At this interrogatory both the boys directed their glances along the road, in the direction in which they were going, hoping to discover some explanation of the matter. There was no object before them as far as they could see except Ossaroo. The Hindoo alone was upon the road. The blood could not be from him—surely not? Such a loss of blood would have killed the shikarree long ago. So thought Karl and Caspar.
They had fixed their eyes, however, upon Ossaroo, and just at that moment they saw him lean his head to one side, as though he had spat upon the ground. They marked the spot, and what was their astonishment on coming up and discovering upon the road another red spot exactly like those they had been noticing. Beyond a doubt Ossaroo was spitting blood!
To make sure, they watched him a little longer, and about a hundred yards farther on they saw him repeat his red expectoration!
They became considerably alarmed for the life of their guide.
“Poor Ossaroo!” exclaimed they, “he cannot live much longer after the loss of so much blood!”
And as this remark was made, both ran forward calling upon him to stop.
The guide wheeled round, and halted, wondering what was the matter. He quickly unslung his bow and placed an arrow to the string, fancying that they were attacked by some enemy. The hound, too, catching the alarm, came scampering up, and was soon upon the ground.
“What’s the matter, Ossaroo?” demanded Karl and Caspar in a breath.
“Matter, Sahibs! me knowee noting—matter.”
“But what ails you? are you ill?”