Even beneath the brown skin of the native there could be seen a tinge of red colour as the blood rose to his forehead and cheeks, called there by his hatred and indignation. For Tamba was one of those simple fellows, a child of the Cuban forest, with few wants, and few likes and dislikes. His was a faithful nature, which even the cruel whip of the Spanish overseer had been unable to destroy, and where he had placed his faith he kept it. Roger was more than his friend and master, and to see him struck down was an agony to Tamba. Why, then, should he chase after a Spaniard while his lord bled slowly to death? He put aside the idea without a second thought, and on that fatal day promptly set to work to do what was possible. Taking Roger in his arms, he dragged him along the stream to the most suitable open spot, and there he placed him on a soft piece of turf, while he himself sought for roots and herbs, and for something with which to dress the wound. A piece of Roger's clothing had sufficed for the last, and Tamba had been able to stop the bleeding. Then he went to the shore in search of the English soldiers. But they were nowhere to be seen, though the brigantine lay in the offing, her canvas at full stretch, beating out to sea, two Spanish vessels being in close chase of her. It was a terrible blow, and the native hardly knew how to break the news to Roger.
"You were hurt," he ventured gently. "And I could not pursue the traitor while you lay in the stream. You would have been smothered by the water had the bleeding not killed you. So I brought you here, and I built a hut over you while you lay insensible. I am thankful that you are now able to speak."
Roger opened his eyes and looked round in amazement, and now that the screen of leaves had been placed between him and the sun he could easily see. His eyes blinked at the unaccustomed light, but for all that he could make out that he lay on a comfortable bed, that a hut constructed of poles cut from the forest, and of broad leaves as thatch, covered him, while a cool breeze swept in through the open sides. There, too, was the stream which he had lately traversed, and all about him, on every side, the virgin forest, huge trunks with towering foliage, giant creepers which crept from branch to branch and bridged the spaces, and thousands of gaudy flowers. The air, too, seemed to be full of the twitter of birds which flitted here and there. Then his eye went to the spot through which they had come, and he remembered the sea, the brigantine, and his comrades.
"Where are they?" he demanded suddenly, sitting up with another start. "How is it, if I have been here three days, that they are not with me, that our apothecary has not attended, that Sir Thomas has not been to hear my news? But perhaps they came while I lay senseless or asleep, for I think I must have been unconscious. I have dreamed one long dream. And, Tamba——"
The native was beside him at once, holding his hand, and lifting a gourd of water to his lips.
"Tamba, I dreamed that this Alvarez had killed me, and that he had made for Mexico, and had taken the treasure. But tell me of my comrades. Perhaps they thought it better that I should rest here. Has Philip been to see me?"
"He is not here. None are within call, for the brigantine sailed when this traitor struck his blow."
The news was stunning. Roger opened his mouth in amazement, and lay there aghast.
"The brigantine gone without us. They would never desert their friends! There must be some mistake. They have coasted along, and will return."
He looked at Tamba eagerly, as if fearful to hear his answer.