Chapter Nineteen.
Prisoners.
“There’s a pretty go!” he cried, as he lifted the now light basket and put it down again, and peered once more into the earthen jar. “Suppose they meant the rations and water to last for two or three days! There was a good supply, and that great beast has wolfed and drunk all. Well, it has made him friends, anyhow. He will be coming again. Yes; but who wants a friend like that to keep coming again?”
The lad glanced in the direction of his fellow-prisoner, to find that he was still sleeping; and his next proceeding was to go gingerly about, disturbing the dry leaves as little as possible, and making a more thorough examination of the place.
“Must have been a helephant stable once upon a time,” he concluded at last, “for here’s the great post that one of the big pigs was chained to by the leg so that he could not get at the walls. Walls! They are nothing better than so many fences. Talk about shutting up a helephant! Why, I could pull them down myself if I wanted to get away—leastways I could climb up the side and make a hole through the roof. Can’t call one’s self a prisoner. Yes, I can, because I am regularly chained by the leg; for who’s going to leave his comrade? Poor old chap!”
At that moment there was a deep sigh, followed by a loud rustling amongst the leaves, as Archie made an effort to change his position, slightly raising his head, but letting it fall back with a low groan, while the young private stepped softly to his side, knelt down, and bent over him.
“Hurt you much, Mister Archie, sir?” the lad whispered quietly, and one hand played over the injured head, hesitated, and was then withdrawn. “Hurt you, Mister Archie, sir?” he said again, a little louder, for there was only a weary sigh. “Wish he’d speak,” said the lad to himself, “for he ought to have something, if it’s only a drop more water. What a fool I was to let that great indiarubber thing suck it all up! Why, I couldn’t even use some of it now to bathe his poor head.”
The poor fellow seemed to Pegg to be sleeping as heavily as ever, and after he had looked at him carefully for a few minutes, there was a deep, buzzing hum as of some insect, and a great fly flashed across the golden rays which streamed in through the thatch, and hovered around for a few moments as if about to settle upon the sleeping lad’s head.
“Would you?” ejaculated Peter Pegg, striking out so fiercely and exactly that he struck the insect with a sharp pat and drove it against the woven wall, with which it was heard to come in contact, to fall directly, buzzing and rustling among the dried leaves. “That’s settled you,” said Peter. “I know your little game—lay eggs and make a poor fellow’s wound go bad. Not this time!”