All this had to be done slowly and deliberately so as not to startle the flock, but, as Rifle said, it was ticklish work.
“Yes. I expect to see black heads starting up every moment,” whispered Norman. “Now then, we’re far enough. Quickly and steadily. Come along.”
The boys bore round to their left so as to be between the sheep and the open country, and the outsiders of the flock began to move before them without taking alarm, stopping to munch a bit of grass now and then, and causing others to move in turn; till, as the boys walked on, they at last had their backs to the scrub and the sheep going steadily toward the house.
“Wasn’t so difficult after all,” said Rifle, quietly. “Couldn’t we pen three or four? Why is father signalling?”
“Hi! look out!” shouted Norman, for he had seen his father waving one hand excitedly; and casting an eye back there were twenty or thirty spear-armed savages just darting out of the scrub, and running swiftly in pursuit.
The sight of the enemy made the boys start forward at once; the sheep began to trot, then increased their pace as the boys ran faster, and, dividing into two little flocks, tore past north and south of the house and enclosures, in front of which stood the captain and Uncle Jack, with Sam German running out to their support.
“Quick, boys!” shouted the captain. “Run on and get under cover.”
At that moment Rifle saw Tim at the door of the house waving his hands, and to the boys’ horror there was the reason: another crowd of black figures were racing up from the trees and bushes down by the river.
But they, like the other party, had a good distance to come, and the issue was never for a moment doubtful.
One incident, though, made the captain shout angrily.