“He will not track us now,” I said breathlessly. “They’ll think we have crossed.”
“Then they’ll think we’re drowned, and go and tell mother,” said Esau, stopping short. “Here, let’s go back.”
“Not now we have gone so far,” I said. “I could not face Mr Raydon now. Besides, they will know that we could take care of ourselves.”
“Course they would,” said Esau. “Come on.” But before we had gone a hundred yards he said, “Why they won’t know it is us yet.”
We tramped on as quickly as we could go for the darkness, and by degrees the barking of the dog grew more faint in the distance, and finally ceased.
“There,” said Esau; “they’ll be clever if they find us now.”
“And we shall be clever if we find our way.”
“Oh, I’ll find my way. I shall never forget how to get to that place, after what happened that day.”
I shuddered, for his words brought up my long illness, and made me tramp on down alongside the stream with a curious sensation of awe.
For the darkness was at times intense, and in the blackest parts the river seemed to dash and roar in a way that was startling, and as we had never heard it before.