“Here, Shanter!” he said in a low whisper. “Come with me. Come along—show black fellow.”
There was no response for a moment or two, and then Rifle spoke.
“He isn’t here, father.”
“Not there?”
“No; he was lying down here just now, but while I was watching the trees over there, he must have crept away.”
“Crept away? But I want him to go with me to scout. Who saw him go?”
There was no reply, and feeling staggered by the ease with which these people could elude observation, and applying it to the enemies’ advance, the captain looked sharply round for danger, half expecting at any moment to see a dim-looking black form emerge from behind a bush, or others rapidly darting from tree to tree, so as to get within throwing distance with their spears.
“Well,” he said, “I must go alone. Keep a sharp look-out, boys.”
“What are you going to do, father?” said Norman.
“Scout,” said the captain, laconically.