Night fell and no Ebo. The next morning he was not there; and as day after day glided by we set ourselves to work to search for him, feeling sure that the poor fellow must have fallen from some precipice and be lying helpless in the forest. But we had no success, and began to think then of wild beasts, though we had seen nothing large enough to be dangerous, except that worst wild beast of all, savage man.
Still we searched until we were beginning to conclude that he must have been seen by a passing canoe whose occupants had landed and carried him off.
“I don’t think they would, uncle,” I said, though; “he is too sharp and cunning. Why, it would be like seeking to catch a wild bird to try and get hold of Ebo, if he was out in the woods.”
“Perhaps you are right, Nat,” said my uncle. “There is one way, though, that we have never tried, I mean over the mountain beyond where you shot that last bird. To-morrow we will go across there and see if there are any signs of the poor fellow. If we see none then we must set to work ourselves to build a canoe or hollow one out of a tree, and I tremble, Nat, for the result.”
“Shall we be able to make one big enough to carry our chests, uncle?”
“No, Nat, I don’t expect it. If we can contrive one that will carry us to some port we must be satisfied. There I can buy a boat, and we must come back for our stores.”
We devoted the next two days to a long expedition, merely using our guns to procure food, and reluctantly allowing several splendid birds to escape.
But our expedition only produced weariness; and footsore and worn out we returned to our hut, fully determined to spend our time in trying what we could contrive in the shape of a boat, falling fast asleep, sad at heart indeed, for in Ebo we felt that we had lost a faithful friend.