CHAPTER XVIII.
ENTRAPPED.
“Hurrah! they have turned tail, they are making off!” exclaimed Mokesuep.
That hero had all the while been trembling with fear; he had been in mortal terror lest the pigs should break through the line of fire; for if they had succeeded in doing so, a close struggle with the sword bayonet would probably have ensued. Therefore he had most anxiously been peering about to see if he could discover any way of retreat up the steep mountain sides. If, during that morning there had been shots fired which had flown wide of the mark, such misses had been due to his shaking hand. Indeed, some of his bullets had gone right over the wall of rock which hemmed in the ravine on all sides; but most fortunately had not injured any of the Javanese who were beating on the other side. The unpleasant whistling, however, of the projectiles from Mokesuep’s rifle had scared the natives, and it was in a measure owing to those stray shots that the beaters had given up the battue rather sooner than they ought to have done.
Grenits was in a rage. “What are you hurrahing about,” cried he to Mokesuep, “you were never born to be a Nimrod, that’s plain enough!”
“Well,” stammered the coward, whose lips were still white with fear; “it is all right, is it not?”
“All right!” cried Grenits, “no, it’s all wrong. Don’t you see that the remnant of the herd will get clear away? Come! forward! They are getting away, I tell you, we must get after them and not let a single head escape! Forward, boys, forward!”
The other young men, who were just as much vexed as was Grenits at the unsatisfactory result of their hunt, rushed into the pass together rifle in hand. Mokesuep only, very prudently remained behind, not even could the Wedono get him to follow by crying out to him, “Come! quick, sir.” Our hero merely shook his head and stood looking after his companions until they disappeared out of his sight. Then throwing his rifle over his shoulder he took the road to Banjoe Pahit as he muttered to himself:
“No doubt, that’s all very well; but I shall take precious good care not to come into contact with that filthy vermin. No, no, I shall go and have a chat with the wife of Verstork’s cook—who knows what I may manage to do in that quarter! A nice little woman that! A devilish sly dog that Controller; what fun if I could get some shooting over his preserves!”