“By God!” he said, “the cartridges are gone!”
Langley took his weapon out of the leather case and opened it. He found the cartridges were there right enough.
“Have you any spare cartridges?” asked Whitson.
Whitson had already loaded his revolver with the five cartridges which he had removed in the afternoon, but he again took these out and replaced them in his waistcoat pocket, and then he reloaded with some which Langley passed over to him with a trembling hand.
“Look here,” he said, in a hoarse whisper, “we are in a trap of some kind. When that old scoundrel comes back, do not let him know that we have found out anything. We will walk on with him for a short distance, at all events, and then be guided by circumstances. Stand by when you see me collar him, and slip a sack over his head.”
“Can we not go back now?” said Langley.
“Certainly not; we would never find our way at night. I guess we must see this circus out. If you have to shoot, aim low.”
In a few minutes Ghamba returned.
“Come on,” he said. “He is sitting at the fire in front of the cave. I have just seen him.”
“Where is the cave?” asked Whitson. “Is it far from here?”