Tracking was a new experience to the English lad, and he could not help wondering at the keenness displayed by father and son as they followed the scantiest trail.

Andy would walk with considerable speed for a hundred yards, his eyes fixed upon the ground; while Mr. McKay would follow at his heels, at the same time keeping a sharp look-out on all sides in order to guard against a sudden attack.

Then the order would be reversed, Mr. McKay following the trail, and his son acting as a cover to his father.

For nearly a mile the track was fairly well-defined, though Ellerton had to confess that he would have failed to notice it.

The fugitive had skirted the base of the cliff, then plunging into the palm grove, he had gone by a round-about way towards the left; and was evidently heading for the thickly-wooded belt of land surrounding the base of the highest peak of the island.

Then the pursuers met with an unexpected rebuff. The trail led up to a broad tract of barren country, the surface of the land consisting of rocky mounds covered with a deposit of lava--the result of volcanic action many years previously.

"This kind of stuff extends right up to the base of the peak," said Andy. "We had a rough scramble when Quexo and I climbed the mountain.

I know what it's like. There are hundreds of rifts where a man might hide himself."

"He's covered his tracks," announced Mr. McKay. "See, he's gone in that direction, then back again and off in entirely the opposite way."

"And the trail is getting very much fainter," added Andy.

"It's my belief that he's lying low within a few yards of us,"

continued his father. "It's an admirable hiding-place, but it's certain that he must have food, so he's bound to make for the cocoanuts and bread-fruit trees sooner or later. That's why he's doubled on his tracks."

"We must double on our tracks before long," replied Andy. "That is, if we don't want to spend a night in this wilderness."

"That's what I intend to do," said his father in a low voice. "I want you two to go back to the house. Make plenty of noise, and grumble at having been unsuccessful. I'm going to remain here."

"Alone?" queried Andy.

"Hist! Don't speak so loud. Yes, alone. You don't imagine I'm afraid to tackle an unarmed man, do you? Now, listen to what I have to say.

It will be dark in an hour or so, but the moon will rise at nine o'clock. Make your way here at sunrise to-morrow, and I'll warrant you'll find me safe enough--and not alone, I hope."

Andy knew that it was no good arguing, and the two lads set off towards their home. The blazed track was followed without difficulty, and just as the sun set they emerged from the forest and gained the terrace on which the house stood.

"Where's Mr. McKay?" asked Terence.

"Left behind."

"Left behind? What for? Has anything gone wrong?"

"I hope not. He insisted, so there was no help for it. We've to rejoin him at sunrise to-morrow," replied Andy.

All that night the lads did not attempt to sleep. Filled with anxiety, they listened intently for the sound of a rifle shot. The air was perfectly still, and though the strained nerves of the watchers caused them to hear a variety of imaginary sounds, no rea.s.suring report of firearms broke the echoes of the palm-groves.

"Look here," exclaimed Ellerton, after hours of weary vigil, "the moon's up quite enough to allow us to find our way; so let's make a start."

Andy shook his head.

"You ought to know the pater well enough by this time, Hoppy. It's rotten hanging about here, I admit, but it's part of the game. So let's make the best of it."

CHAPTER XX

THE ENEMY IS CORNERED

Mr. McKay, left to himself, prepared for his all-night watch. His hiding-place consisted of a crevice which commanded a view of the route his companions had taken. Standing upright he could also see over the rock in which he was concealed, though prudence urged him not to show his head above the gaunt stone walls of his lair.

He rested himself on a convenient ledge, and waited, with his rifle across his knee. Then, as the sun set and intense darkness brooded over the land, he braced himself for his task. Instinct told him that the fugitive would skulk in the rocks till the moon rose; then in all probability he would prowl for food.

More than once Mr. McKay fancied he heard the crunching of a boot upon the pumice stone. Twice he grasped his rifle, as a dark shadow seemed to loom up against the darkness.

"Imagination," he remarked to himself. "What is the matter with my nerves?" But a finger pressed upon his wrist showed him that his pulse was beating regularly.

Then came a sound that could not possibly be mistaken--a smothered sneeze.

Blight was within a few yards of Mr. McKay, but in which direction the latter was unable to decide.

Then came the scuffling of feet. The fugitive was scuffling blindly across the rock. At any instant he might pitch into the crevice right into the arms of his pursuer.

Nearer and nearer he came, cursing under his breath as his feet came in contact with the ruts and sharp corners of the rocks. Mr. McKay could even hear the laboured breathing of his quarry.

Realising the danger of making his way over the pitfalls, Blight sat down, muttering angrily at being baulked, at the same time abusing the moon for its tardy appearance.

Mr. McKay waited, rifle in hand, feeling almost pleased. He pictured the fugitive's consternation when the moonlight revealed his tracker covering him at ten paces. It was the old animal instinct, the joy of the chase, whether hunter and hunted be human beings or mere beasts of the field.

Above the tops of the distant palm-trees a pale yellow light dawned in the eastern sky. Stronger and stronger it grew, till the golden disc of the queen of night appeared, the brilliant light throwing the rocks into strong relief.

The escaped prisoner, now that his path seemed clear, prepared to make his journey towards the trees once more, and obviously fearing no danger, he scrambled over a flat-topped boulder. Barely had he stood erect when Mr. McKay, rifle to shoulder, shouted:

"The game's up once more. Throw up your hands!"

So great was Blight's surprise that he stood stock still, with mouth agape, staring at the silhouetted form of his enemy; then, recovering himself, rushed wildly towards Mr. McKay, shrieking:

"You'll never take me alive, bad luck to you!"

It was the act of a madman. Ere he could cover the intervening apace, Mr. McKay could have shot him dead on the spot. But the Australian was loath to be the rascal's executioner; the business seemed to him to be mere butchery.

Turning down the muzzle of his rifle, the solitary tracker aimed the weapon at his enemy's feet. This action had a most restraining effect upon the rogue. He would welcome a swift and almost painless death, but to be deliberately crippled, secured at leisure, and dragged back to his prison, did not appeal to him. He turned swiftly and, dodging from side to side as he ran, he sped rapidly across the rocks.

Mr. McKay fired, but the shot went wide. He could have perforated the man's body between the shoulders with the greatest ease, but a pot-shot in the moonlight at a pair of swiftly-moving legs afforded plenty of opportunities of missing.

The fugitive uttered a yell of defiance, and sped onwards. Another fifty yards and he would be lost to sight in the midst of a labyrinth of fantastically-shaped rocks.

Mr. McKay did not attempt to fire a second shot. The success of his long vigil depended upon keeping the chase in view. Laying his rifle on the ground and making sure that the flap of his pistol-holster was loose, he vaulted upon the rock and set off in pursuit.

Although "hard as nails" and sound of wind, Mr. McKay forgot for the time being that the result of his accident on board the _San Martin_ had left him somewhat weak in his lower limbs.

With elbows pressed close to his sides he ran, but ere forty yards were covered he found himself lurching dangerously. Setting his jaw firmly, he persevered, keeping his eyes fixed upon the form of the fugitive, yet he was forced to confess that he was losing ground.