“Only one, I think, uncle, for it’s the same man who keeps coo-eeing.”
“Impossible to say yet,” was whispered back by his uncle. “Feel frightened?”
“Well, I hardly know,” said the boy. “I don’t feel at all comfortable, and keep on wishing they’d gone.”
“Naturally, my boy. I shall fire a shot or two over their heads when they come close in. That will scare them, I expect.”
“Coo-ee!” came from the darkness before them, but they could see nothing now, for all near the ground and among the trees was almost black, though overhead the stars were coming out fast, and eight or ten feet above the bushes it was comparatively light.
“Coo-ee!” came again from apparently a couple of hundred yards away, but not another sound.
“Creeping up very cautiously. Suspicious because of the fire, and receiving no answer,” whispered the captain. “They thought it was the camp-fire of their tribe, but now feel sure it is a white man’s fire.”
“Queer work this,” whispered Uncle Jack to Norman, who was with him on the other side of the track, the fire lying between them and the captain.
“Yes, isn’t it, uncle?” was whispered back.
“I’m beginning to ask myself why I’m here when I ought to be in London at my club.”