They were about half way to the opening in front of their shed, known generally as the camp, when Dean suddenly uttered an ejaculation.
“What is it?” cried his cousin.
“The blacks.”
“Ah! Where are father and the doctor?” cried Mark excitedly. “And we are wandering about here without arms.”
“I did not mean the savage blacks,” cried Dean.
“Why, you don’t mean—”
“Yes, I do. Hooray! There they are, along with Dunn and the ponies—an old croaker, to make believe that they might never come back!”
Just then Dunn pointed in their direction, and the two blacks turned and caught sight of them, to begin marching slowly forward, Mak shouldering his spear and stepping out with quite a military stride, while the pigmy strutted along with an assumption of braggart conceit that was amusing in the extreme.
“Well,” cried Mark, as they met, “what luck? You haven’t found the rifle?”
“Yes. Find ’em.”