Would Hans and the others believe him lost, and follow upon his spoor? They might, but not till the next day. They would not think of him being lost before night came, as it was no unusual thing for one of them to be off alone from morning till night. How would he endure the terrible thirst that was raging within him? How would he suffer it until they should arrive?
Besides, it might rain during the night. His spoor would then be completely obliterated. They would not be able to follow it, and then, what might be his fate?
These and many other reflections passed through his mind as he stood upon the ledge, regarding his fierce jailer with looks of anger and impatience.
But the keitloa cared not for that. He still remained upon the ground, now pacing to and fro by the bottom of the cliff, and now standing still, with head erect, his small dark orbs scintillating with a look of untiring vengeance.
Chapter Thirty One.
A Singular Escape.
As the moments passed, Hendrik’s thirst grew fiercer, and his impatience stronger. He had already examined the cliff above him—in hopes that he might have found a way by which it could be scaled. To no purpose did he look up. There were other ledges, it is true, but they were beyond his reach. The shelf he stood upon ran along the face of the cliff for many yards, but narrowed at both ends until it could be followed no farther. He had not moved from the spot where he ascended, as that was the broadest part, and where he was most out of reach of the elastic snout and long horns of the keitloa.
He now remembered that, while battling about below, he had noticed a dark spot above the ledge, which he had conjectured to be the entrance of a cave, or a hole in the cliff. He had thought of it once again, but as creeping within a cave would not render him more secure than he was out on the rock, he had not gone towards it.