Even the porters, who had been told nothing,
seemed more afraid than usual, though whether this was because they
"smell rat," as Jeekie called it, or owing to the progressive breakdown
of their nervous systems, Alan did not know. About midday they stopped
to eat because the men were too tired to walk further without rest. For
an hour or more they had been looking for a comparatively open place,
but as it chanced could find none, so were obliged to halt in dense
forest. Just as they had finished their meal and were preparing to
proceed, that which they had feared, happened, since from somewhere
behind the tree boles came a volley of reed arrows. One struck a porter
in the neck, one fixed itself in Alan's helmet without touching him,
and no less than three hit Jeekie on the back and stuck there,
providentially enough in the substance of the cork mattress that he
still carried on his shoulders, which the feeble shafts had not the
strength to pierce.
Everybody sprang up and with a curious fascination instead of attempting
to do anything, watched the porter who had been hit in the neck
somewhere in the region of the jugular vein. The poor man rose to his
feet with great deliberation, reminding Alan in some grotesque way of a
speaker who has suddenly been called on to address a meeting and seeks
to gain time for the gathering of his thoughts.
Pages:
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171