“Yes; made I suppose by a pretty big band o’ some sort crossin’ the desert,” said Moses.
“Well, lad, arter runnin’ about in the bush to bamboozle of ’em, as aforesaid, we’ll march back to that track on the sou’-west’ard—as it may be—an’ then do the same on the nor’-west’ard—so to speak—an’ so lead ’em to suppose we was a small party as broke off, or was sent off, from the main body to reconnoitre the bit o’ bush, an’ had rejoined the main body further on. That’s what I call circumwentin’, d’ee see?”
While this palaver was going on, Stevenson and Bill Simkin were standing a short way off taking observation of something in the far distance. In a few minutes they ran towards their comrades with the information that a band of men were visible on the horizon, moving, they thought, in an opposite direction to their line of march.
“It may be so,” said Miles, after a brief survey, “but we can’t be sure. We must put part of your plan in force anyhow, Jack Molloy. Away into the scrub all of you, and stoop as you go.”
In saying this, our hero, almost unintentionally, took command of the little party, which at once tacitly accorded him the position. Leading them—as every leader ought—he proceeded to the centre of the clump of bushes, where, finding a natural hollow or hole in the sand, at the root of a mimosa bush, three of them went down on hands and knees to scoop it out deeper, while the others cut branches with Molloy’s clasp-knife.
Using flat stones, chips of wood, and hands as shovels, they managed to dig out a hole big enough to conceal them all, the opening to which was easily covered by a mass of branches.
It is doubtful whether this ingenious contrivance would have availed them, if “men of the desert” had passed that way, but fortune favoured them. The band, whether friends or foes, passed far off to the westward, leaving them to enjoy their place of fancied security.
To pass the first day there was not difficult. The novelty of the position was great; the interest of the thing immense. Indefinite hopes of the future were strong, and they had plenty to say and speculate about during the passing hours. When night came, preparation was made for departure. The provision bags were slung, a moderate sip of water indulged in, and they set forth, after a very brief prayer by Stevenson, that God would guide them safely on their way. There was no formality in that prayer. The marine did not ask his comrades to kneel or to agree with him. He offered it aloud, in a few seconds, in the name of Jesus, leaving his hearers to join him or not as they pleased.
“See that you lay your course fair now, Molloy,” said Miles, as they sallied out upon the darkening plain.
“Trust me, lad, I’ve taken my bearin’s.”