“What is the good news for Deschard?”
“That I cannot tell you,” answered the stripling, firmly, though the
grim visage, tattooed body, and now threatening aspect of his questioner
might well have intimidated even a bolder man, and instinctively he
thrust his hand into the bosom of his shirt and grasped a letter he
carried there.
“Then neither shall Deschard know it,” said the man savagely, and
throwing himself upon the young man he bore him to the ground, while
shadowy, naked figures glided out from the blackness of the forest and
bound and gagged him without a sound. Then carrying him away from the
path the natives placed him, without roughness, under the shelter of an
empty house, and then left him.
The agony of mind endured by the helpless prisoner may be imagined when,
unable to speak or move, he saw the beachcomber and his savage followers
vanish into the darkness; for the letter which he carried had been
written only a few hours before by the wife of the man Deschard, telling
him of her loving quest, and of her and her children's presence on board
the brigantine.