It was slow work moving across the broken hilly country by night; but Lofembi had previously pointed out to Samba the general direction in which they had to go, and the boy was able to keep a fairly straight course. They had to strike, said Lofembi, a path through the forest following the course of the sun. Mr. Martindale's camp was pitched close to the path, not far from where two large trees had fallen across it. In about an hour they came to the outskirts of the forest in that direction, the course being in the main the same as that taken by Jack some weeks previously on his buffalo hunt, but leaving the open country somewhat earlier. So far there had been no sign of the enemy.
Progress was even slower in the forest itself. More than once Lofembi halted in doubt; then after a whispered colloquy with Samba he started again, guiding himself by the stars seen through the tree tops. Save for these whispered conversations not a word was spoken. Jack was too much absorbed in his mission, too anxious about his uncle, to have any inclination to talk, even if the risk of coming upon a scout of Elbel's had not been present to his mind.
At length the three came upon the narrow track Lofembi had been seeking. Here they went in Indian file, the guide leading, Jack coming next, then Samba. The path was so narrow and so beset by obstructions that walking was a toil. Sometimes Lofembi swerved to one side or the other to avoid a prickly bush; sometimes they had to clamber over a fallen tree; more often the path wound round the obstacle. It seemed to Jack many hours since they started; in reality it was scarcely more than three before they came upon the two fallen trees. Lofembi stopped.
"Small small now, massa," he whispered.
He gave a long low-pitched call. From the blackness on the left came a similar call in reply. The guide moved forward, plunging boldly along a narrow path—more narrow even than that by which they had reached this spot—in the direction of the sound. Jack was about to follow him when Samba touched him on the arm.
"Samba go first," said the boy.
"No, no," said Jack kindly. "We are all right; this is my place, Samba."
His heart beat faster under the stress of his emotion as he followed Lofembi through the tangled undergrowth. How would he find his uncle? Was he very ill? Surely, surely, he was not in danger—he would not die? Beads of sweat broke out upon Jack's brow as the terrible possibility occurred to him. He went on almost blindly. Three minutes' groping in the darkness brought them to a natural clearing, in which, by the dim light of the stars, Jack saw a couple of tents, and, some little distance from them, what appeared to be a number of roughly made grass huts.
"Dis way, massa," said Lofembi, touching Jack on the arm.
"Which one?" said Jack in a low tone,