“No more can I,” replied the other. “The reflection from the water on those rice-fields dazzles me painfully.”
“Look yonder—I fancy I can see a hut—surely the cry must have come from there,” said Grashuis.
Just then the cry was heard again, but much more faintly.
“Help! help! toean!”
“That is a woman’s voice,” repeated Grenits, “she is crying to us for help.”
“But,” said Grashuis, “what toeans can she be calling to?”
“What is that to me?” exclaimed Grenits. “Come along, some poor thing is calling for help. Come along, I don’t feel a bit tired now.”
Before they hastened away, the two friends cast a look at the ravine, out of which they had clambered a short time before—and there they caught sight of their comrades who were following them, and who were, in their turn, preparing to gain the summit of the rock.
Grenits thereupon fired off his gun, in order to attract their attention, and when he saw that he had succeeded, he called to them, at the top of his voice, while he stretched out his arm towards the west:
“There, there!” he cried. Then both hurried away.