“I think it’s all right,” said Mark. “Look here,” he continued, as their stalwart black drew the dwarf he held towards his party.
“What does that mean?” said the doctor.
“I don’t quite know,” replied Mark. “These people are all so much alike, but I think this is one I saw before, because he has got brass wire rings round his arm. Yes, I am right,” continued Mark eagerly, for Mak raised his little prisoner’s hand towards Mark and signed to him to extend his own.
The next moment Mark was holding the little black, boyish hand in his and pointing in the direction where the injured pigmy was nestled in his skin bed.
“Come,” said Mak. “Doctor come;” and leaving Mark holding on by the pigmy’s hand, he led the way as if quite at home, passing between the trees, while first one and then another of the little tribe glided away to right and left, seen for a moment, and then disappearing in the deep shade, till their stalwart guide stopped short and waited till the whole of the party had closed up. Then, as if satisfied that he had done his part, he drew back a bit and pointed downward.
“Well, Mark, what next?” said the doctor.
“That’s the spot where the little wounded fellow is lying,” said Mark.
“But I can do nothing here in this darkness,” said the doctor. “We must have a light.”
“Oh,” cried Mark excitedly, “how stupid! Here, I know; Mak shall tell them to make a fire in the opening, and he must carry the poor little fellow out.”
“Oh, I have provided for that,” said the doctor, and swinging round his knapsack he took it off and opened it, and in a very few minutes he had struck a match, which blazed up brightly and brought forth a low murmur of excitement from the hidden pigmies who evidently surrounded them.