Mrs. Weldon then occupied herself, with Nan's assistance, in preparing a comfortable repast—a good precaution before setting out.
During this time, Harris, accompanied by Dick Sand, had turned the angle of the cliff. Both followed the high bank, over a space of three hundred steps. There, a horse, tied to a tree, gave joyous neighing at the approach of his master.
It was a vigorous beast, of a species that Dick Sand could not recognize. Neck and shoulders long, loins short, and hindquarters stretched out, shoulders flat, forehead almost pointed. This horse offered, however, distinctive signs of those races to which we attribute an Arabian origin.
"You see, my young friend," said Harris, "that it is a strong animal, and you may count on it not failing you on the route."
Harris detached his horse, took it by the bridle, and descended the steep bank again, preceding Dick Sand. The latter had thrown a rapid glance, as well over the river as toward the forest which shut up its two banks. But he saw nothing of a nature to make him uneasy.
However, when he had rejoined the American, he suddenly gave him the following question, which the latter could little expect:
"Mr. Harris," he asked, "you have not met a Portuguese, named Negoro, in the night?"
"Negoro?" replied Harris, in the tone of a man who does not understand what is said. "Who is this Negoro?"
"He was the cook on board," replied Dick Sand, "and he has disappeared."
"Drowned, perhaps," said Harris.