgled and splashed faintly, but there was no other sound, and, going softly in the direction of the opening, Ngati led the way.
“We must leave it to him, Jem, and go where he takes us,” whispered Don.
“Can’t do better,” whispered back Jem. “Wait just a moment till I get this strap o’ the gun over my shoulder. It’s awkward to carry both gun and spear.”
“Wait till we get farther away, Jem.”
Crash! A flash of fire, and a report which echoed like thunder from the face of the rocks.
Jem, in passing the sling of the musket over his head, had let it fall upon the stones with disastrous effect.
“Run, Mas’ Don; never mind me.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Dunno.”
Jem was in a stooping posture as he spoke, but he rose directly, as there was a rush heard in the direction of the convicts’ lair, and catching Don’s hand they ran off stealthily after Ngati, who had returned, and then led the way once more.