"Dingo is dead!" retorted Negoro with malicious glee: "I shot the brute myself, and I should be glad if every survivor of the 'Pilgrim' had shared his fate."
"But remember," said Dick, "you have to follow them all yourself;" and he fixed a sharp gaze upon his persecutor's eye.
The Portuguese villain was stung to the quick; he made a dash towards the youth, and would have strangled him upon the spot, but remembering that any such sudden action would be to liberate him from the torture he was determined he should undergo, he controlled his rage, and after giving strict orders to the havildar, who had been a passive spectator of the scene, to keep a careful watch upon his charge, he left the dungeon.
So far from depressing Dick's spirits, the interview had altogether a contrary effect; his feelings had undergone a reaction, so that all his energies were restored. Possibly Negoro in his sudden assault had unintentionally loosened his fetters, for he certainly seemed to have greater play for his limbs, and fancied that by a slight effort he might succeed in disengaging his arms. Even that amount of freedom, however, he knew could be of no real avail to him; he was a closely-guarded prisoner, without hope of succour from without; and now he had no other wish than cheerfully to meet the death that should unite him to the friends who had gone before.
The hours passed on. The gleams of daylight that penetrated the thatched roof of the prison gradually faded into darkness; the few sounds on the chitoka, a great contrast to the hubbub of the day, became hushed into silence, and night fell upon the town of Kazonndé.
Dick Sands slept soundly for about a couple of hours, and woke up considerably refreshed. One of his arms, which was somewhat less swollen than the other, he was able to withdraw from its bonds; it was at any rate a relief to stretch it at his pleasure.
The havildar, grasping the neck of a brandy-bottle which he had just drained, had sunk into a heavy slumber, and Dick Sands was contemplating the possibility of getting posssession of his gaoler's weapons when his attention was arrested by a scratching at the bottom of the door. By the help of his liberated arm he contrived to crawl noiselessly to the threshold, where the scratching increased in violence. For a moment he was in doubt whether the noise proceeded from the movements of a man or an animal. He gave a glance at the havildar, who was sound asleep, and placing his lips against the door murmured "Hercules!"
A low whining was the sole reply.
"It must be Dingo," muttered Dick to himself; "Negoro may have told me a lie; perhaps, after all, the dog is not dead."
As though in answer to his thoughts, a dog's paw was pushed below the door. Dick seized it eagerly; he had no doubt it was Dingo's; but if the dog brought a message, it was sure to be tied to his neck, and there seemed to be no