"Nonsense! Look here. You know where Leather is."

"No pidney--no pidney."

"I say you do," said Nic sternly. "Now look here. You go to him to-night and tell him that the white police fellows are coming to hunt him out. You pidney?"

"Yes, Bungarolo pidney."

"Tell him he is to go right away and hide till the police fellows are gone."

"Bungarolo pidney. Mine tell Leather fellow jump right away, and police fellow baal find."

"That's right. Go as soon as it's dark."

"You come along see?"

"No, I won't watch you."

The black nodded, and then laughed at some antics performed by the dogs, while Nic walked away feeling more comfortable in his own mind than he had since his father had returned--though that did not mean much.

He was fully on the _qui vive_, and several times went out into the dark, still night to listen for the tramp of horses, but the police did not come, and he went to bed to dream of Leather being shot down in the bush because he would not surrender.

The next morning, as soon as he was up, Nic went to look for his black messenger, but he was missing, and the other two blacks professed ignorance of his whereabouts.

"He has gone and not come back," thought Nic; and he felt hopeful that, knowing his danger, the convict would escape right away along the gorge, and hide in some far-away fastness where he would be safe. But about the middle of the morning, to the boy's horror, he saw Bungarolo come crawling up to the station driving a flock of sheep.

Nic hurried up to him.

"Did you go and tell Leather?" he whispered.

"No go tell Leather fellow. Leather say mine come nigh get mumkull."

"But I told you to go!"

"Leather mumkull Bungarolo. Mine not want mumkull."

Nic uttered a low groan.

"Brooky look at mine. Come along, see where mine go. Doctor tell mine fetch sheep fellow. Mine go fetch sheep fellow."

"It's of no use--I must go," said Nic to himself; and then, casting aside all hesitation, he started off at once straight for the fern gully, crossed the bridge, and then made a sharp turn off to the right along another path and down by the little river, where, upon reaching the clump of rough growth which bordered the pool where he had fished that day, he suddenly crouched down in among the tree ferns and listened.

There was cause for his suspicion.

He had not been hiding five minutes before he heard a rustling sound, and directly after he caught sight of the barrel of a gun, which was followed by the man who bore it.

There was no mistake. It was Brookes following him, to see which way he went.

Nic's countenance grew dark as he waited, meaning to slip back; when, to his surprise, Bungarolo suddenly crept into sight, following Brookes's trail, and he too disappeared.

The boy did not understand this, but he knew enough. Brookes had gone off on a wrong trail, and now was the time.

Running back, whenever he could do so unseen, Nic pa.s.sed round the far side of the house, and started right straight away across country, so as to strike the side of the great gorge not far from the well-like tunnel entrance.

It was a long, hot walk, for Nic felt it would be wise to take advantage of every bit of cover whence he could look back to see if he were watched. Then, satisfied that the coast was clear, he went on and reached the dense belt which ran all along by the edge of the precipice, feeling that a couple of hours' more walking would bring him to the mouth of the cavern.

He would not be back before dark, he knew, even if he found the convict directly; but he felt that perhaps he would not be questioned, and he would have placed the fugitive upon his guard.

Nic went pretty boldly onward, till he came within a mile of the opening, and then he sat down to rest and think.

He dared not now go straight to the place, as it was still possible that he might be watched. For Brookes had been so long amongst the blacks that he had picked up a great many of their habits, and for aught he knew, the man might be tracking him still--in all probability was.

To meet this difficulty, then, Nic started again; but went away at a right-angle, struck off again, and zigzagging here and there, he slowly drew nearer and nearer to the opening.

The sun beat down heavily in the treeless parts, but Nic heeded it not.

He was anxious to reach the convict, give him a word of warning, and get back as rapidly as possible, unseen; and how to do this exercised all his thoughts.

Every now and then, as he crept along, stooping amidst the bushes, he startled some wild creature--bird, reptile, or one of the numerous kangaroo family--and, the animal darting away, Nic's heart throbbed with satisfaction.

For it was a good sign: n.o.body had been there lately.

At last he was within a few hundred yards of the opening, and he took a fresh curve so as to approach from the farther side, meaning to creep among the rocks and drop down into the hole almost at a bound.

And now his excitement culminated, for in a few more minutes he would be in the tunnel, and if fortune favoured him, would soon reach his friend, warn him, and return in comparative peace.

He was congratulating himself upon having succeeded so well, when he suddenly stopped short, half stunned by the thought which struck him.

There was that long tunnel with its many forkings to descend, and he had no light, neither the means of getting one, nor candle, nor wood.

He went on again with his teeth set fast. He would do it, he thought, even in the dark, for it only meant keeping in the water and wading. He must go right.

A hundred yards onward through the wilderness of rocks, trees, and scrub; and he stopped short again, grasping his gun nervously, for he fancied he had heard the crack as of a trampled-on piece of dead wood.

But there was no sound now save the hum of insects. The birds were silent in that torrid midday.

"Fancy!" thought Nic, as he crept on again, stooping low and keeping a watchful eye in every direction, till once more a chill of apprehension ran through him, for there was a crackling, rustling noise.

He knew what it was: a twig bent back had sprung to its natural position; but who had bent back that twig? was it he or some one following his trail?

He listened, with every nerve on the strain, but there was no sound; and after crouching low, perfectly still for some minutes, he felt convinced that it was his own act: the twig had caught a leaf, been held by for a minute or so, and then released.

"I wish I was not such a coward," thought Nic, as he once more started off, satisfied now that he was close at hand, for he could just see the piled-up rocks from beneath which the spring bubbled out.

And now, as more cautiously than ever he crept on, so as to get within springing distance of the hole, he began to think of the long, deep, cool drink in which he would indulge--for his throat felt dry, and he was suffering from a parching, burning thirst.

Closer and closer and closer he crawled, now on hands and knees, with his gun slung over his back--so near that he had but to spring up and take a few steps to be there, but holding back so as to preserve the greatest caution to the very last.

In this way he reached to within five yards of the hole,--stretched out a hand to press aside a frond of fern, and gave one good look round.

He did so, and held on as if paralysed, feeling as if he were dreaming of being back on board the _Northumbrian_ on his voyage out, and watching the convicts having their daily airing.