“My brother; has he got back?” he asked in his own tongue.
“No; I came to find you both. Where is he?” said the General sternly.
“Lost,” said Chicory disconsolately. “We got no birds and would not go back without, and we went on and parted. He is lost.”
“Lost!” said the Zulu scornfully; “my boy lost! Go find him. Watch the spoor. He must be found.”
Poor Chicory turned without a word, and in obedience to his father’s order he went off in the direction where he and his brother had accidentally parted, and at last led them to a beautiful park-like tract of land. Forest-trees sprang up in every direction, for the most part draped with creepers; clumps of bushy growth, and clusters of prickly succulent plants, grew on every side. It was in fact a very nature’s garden, but though they searched in all directions through the lovely glades, golden with the rays of the scorching sun, there was no trace of poor Coffee; and after separating, when they met again from time to time poor worn out Chicory looked his despair.
Again they separated, Jack following, however, pretty closely upon poor Chicory’s steps, till the excitement that had kept him up so long began to fail, and he sat down pretty well exhausted, with his rifle across his knees and his back against a tree.