“Close alongside. Don’t you hear him?”
Lawrence referred to a sound like the drone of a giant mosquito, which proceeded from the negro’s nose, for that worthy was a heavy sleeper—when not in danger—and had not been disturbed by the arrival of the guide.
Giving vent to a prolonged yawn, Pedro rose and stretched himself. Then he went up to the sleeping Quashy and took him by the nose, at the same time putting his hand on his mouth to smother the inevitable yell in its birth. When sufficiently awake to be released with safety, the amiable negro was permitted to raise himself, and when aware of who had grasped him, he beamed with good-will, and gleamed with surprise.
“Get up, Quashy, and help them to pack,” said Pedro, curtly, “we start at daybreak.”
Quashy was on his feet in a moment. “Don’t rouse me till it’s time to start,” added Pedro, who thereupon rolled into the vacant hammock, and was asleep—perchance in the land of dreams—almost as soon as his wearied head reposed on the negro’s pillow.
Chapter Sixteen.
Tells of Absurd, as well as Evil, Doings, and winds up with a Horrid Surprise.
Whether Pedro’s pursuers continued the chase as far as the Indian hunter’s hut we cannot tell, for long before noon of the following day our travellers were far from the hunting-grounds of the gallant savage.