Chapter Thirty Three.
The Lost Rifle.
The long, weary-looking fellow came up, looked sadly from one to the other, nodding to his companions shortly, and then, turning to the boys, “Very sorry, gentlemen,” he said slowly; “your rifle, Mr Mark. Just heard from Sir James.”
“Yes, it’s a nuisance, Dunn. Haven’t seen it, I suppose?”
“No, sir, no,” replied the man, with a sigh. “Haven’t stood it up against a rock or a tree—”
“There, there, stop that. We have gone all over it, and found out where it’s gone.”
“Found—out, sir?”
“Yes; we think some of the blacks have come in the night, crept in and stolen it.”
“Ah!” ejaculated the man, almost animatedly.