“Here, Mak!” cried Mark fiercely. “And you too,” he continued, turning upon the pigmy; “you will stand by us, after all?”
“There, sir,” said Buck; “even they won’t do what you ask. Can’t you see now, my lad, how mad it is?” And the man pointed to where the two blacks had darted away amongst the trees. “There, there must be no nonsense now. We have got to save your lives. You are our prisoners, so give up like men.—Ah, I never thought of that!”
For at that moment there was a repetition of the fierce yelling made familiar to them by the night attack, and they were surrounded by some fifty of the Illakas, who came rushing through the trees, flourishing their spears and looking formidable enough to make the bravest heart beat faster.
Chapter Forty Three.
Prisoners.
It was the day following their being made prisoners—the party of four, Mak and the pigmy having seemed to melt away amongst the trees at the first onset of the Illakas and not having been seen since.
The two boys were utterly disheartened, while their companions, tightly bound, with the canes which were twisted and knotted about their arms and wrists and thoroughly secured behind their backs, looked despondent, Dan in particular, who kept fixing his eyes upon Mark and then turning to shake his head at his companion.
For all had had a long and wearisome tramp, urged on by their captors, who at the slightest suggestion of hanging back made threatening gestures with the points of their spears. To the wonder of his party, this last misfortune had seemed to act like a stimulus to Mark, and though slowly, he had kept on as well as he could and had only broken down twice; but now this was the third time, and after what Dan muttered to Buck was “a crackling jabbering,” their captors made preparations for lighting a fire, and some of them went off as if in search of food, while the prisoners gladly sank down to rest.