"Your escape has bucked them more than anything. Bill has told them some wonderful story about your voyage on the raft, and if you talked about taking a trip to the moon I believe they'd think it feasible."
"Things couldn't be better, then. Suppose we start about eight o'clock--the enemy will all be asleep by then--we should have ten hours' grace before sunrise, more than long enough to get to the village, barring accidents."
"That is, if they don't find out that we've gone."
"Of course. I don't see why they should do that. They've never shown any inclination to attack us in the darkness, and if any of them keep a watch on the causeway side, they certainly don't at the other end, or Coja couldn't have got in. That's our way out. We shall have to keep the men quiet, but we've done that before, and when we've explained to them what's at stake they'll be on their mettle. We'll cross the pool in the canoes, and the paddles won't make any sound that they can hear, if we're careful."
"I've an idea. While we're ferrying our things over, and most of the men, why not start the others on a sing-song? That would drown any noise we might make."
"And wake the enemy! They'd wonder what was up. Why should we disturb their rest? Better not make any difference in our usual ways, I think: keep our fires burning, and give 'em no reason to think we're doing anything out of the ordinary."
"You're right. There's a risk that in spite of all our care they'll hear something, but it will take 'em some time to make sure that we've gone, and it's ten to one they won't pursue us in the darkness."
"And when they do find out, in the daylight, they'll probably waste some time in picking up the trail, unless they are good trackers, which we've no evidence of. I fancy we shall get, as I said, a good ten hours' start of them, and I defy 'em to catch us then--again barring accidents."
"D'you think you can stand the march?"
"I'm going to chance it, anyway. Your rubbings have done me a deal of good, and we can't go very fast at night, so I think I'll manage to keep up. If I can't, you must just sling me on to a litter. I'm eleven stone two--or was; I suspect I've lost a few pounds lately; but four men could toddle along with me, and a dozen will have loads in any case. There's the ammunition, and all that flummery I gave to them; they won't want to leave that."