Dick Sands, the Boy Captain

San Felice. Mrs. Weldon was really much relieved at the prospect, for she was aware that her strength must prove inadequate to the strain of a more protracted journey. The condition of her little boy, who was alternately flushed with fever, and pale with exhaustion, had begun to cause her great anxiety, and unwilling to resign the care of the child even to Nan his faithful nurse, she insisted upon carrying him in her own arms. Twelve days and nights, passed in the open air, had done much to try her powers of endurance, and the charge of a sick child in addition would soon break down her strength entirely.

Dick Sands, Nan, and the negroes had all borne the march very fairly. Their stock of provisions, though of course considerably diminished, was still far from small. As for Harris, he had shown himself preeminently adapted for forest-life, and capable of bearing any amount of fatigue. Yet, strange to say, as he approached the end of the journey, his manner underwent a remarkable change; instead of conversing in his ordinary frank and easy way, he became silent and preoccupied, as if engrossed in his own thoughts. Perhaps he had an instinctive consciousness that “his young friend,” as he was in the habit of addressing Dick, was entertaining hard suspicions about him.

The march was resumed. The trees once again ceased to be crowded in impenetrable masses, but stood in clusters at considerable distances apart. Now, Dick tried to argue with himself, they must be coming to the true pampas, or the man must be designedly misleading them; and yet what motive could he have?

Although during the earlier part of the day there occurred nothing that could be said absolutely to justify Dick’s increasing uneasiness, two circumstances transpired which did not escape his observation, and which, he felt, might be significant. The first of these was a sudden change in Dingo’s behaviour. The dog, throughout the march, had uniformly run along with his nose upon the ground, smelling the grass and shrubs, and occasionally uttering a sad low whine; but today he seemed all agitation; he scampered about with bristling coat, with his head erect, and ever and again burst into one of those furious fits of barking, with which he had formerly been accustomed to greet Negoro’s appearance upon the deck of the Pilgrim.

The idea that flitted across Dick’s mind was shared by Tom.

“Look, Mr. Dick, look at Dingo; he is at his old ways again,” said he; “it is just as if Negoro.⁠ ⁠…”

“Hush!” said Dick to the old man, who continued in a lower voice⁠—

“It is just as if Negoro had followed us; do you think it is likely?”

“It might perhaps be to his advantage to follow us, if he doesn’t know the country; but if he does know the country, why then.⁠ ⁠…”

Dick did not finish his sentence, but whistled to Dingo. The dog reluctantly obeyed the call.

As soon as the dog was at his side, Dick patted him, repeating⁠—

“Good dog! good Dingo! where’s Negoro?”

The sound of Negoro’s name had its usual effect; it seemed to irritate the animal exceedingly, and he barked furiously, and apparently wanted to dash into the thicket.

Harris had been an interested spectator of the scene, and now approached with a peculiar expression on his countenance, and inquired what they were saying to Dingo.

“Oh, nothing much,” replied Tom; “we were only asking him for news of a lost acquaintance.”

“Ah, I suppose you mean that Portuguese cook of yours.”

“Yes,” answered Tom; “we fancied from Dingo’s behaviour, that Negoro must be somewhere close at hand.”

“Why don’t you send and search the underwood? perhaps the poor wretch is in distress.”

“No need of that, Mr. Harris; Negoro, I have no doubt, is quite capable of taking care of himself.”

“Well, just as you please, my young friend,” said Harris, with an air of indifference.

Dick turned away; he continued his endeavours to pacify Dingo, and the conversation dropped.

The other thing that had arrested Dick’s attention was the behaviour of the horse. If they had been as near the hacienda as Harris described, would not the animal have pricked up its ears, sniffed the air, and with dilated nostril, exhibited some sign of satisfaction, as being upon familiar ground?

But nothing of the kind was to be observed; the horse plodded along as unconcernedly as if a stable were as far away as ever.

Even Mrs. Weldon was not so engrossed with her child, but what she was fain to express her wonder at the deserted aspect of the country. No trace of a farm-labourer was anywhere to be seen! She cast her eye at Harris, who was in his usual place in front, and observing how he was looking first to the left, and then to the right, with the air of a man who was uncertain of his path, she asked herself whether it was possible their guide might have lost his way. She dared not entertain the idea, and averted her eyes, that she might not be harassed by his movements.

After crossing an open plain about a mile in width, the travellers once again entered the forest, which resumed something of the same denseness that had characterized it farther to the west. In the course of the afternoon, they came to a spot which was marked very distinctly by the vestiges of some enormous animals, which must have passed quite recently. As Dick looked carefully about him, he observed that the branches were all torn off or broken to a considerable height, and that the foot-tracks in the trampled grass were much too large to be those either of jaguars or panthers. Even if it were possible that the prints on the ground had been made by ais or other tardigrades, this would fail to account in the least for the trees being broken to such a height. Elephants alone were capable of working such destruction in the underwood, but elephants were unknown in America. Dick was puzzled, but controlled himself so