So they made their strange meal together. It was a small one, but quite enough for Bob after his long starvation.

"I ate every leaf and berry within my reach," he told Eustace, "or I don't think I should be alive to tell the tale. Lucky for me, they were none of them poisonous. When they were done I started on chewing twigs, but they didn't go far."

At last Eustace had no excuse to linger. Very unwillingly he rose to do Bob's behest. He had never heard of anything so awful as leaving him like this to his fate. It seemed the worst kind of desertion--something that he would be ashamed of all the days of his life.

Bob made him take his watch and chain with the compa.s.s on it.

"Keep the compa.s.s afterwards if you like," Bob said, "and give my love to every one."

Eustace turned sharply away; he could stand no more.

"Good-bye," he said thickly; "I feel a beast."

He took two quick strides forward, and walked right into some one.

It was the great native chief.

CHAPTER XIII.

A GREAT SURPRISE.

Eustace thought he had never seen anything so wicked as the chief's grin when he looked down into his astonished face. The black-fellow's teeth gleamed like a wolf's. His whole expression seemed to say, "Ha, ha! so I've caught you in the very act. You don't escape me so easily, you see." He evidently felt an exultant satisfaction in frustrating his departure, or he was rejoicing over having found him again.

With an overwhelming consciousness of Bob's helplessness, Eustace moved back quickly to the prostrate figure, as if to shelter it.

"What's up, old man?" questioned Bob, who from his position could see nothing. "You're not shirking, are you?"

The chief came rapidly within range of the sick man's eyes, and Bob's face fell most unmistakably. There was disappointment in every line of it.

"Phew!" he whistled, "we've lost our chance this time."

Exactly how crestfallen the pair was it would be impossible to describe. Not that Bob had harboured any hope for himself. He knew the natives would come to him before Eustace could possibly get back with a.s.sistance, and finding him no longer an amusing spectacle, would probably dispatch him. But he had been bent on saving the boy's life and sending his message home.

The native chief said something in his rapid, unintelligible language, then turned, made a strange call, and began gesticulating violently.

Eustace dropped on his knees and hid his face on Bob's tattered shirt.

"Buck up, old chap," Bob said softly; "one can only die once. Let's show these black-fellows how a Christian and an Englishman can do it. You'll get the strength right enough; I'm not a bit afraid of your funking."

There was an advancing tramp, a crashing of branches: the chief's summons was being rapidly obeyed. With a long shuddering sigh Eustace raised himself and knelt upright, gazing down on his hero.

"That's right," said Bob steadily, with his own genial smile lighting up his whole face, "keep your eyes on mine; hold on to me if you like. I shan't think you a m.u.f.f, because I know you aren't one."

But the boy did not touch him; he kept his hands clasped tightly together in a supreme effort to be worthy of Bob's belief in him.

He heard the new-comers halt. The native spoke and moved aside.

Then--

"Both of them!" exclaimed a familiar voice. "Thank G.o.d for that."

Eustace sank back in a heap on the ground and stared up.

"Father!" cried Bob in astonishment.

It was Mr. Cochrane indeed, and with him Mr. Orban--as haggard a pair as could be met with in a long day's march.

It seemed little short of a miracle that they should appear at such a juncture, yet the explanation proved simple enough. The native chief had fetched them straight to the spot. There was no sort of n.o.bility in the act: the man knew enough of white men's ways to expect a big reward. Bob he did not know; but when Eustace appeared on the scene he recognized the boy as belonging to the master of the neighbouring plantation, whom he had seen many times from a distance as he rode through the Bush. Mr. Orban was out with Mr.

Cochrane making a frantic search of the entire neighbourhood when the chief arrived, and he would communicate his business to no one else. Not that it is likely any one else would have understood him or followed him as Mr. Orban did the moment he arrived home. The language was unintelligible to both men; but putting two and two together in their great anxiety, they made out that the chief could lead them where they would find something of interest to themselves. They had not dared to hope he knew the whereabouts of both their sons, or to speculate which they should find; they did not even know whether they were being taken to the living or the dead.

"I'm afraid you'll have a bit of bother getting me home," said Bob; "I'm as stiff as a board, and can't move hand or foot."

Then he told his story, and how Eustace had found him, and to all intents and purposes saved his life.

"And you, Eustace," said Mr. Orban--"how did you come here?"

When Eustace came to the description of the answering coo-ee on the banks of the creek, Mr. Orban interrupted him.

"That was only an echo. I knew there was one there, but I never thought of telling you."

"Thank G.o.d you didn't," said Mr. Cochrane, "and that he made the mistake. We should never have found Bob but for that."

"Father," Eustace said anxiously, "you won't forget poor old Bolter, will you? This black-fellow has got him in the camp over there."

"I had quite forgotten him," Mr. Orban said; "and we shall need him too."

Their own horses were quietly waiting a little distance back. By means of much gesticulation--pointing towards the horses, and then in the direction of the camp--the chief was made to understand what was wanted; and after a little demur he went away to fetch Bolter, but certainly most grudgingly.

The journey back to the plantation was one that none of the party could ever forget. The difficulty of conveying the helpless Bob, the suffering he so bravely tried to endure, and the terrible time it took, were indescribable.

It had of course been necessary to tell both mothers of the loss of their sons. Mrs. Cochrane and Trixy had gone immediately to the Orbans' house as more central for obtaining news.

Mr. Orban dispatched one coolie from the plantation for the doctor, who lived fifteen miles away. Another man he sent up the hill as fast as he could go with a note preparing his wife for their arrival, and the whole white-faced party was out waiting for it as the slow procession--Bob on a stretcher in the midst--wound its way to the house.

The joy of the meeting was lost sight of in the anxiety, for Bob was by this time delirious with pain, Eustace so weak that he was nearly fainting.

For the next ten days the house was no better than a hospital--its central interest the condition of the two patients within its walls; but the first day Bob and Eustace were brought out on to the veranda--two white-faced shadows of themselves--Bob laughingly called it the convalescent home.

Up to that point everything was, as Nesta expressed it, horrid; but when Bob was about again, even if his voice was weaker, his laugh a ghost of itself, matters at once began to improve.

They were all sitting together enjoying the cool of the evening.

"What I can't understand," said Nesta meditatively, breaking a long pause, "is why the black-fellows wouldn't let Eustace answer father's coo-ee."

"It is quite simple," said Mr. Orban. "The chief had evidently given strict orders he was not to be allowed to go in his absence, and they were afraid we should come and take him away. Then the chief would have got no reward."

"What I can't understand," said Peter, who never remained long in the background, "is why the black-fellows didn't cut Bob down. It was wicked of them."