It would indeed seem as if some such idea had entered the minds of the band, for instead of examining the ground for footprints and following them up—as was natural to have done—they silently constructed a litter of branches, covered it with some of their garments, and quietly bore the wounded and still unconscious man away in the direction of the plains.
With thankful hearts our travellers slid to the ground, and hurried off in the opposite direction towards the mountains.
That night they came to a deeply-shaded and rugged piece of ground in the heart of the forest where there were caverns of various sizes. Here the solitude seemed to be so profound that the fear of pursuit gradually left them, so they resolved to kindle a cheerful fire in one of the caves, cook a good supper, and enjoy themselves. Finding a cave that was small, dry, and well concealed, they soon had a bright fire blazing in it, round which they sat on a soft pile of branches—Mark and Hockins looking on with profound interest and expectation while the negro prepared supper.
“If I only had a quid o’ baccy now,” said Hockins, “I’d be as happy as a king.”
“I have the advantage of you, friend, for I am as happy as a king without it,” said the young doctor.
“Well, there’s no denyin’,” returned the seaman, “that you have the advantage o’ me; but if I only had the baccy I’d enjoy my disadvantage. P’r’aps there’s a bit left in some corner o’—”
He plunged his hands into each pocket in his garments, one after another, but without success until he came to the left breast-pocket of his coat. When he had searched that to its deepest recesses he stopped and looked up with a beaming countenance.
“Ho! got ’im?” asked Ebony, with interest.
Hockins did not reply, but, slowly and tenderly, drew forth—not a quid, but—a little piece of brown wood about five or six inches long.
“A penny whistle!” exclaimed Mark.