But what could poor savages do against the deadly fire of civilized warfare. When another of their number paid the penalty of his rashness, the other three took fright and went racing and tumbling down the hill so quickly that no more of Benee's shots took effect.
Roland had given Benee a field-glass before he started, and through this he watched the flying figures for many a mile, noting exactly the way they took, and determining in his own mind to choose a somewhat different route, even though he should have to make a wide detour.
He started downhill almost immediately, well-knowing that these dark-skinned devils would return reinforced to seek revenge.
He knew, moreover, that they could follow up a trail, so he did all in his power to pick out the hardest parts of this great moorland on which to walk.
He came at last to a stream. It was very shallow, and he plunged in at once.
This was indeed good luck, and Benee thought now that Peggy's God, who paints the sky at sunrise, was really looking after him. He could baulk his pursuers now, or, at least, delay them. For they would not be able to tell in which direction he had gone.
So Benee walked in the water for three miles. This walk was really a leaping run. He would have gone farther, but all at once the stream became very rapid indeed, and on his ears fell the boom of a waterfall.
So he got on shore with all haste.
But for five miles on from the foot of the leaping, dashing, foaming linn, the stream was flanked by acres of round, smooth boulders.
These could tell no tale. On these Benee would leave no trail. He leapt from one to the other, and was rejoiced at last to find that they led him to a forest.