“Can’t be done, sir,” said the little sailor, shaking his head.
“Do you mean this, Dan?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Dan, after glancing at his big companion.
“Very well,” said Mark quietly. “I have no right to ask it. Come along, Dean; we will go alone.”
Making an effort over his weakness, he strode off as nearly as he could guess in the direction of the ruins, walking fairly steadily now, neither of the pair attempting to look back, and the forest was so silent that the soft rustling of the two lads amongst the leaves sounded loud and strange.
They were walking in Indian file, for Mark had told his cousin to take the lead, and immersed in their own thoughts upon the desperate nature of the attempt they were about to make, they went on and on, in and out amongst the trees that grew more open as they progressed for quite an hour, when coming upon a patch of mossy stones Mark uttered the word, “Rest,” and setting the example he sank down upon one of the stones, to lean his head upon his hand.
“Do you feel weak?” asked Dean.
Mark shook his head.
“No,” he said; “I am getting stronger. We will go on again in a few minutes, and who knows what may happen? I feel that we shall save them yet. Ah!” he cried.
For all at once the little figure of the pigmy stood before them, holding his spear across his breast as if to bar their way.