Just as they were on the point of setting out, Lavie purposely dropped the case which contained his rifle bullets, which were scattered in all directions on the ground. His companions ran to pick them up, and as their heads met, he said in a subdued but perfectly clear tone, “The large motjeeri to the south, in a quarter of an hour from the present time.”
The boys made no answer except a nod of intelligence, as each moved off with the guide assigned him. Then the rest of the Hottentots began creeping through the scrub, as stealthily as serpents, towards a large rock, under shelter of which a number of the doomed Bushmen might be seen, seated in a circle and engaged in devouring huge lumps of meat, which they had roasted at a large fire still smouldering close by.
Lavie watched their dusky figures as they disappeared among the foliage, and remained motionless at his post for the prescribed number of minutes. Then hurrying as fast as he could go towards the motjeeri, he found all three of his companions awaiting him.
“All right!” he exclaimed; “they are just on the point of making their attack, and won’t have eyes or ears for anything else. We must put on best speed, and not stop till we are five or six miles away at the least.”
A loud yell broke forth from the rock, as they commenced their flight, and was followed by another and another in quick succession. But they grew fainter as the boys hurried on, and soon ceased altogether.
Chapter Twelve.
The Flight—The Boys recaptured—A Council—The Shadow of Death—A Strange Deliverance.
“Not bad that,” said Nick, as he threw himself on the ground, panting and footsore, after a run of more than an hour. “We’ve not gone less than eight miles, I’ll take my ’davy, and this gun isn’t the lightest thing in the world to carry! Well, Charles, do you mean to make a halt of it here to-night, or are we to hoof it again?”