This was the prison intended by Lyttleton for the safe keeping of Clendenin, the man to whom he owed his life.
Heretofore it had been used by the Sharks as a depository for their ill-gotten gains.
Near at hand, but concealed from view by the thick undergrowth, the Englishman and his valet lay sleeping upon the ground, wrapped each in his blanket, and with sword and gun within reach of his hand.
A few minutes' search disclosed their whereabouts to the Sharks, and it was no gentle waking that ensued.
"Ho! rouse up, I tell ye, and wake your master!" growled Abner, touching Hans with his foot. "You're both wanted at the house."
"Yaas," grunted Hans, sleepily, "but I dinks you petter leaves mynheer to dake his sleep."
"What is it? What's wanted this time of night?" demanded Lyttleton, starting up and glancing about him in no amiable mood.
"You're wanted," was the gruff, unceremonious reply. "Game's bagged, but such a lot we must come on 'em as strong as possible."
"What! you've got Clendenin?"
Lyttleton's tone was jubilant.