“Haven't you found 'em?” asked Frere, puffing at his pipe.
“No. But they'll come to the same fate as the rest,” said Vickers, with a sort of dismal pride. “No man ever escaped from Macquarie Harbour.”
Frere laughed. “By the Lord!” said he, “it will be rather hard for 'em if they don't come back before the end of the month, eh?”
“Oh,” said Vickers, “they're sure to come—if they can come at all; but once lost in the scrub, a man hasn't much chance for his life.”
“When do you think you will be ready to move?” asked Frere.
“As soon as you wish. I don't want to stop a moment longer than I can help. It is a terrible life, this.”
“Do you think so?” asked his companion, in unaffected surprise. “I like it. It's dull, certainly. When I first went to Maria I was dreadfully bored, but one soon gets used to it. There is a sort of satisfaction to me, by George, in keeping the scoundrels in order. I like to see the fellows' eyes glint at you as you walk past 'em. Gad, they'd tear me to pieces, if they dared, some of 'em!” and he laughed grimly, as though the hate he inspired was a thing to be proud of.
“How shall we go?” asked Vickers. “Have you got any instructions?”
“No,” says Frere; “it's all left to you. Get 'em up the best way you can, Arthur said, and pack 'em off to the new peninsula. He thinks you too far off here, by George! He wants to have you within hail.”
“It's dangerous taking so many at once,” suggested Vickers.