Not a word was spoken, and after the first rush and the scramble and panting of men making for the rocks, all was very still. Ngati led on, passing in and out among tree and bush, and mass of rock, as if his eyes were quite accustomed to the darkness, while, big as he was, his bare feet made no more sound than the paws of a cat.
Both Don and Jem followed as silently as they could, but they could not help catching against the various obstacles, and making noises which produced a warning “Hssh!” from their leader.
As they passed on they listened intently for sounds of pursuit, but for awhile there were none; the fact being that at the sound of the shot the convicts believed that they were attacked, and rushing out, they made for the mountain. But as no further shots were heard, they grew more bold, and, after waiting listening for awhile, they stole back to the shed that should have been occupied by Don and his friends; where, finding them gone, they hurried into their own place, found that the arms were taken, and, setting up a shout, dashed off in pursuit.
The shout sent a shiver through Don and Jem, for it sounded terribly near, and they hurried on close to the heels of Ngati, forgetful for the moment of the fact that they were armed, and their pursuers were weaponless.
After a time the sounds from the camp, which had been heard plainly on the night wind, ceased, and for the first time Don questioned Jem as to his injury.
“Where are you hurt, Jem?”
“Shoulder,” said that worthy, laconically.
“Again?”
“No; not again.”
“But I mean when the gun went off.”