He reached the other side. He looked all over the place. Nobody there—neither dead nor wounded!
There were no bushes to conceal an object so large as the body of a man—at least, not within twenty yards of the stump. The groan could not have come from a greater distance!
Nor yet could a man be hidden under the trellis of climbing plants that clung around the underwood. Quashie had still enough courage left to peep among them and see. There was nobody there!
At this moment, a second groan sounded in the darkey’s ear, increasing his terror. It was just such a one as the first—long, protracted, and sepulchral, as if issuing from the bottom of a well.
Again it came from behind the stump; but this time from the side which he had just left, and where he had seen no one!
Had the wounded man crawled round to the other side, while he, Quashie, was proceeding in the opposite direction?
This was the thought that occurred to him; and to determine the point, he passed back to the side whence he had come—this time going more rapidly, lest the mysterious moaner might again escape him.
On reaching the spot from which he had originally set out, he was more surprised than ever. Not a soul was to be seen. The gun still lay in its place as he had left it. No one appeared to have touched it—no one was there!
Again the voice—this time, however, in a shrill treble, and more resembling a shriek! It gave Quashie a fresh start; while the perspiration spurted out from his forehead, and ran down his cheeks like huge tears.
The shriek, however, was more human-like—more in the voice of a man; and this gave the darkey sufficient courage to stand his ground a little longer. He had no doubt but that the voice came from the other side of the dead-wood; and once more he essayed to get his eyes upon the utterer.