As the night had now come on they could have done nothing of themselves, but the presence of Congo, accompanied by his hound Spoor’em, inspired them with fresh hope, and they proceeded onward.
After a time it became so dark that Arend proposed a halt until morning. To this Hendrik objected, Congo taking sides with him.
“Do you remember the night you were under the baobab-tree, dodging the borelé?” asked Hendrik.
“Say no more,” answered Arend. “If you wish it I am willing to go on.”
Swartboy was sent back to the camp to join Hans, while the Kaffir and Spoor’em led the way. Under the direction of Hendrik they soon came to the place where Willem had been last seen. There were no signs of him anywhere.
The joy with which they had returned to their camp had now departed. Something unusual had happened to their companion,—something disastrous. Their cattle and pack-horses were lost, driven away they knew not whither, by a tribe that might be able to retain them, even should they be found.
Under these circumstances what cared they any longer for the captured giraffe.
Such were the reveries of Hendrik and Arend as they followed their Kaffir guide through the gloom of the night.