“If you really think so,” said Negoro, “there is not much time to be lost; whatever young Sands determines to do, he will do at once: he never lets the grass grow under his feet.”
“Let us start, then, this very moment, mate,” was Harris’s reply.
Both rose to their feet, when they were startled by the same rustling in the papyrus which had previously aroused Negoro’s fears. Presently a low growl was heard, and a large dog, showing his teeth, emerged from the bushes, evidently prepared for an attack.
“It’s Dingo!” exclaimed Harris.
“Confound the brute! he shall not escape me this time,” said Negoro.
He caught up Harris’s gun, and raising it to his shoulder, he fired just as the dog was in the act of springing at his throat. A long whine of pain followed the report, and Dingo disappeared again amongst the bushes that fringed the stream. Negoro was instantly upon his track, but could discover nothing beyond a few bloodstains upon the stalks of the papyrus, and a long crimson trail upon the pebbles on the bank.
“I think I have done for the beast now,” was Negoro’s remark as he returned from his fruitless search.
Harris, who had been a silent spectator of the whole scene, now asked coolly—
“What makes that animal have such an inveterate dislike to you?”
“Oh, there is an old score to settle between us,” replied the Portuguese.
“What about?” inquired the American.
Negoro made no reply, and finding him evidently disinclined to be communicative on the subject, Harris did not press the matter any further.
A few moments later the two men were descending the stream, and making their way through the forest towards the Cuanza.
III
On the March Again
“Africa! Africa!” was the terrible word that echoed and reechoed in the mind of Dick Sands. As he pondered over the events of the preceding weeks he could now understand why, notwithstanding the rapid progress of the ship, the land seemed ever to be receding, and why the voyage had been prolonged to twice its anticipated length. It remained, however, a mystery inexplicable as before, how and when they had rounded Cape Horn and passed into another ocean. Suddenly the idea flashed upon him that the compass must have been tampered with; and he remembered the fall of the first compass; he recalled the night when he had been roused by Tom’s cry of alarm that Negoro had fallen against the binnacle. As he recollected these circumstances he became more and more convinced that it was Negoro who was the mainspring of all the mischief; that it was he who had contrived the loss of the Pilgrim, and compromised the safety of all on board.
What had been the career, what could be the motives of a man who was capable of such vile machinations?
But shrouded in mystery as were the events of the past, the present offered a prospect equally obscure.
Beyond the fact that he was in Africa and a hundred miles from the coast, Dick knew absolutely nothing. He could only conjecture that he was in the fatal province of Angola, and assured as he was that Harris had acted the traitor, he was led to the conclusion that he and Negoro had been playing into each other’s hands. The result of the collision, he feared, might be very disastrous to the survivors of the Pilgrim. Yet, in what manner would the odious stratagem be accomplished? Dick could well understand that the negroes would be sold for slaves; he could only too easily imagine that upon himself Negoro would wreak the vengeance he had so obviously been contemplating; but for Mrs. Weldon and the other helpless members of the party what fate could be in store?
The situation was terrible, but yet Dick did not flinch; he had been appointed captain, and captain he would remain; Mrs. Weldon and her little son had been committed to his charge, and he was resolved to carry out his trust faithfully to the end.
For several hours he remained wrapped in thought, pondering over the present and the future, weighing the evil chances against the good, only to be convinced that the evil much preponderated. At length he rose, firm, resolute, calm. The first glimmer of dawn was breaking upon the forest. All the rest of the party, except Tom, were fast asleep. Dick Sands crept softly up to the old negro, and whispered:—
“Tom, you know now where we are!”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Dick, only too well I know it. We are in Africa!”
The old man sighed mournfully.
“Tom,” said Dick, in the same low voice, “you must keep this a secret; you must not say a word to let Mrs. Weldon or any of the others know.”
The old man murmured his assent, and Dick continued:—
“It will be quite enough for them to learn that we have been betrayed by Harris, and that we must consequently practise extra care and watchfulness; they will merely think we are taking precautions against being surprised by nomad Indians. I trust to your good sense, Tom, to assist me in this.”
“You may depend upon me, Mr. Dick; and I can promise you that we will all do our best to prove our courage, and to show our devotion to your service.”
Thus assured of Tom’s cooperation, Dick proceeded to deliberate upon his future line of action. He had every reason to believe that the treacherous American, startled by the traces of the slaves and the unexpected roaring of the lion, had taken flight before he had conducted his victims to the spot where they were to be attacked, and that consequently some hours might elapse before he would
