He had been released at length, and was now convinced that no one was to blame for his protracted imprisonment.
Swartboy had been punished for his ill-timed mirth, and Congo was willing to forget and forgive.
“But where is Arend?” asked Willem, who could not forget, even while amused by the ludicrous aspect of the two Africans, that his brother was missing.
“Don’t know, Baas Willem,” answered Congo. “I been long time here.”
“But when did you see him last?” inquired Hendrik.
Congo was unable to tell, for he seemed under the impression that he had been several days in the bosom of the earth.
From Swartboy they learnt that soon after their own departure Arend had started in pursuit of one of the horses seen straying over the plain. That was the last Swart had seen of him.
The sun was now low down, and, without wasting time in idle speech, Hendrik and Groot Willem again mounted their horses, and rode off towards the place where Arend was last seen.
They reached the edge of the timber nearly a mile from the camp, and then, not knowing which way to turn, or what else to do, Willem fired a shot.
The loud crack of the roer seemed to echo far-away through the forest, and anxiously they listened for some response to the sound. It came, but not in the report of a rifle, or in the voice of the missing man, but in the language of the forest denizens. The screaming of vultures, the chattering of baboons, and the roaring of lions were the responses which the signal received.