It was the day following their being made prisoners--the party of four,
Mak and the pigmy having seemed to melt away amongst the trees at the
first onset of the Illakas and not having been seen since.
The two boys were utterly disheartened, while their companions, tightly
bound, with the canes which were twisted and knotted about their arms
and wrists and thoroughly secured behind their backs, looked despondent,
Dan in particular, who kept fixing his eyes upon Mark and then turning
to shake his head at his companion.
For all had had a long and wearisome tramp, urged on by their captors,
who at the slightest suggestion of hanging back made threatening
gestures with the points of their spears. To the wonder of his party,
this last misfortune had seemed to act like a stimulus to Mark, and
though slowly, he had kept on as well as he could and had only broken
down twice; but now this was the third time, and after what Dan muttered
to Buck was "a crackling jabbering," their captors made preparations for
lighting a fire, and some of them went off as if in search of food,
while the prisoners gladly sank down to rest.
"Say, messmate, drop a word or two to the poor chap."
"All right," growled Buck, and he turned to where Mark lay alone with
his eyes closed. "Come, hold up, Mr Mark, sir. Never say die. They
don't mean to kill us, or they'd have done it before. What do you say,
Dan?"
"Same as you do, messmate. But what do you say to waiting until night
and then as soon as they are all asleep make an escape of it?"
"Can't be done, cookie, and Mr Mark knows as well as as I do that he'd
break down before we had gone a couple of score yards. Wish I'd got my
waggon here, and the span of oxen. That would just suit you now, sir."
"Don't talk to me, Buck; don't talk to me."
"Must, sir. I want to cheer you up a bit. Don't be rough upon us two.
We never meant to let you go on by yourselves, and we set the little Pig
after you directly to keep his eye on you, ready for us to come up soon
as you gave in and couldn't walk any farther. And it's my belief that
that little chap has been creeping about among the leaves ever since we
started again."
Mark looked at him listlessly, and then half closed his eyes again,
utterly exhausted.
"Where do you think they are going to take us, Buck?" asked Dean.
"Oh, we two have been turning that over, sir, and we both think the same
thing. The black brutes have been on the hunt after us ever since we
got away, and now that they have caught us they are taking us back to
our old camp."
"What makes you think that?" said Dean.
"Those two sugar-loaf kopjes that lie right out yonder," said Buck,
giving his head a wag to indicate the clumps of rock that he alluded to.
"But those look like the kopjes that we could see from the big wall
beyond the waggons."
"That's right, sir," said Buck. "They were a good way off, because the
air is so clear here. But that's the way we are going, and sooner or
later we shall be there."
"What is it? Feel faint?" said Dean, for his cousin shuddered.
"No," was the half whispered reply. "I can't bear to think of it. It
means so much, Dean."
"Then don't think," said Dean. "What's the good. What's gone by can't
be altered now."
"You don't understand me," said Mark passionately. "The past is bad
enough. It is what we have to face when we get there."
"You mean--" began Dean sadly, and then he stopped.
Mark was gazing at him wildly, and Dean seemed to read now fully what
his cousin meant.
"Oh, don't think that," he said at last, in a choking voice. "These
blacks are savage enough, but as Buck said, if they meant to kill us
they would have speared us before now."
"Yes," said Mark, "and I daresay he's right; but I was thinking of what
happened during that horrible fight in the darkness."
"Ah-h-h!" sighed Dean softly; and no more was said.
Later on the blacks brought their prisoners half cooked food from their
fire, which was scarcely touched, and water from the spring by which
they were camped for the night; and of this they drank with avidity.
Then came the soft darkness, with the light of the great stars seeming
to the boys to gaze pityingly down upon them; and then as the eager
chattering of their captors ceased, the great silence of the forest fell
upon them, bringing with it the sweet reward of the utterly wearied out.
Twice over in the night Mark, however, awoke with a start, the first
time to listen to the deep barking roar of a lion which approached the
prisoner, but without bringing any sense of dread.
It was a familiar sound to him, that was all; and as at intervals it
came nearer and nearer and the thought occurred to the boy that the
savage beast might be waiting to make a spring, it did not trouble him
in the least. The position was curious, that was all; and the last time
he heard the beast's roar Mark found himself wondering what it would
feel like to be suddenly snatched away, and he was still wondering, when
all grew utterly still and lonely and then he started, knowing he had
been asleep, but quite convinced that something had crawled close up to
him and had lightly drawn its paw across his breast.
"The lion!" he thought, and then he remembered having read about those
who had been seized by one of these great beasts having felt mentally
stunned and so helpless and free from fear and pain that they had made
no attempt to escape, and thinking that this was exactly his case, he
lay trying to pierce the darkness so as to make out the shape of the
fierce beast whose jaws might at any moment close upon his arm.
Just then one of the blacks sprang up, to utter a yawn and shake
himself, while from close behind Mark's head something leaped away,
making bound after bound.
Silence again as Mark lay listening to the one of their captors who had
sprung up, and who now uttered a long-drawn yawn and lay down again.
It must have been quite half an hour after that Mark, though he had
heard nothing approach, felt the touch of his late visitor's paw laid
heavily upon his breast, and as if fascinated the boy lay without
moving, until the paw--no, it was a hand--a small hand--was laid across
his mouth, and directly after a pair of lips, quite warm, rested upon
his right ear, and the word "Baas" was breathed therein.
"The pigmy!" thought Mark, and there was the sensation as of a great sob
of joy struggling from his throat.
That was all; but the incident meant so much. There was a friend who
was free, watching over the blacks' prisoners, and the next minute a
feeling of confidence pervaded the boy's breast, for he was now sure
that the inseparable Mak would be near at hand.