The black listened eagerly, and partly comprehended.
“Marmi no pidney. Think mine spear bull-cow. Baal, baal throw.”
He shook his head violently, and then running back and recovering the other spear—his own—he stood attentively watching the scrub, his eyes wandering along the ridge and from place to place as if in search of enemies.
“What do you say, Ned?” whispered Uncle Jack; “are you going to trust him?”
“No, I cannot yet,” said the captain. “We must be thoroughly on our guard.”
“The poor fellow has proved himself a faithful servant, though.”
“What? That colt?”
“A boy’s freak. He did not behave dishonestly.”
“Well, I do not trust him yet Jack; but I may be wrong. Let’s reconnoitre.”
“Where all white Mary?” said Shanter, turning back suddenly.