“Oh, lawd, Marse Lath’op, oh, lawdy, Mr. Billy. Ah seen a brack ghoses’ coming down de creek. Fo’ de Lawd’s sake, sah, don’ go; he put de hant on you,” he cried in an agonized wail as Lathrop and Billy started for the canoe anchorage to see what had caused the demoralization of Pork Chops. For a minute they were almost as startled as he as their eyes encountered a figure sufficiently alarming to scare a stronger-minded individual than Pork Chops.
Staggering up from the anchorage was a figure in pitiful rags with big, poppy white eyes staring glassily out of a face as black as ink. The figure’s hands were cut and bleeding and it wore, tied about its head, a strip of calico torn from its shirt which lay open, exposing a chest as black as its face. It was several seconds before both the boys recognized this object clearly, and exclaimed in a simultaneous gasp:
“Quatty!”
Quatty it was; but a very different Quatty from the usual debonair black answering to that name. It was more like a ghost of Quatty. It was not till he had been restored with coffee and food that the unfortunate negro was able to render a clear account of himself.
His news was sufficiently disquieting.
“Ah sat der in de lilly canvas boat foh more’n hour,” he said, after he had detailed the rest of the boys’ adventures since leaving the camp, “an’ waited fo’ dem to come back. Ah tho’ght fum de fus’ it was a bobbery kin’ of fing to do, but Marse Frank and Marse Harry——”
“That will do, Quatty,” said Billy checking the garrulous black, “keep to your story.”
“Wall, sah,” continued Quatty, “I laid dere in de boat waitin’,—it might have been up’ards of an hour—as I said—when I hears de most confounded debbil racket of dogs yelping an’ shoutin’ as ever I did hear—yes, sah. Wall, thinks I, I can creep through the saw-grass a bit an’ see what it is, an’ I does;—den I sees Marse Frank and Harry and a lot of fellers that looked like Chinaman only smaller, an’ a big man who seemed to be boss. Dey had dem two poor boys prisoners an’ fum de looks ob dem I knew I couldn’t hev done no good dere, so I jes’ gets in de boat and paddles and poles back yar and I declare I was mos’ tuckered when dat misbul, ignant savage yander, Po’k Chops, seen me an’ was no mo’ of a gen’l’man dan to run fo’ he life like I been a duppy.”
Of course the first part of his narrative, which is already familiar to our readers, had put the boys in possession of the facts about the Golden Eagle II and the reason they got no answer to their calls. After wirelessing Lieutenant Selby the momentous news the boys held a long consultation, while Pork Chops and Quatty sat on opposite sides of the camp-fire and glowered at each other.
The upshot of their discussion was that it was their duty to set out immediately and if possible recover the air-ship and rescue the boys. It was a plan full of risks, but where the lives of their comrades were at stake neither boy felt inclined to hold back. As Quatty’s strength had by now quite returned, with the quick recuperative powers of the out-door negro, and he was quite sure he could guide them to the mound-builders’ island, as well by night as by day, they agreed to start at once.