“Why doesn’t the blame fool answer?” growled Buckhart.
“Strike a match, Brad,” directed Dick. “I’m holding my revolver ready for use, and I’ll shoot, if necessary, the moment I can see what to shoot at.”
The Texan lost little time in producing a match, but when he attempted to strike it he failed, the brimstone breaking off. Three matches were used before one burned. The light flared up, Buckhart holding it above his head. Its glow fell on the old professor and the two boys, and simultaneously they made an amazing discovery.
They were alone in the boat!
Bayazid, the guide, had disappeared!
Dick had his revolver ready for action, and he was standing in a half-crouching position, peering over the head of Buckhart at the place in the boat lately occupied by the guide.
“He’s gug-gone!” gasped Zenas.
Brad dropped the match, and again they were buried in darkness which seemed to oppress them like an awful weight.
“Great catamounts!” said a voice that sounded strange and husky, but which Dick recognized as that of the Texan. “Where has he gone? What does it mean, partner?”
“It means that we are the victims of trickery of some sort,” answered Dick, speaking in a low tone.