"A guilty conscience needs no accuser. He's horribly uncomfortable for
fear uncle should speak to him about it."

"Yes, but he needn't be afraid; we shan't say anything. He has been
punished enough."

It was still dark, and Dean was sleeping heavily after rather an uneasy
night. It had been a long time before he could get to sleep, and then
his dreams were tinged with a nightmare-like feeling of being forced to
go on journeying through hundreds of miles of forest where the tall
trunks of the trees were so crowded together that he could hardly force
his way between them; and when utterly breathless and exhausted he lay
down to rest he could not enjoy that rest for the trouble he had to go
through with the little thin, weird, sickly looking black, who had got
hold of his toe and kept on pulling at it to make him get up and come to
dress his wound.

"You must wait till the doctor comes," he muttered. "You must wait till
the doctor comes," he muttered again, "and--who's that? What is it?" he
exclaimed, quite aloud.

"What's the matter with you?" cried Mark, who had been roused by his
cry.

"Let go of my toe, and I will tell you," cried Dean angrily, and he
tried to draw it up, but only to suffer a sharp jerk.

"Bother your old toe!" said Mark drowsily. "What's the matter?"

"Now, none of your silly games," cried Dean, making a vain effort to
kick. "Be quiet, or you will wake uncle and the doctor directly."

"You mean you will," growled Mark drowsily. "Go to sleep."

"Go to sleep! Why--oh, it's you, is it?"

"Get up; get up. Come back--come back!" came from just outside the
waggon, and Dean was fully awake now to the fact that Mak was leaning
over the hind waggon chest and reaching in to try this novel way of
waking him up to carry out the arrangement made overnight.

"All right, Mak. Coming. Rouse up, Mark, or we shall be too late."

"Eh? Yes; all right."

A few minutes later the boys were off, double guns on shoulders and a
plentiful supply of number five cartridges in their belts, with the
dimly-seen figure of Mak striding away in front.

"I did feel so sleepy," said Mark.

"I didn't," said Dean. "I could do nothing but dream about trying to
get through the forest. Ugh!" he added, with a shiver. "It was
horrid!"

"What was horrid?"

"Being lost."

"Yes; it wasn't nice. I wonder how that poor little chap is this
morning. I hope he will get well; and I say--I wish Bob Bacon was
comi