Chapter Forty Eight.
The Other Side.
As the two boys made their way amongst the scattered stones they caught sight of the doctor stepping out on to the terrace where Wilton stood, glass in hand, scanning the opposite terraces and the sharp edge of the top, where the precipice stood out clear against the sky.
“I wonder whether they’ll hit on a good idea,” said Ned. “Here, let’s sit down. I say, Griggs, you might be a good fellow and give my rifle-barrel a brush out too.”
“I don’t say I won’t,” replied the American. “I might give yours a touch up too, squire. I’ll see,” he continued. “I don’t expect you’re in very good trim for pumping water through gun-barrels.”
“No,” said Chris, wincing as he raised his arm and lowered it again as if passing a cleaning-rod through the piece.
“Here, steady!” cried Griggs. “Don’t take yours to pieces yet. One at a time. We might want to have another shot or two at these red Robin Hoods.”
“’Tisn’t likely,” said Ned.
“Isn’t it? You never know what’s likely with those gentlemen. While we’re out here in the wilds we want to be always ready for action.”
The American chatted away as he took his rifle to pieces, washing, carefully drying, and oiling it, in the hot sunshine, while Chris placed himself in a restful position to avoid aches and pains, and Ned leaned back against a stone with his hands behind his head, never once joining in the conversation. In fact, part of the time he seemed to be dozing, for his eyes were half-closed. At last, though, he started suddenly, made a gesture with his open hand as if catching a fly off his leg, and exclaimed—