“Yes; the place looks delightful after the bare sand,” replied Frank. “I am ready. Shall we have a wander round at once?”
“By all means,” said the professor. “We’ll take the guns. By the way, do you keep that revolver of yours loaded?”
“Oh, no,” said Frank.
“But you carry it under your jacket.”
“Yes, I do as you suggested that I should. But I thought we were to trust to cunning and not to force?”
“Of course; but the fact that we are getting nearer to human beings sets me thinking that there’s no harm in being prepared. Load up. You have cartridges in your pocket?”
“No,” said Frank, smiling. “What should a black slave be doing with cartridges?”
“Be ready to stand upon his defence in a case of emergency. Here, take some of mine and fill the chambers.”
As he spoke the professor handed six of the little central-fire cartridges, while Frank drew the small revolver he carried out of a pocket within the breast of his cotton jacket, and began to thrust them in.
“Going shooting?” said the doctor, looking up.