I could not help shuddering at the bare idea of such a thing, so I at once seconded my companion’s proposal, and resolved to accompany him.
“Take your double-barrel, Ralph, and I’ll lend our spare big gun to Mak.”
“But how are we to proceed? which way are we to go? I have not the most distant idea as to what direction we ought to go in our search.”
“Leave that to Mak. He knows the ways o’ the country best, and the probable route that Jack has taken. Are you ready?”
“Yes. Shall we take some brandy?”
“Ay; well thought of. He’ll perhaps be the better of something of that sort if anything has befallen him. Now, then, let’s go.”
Leaving our men in charge of the camp, with strict injunctions to keep good watch and not allow the fires to go down, lest they should be attacked by lions, we three set forth on our nocturnal search. From time to time we stood still and shouted in a manner that would let our lost friend know that we were in search of him, should he be within earshot, but no answering cry came back to us; and we were beginning to despair, when we came upon the footprints of a man in the soft soil of a swampy spot we had to cross. It was a clear moonlight night, so that we could distinguish them perfectly.
“Ho!” exclaimed our guide, as he stooped to examine the marks.
“Well, Mak, what do you make of it?” inquired Peterkin anxiously.
Mak made no reply for a few seconds; then he rose, and said earnestly, “Dat am Massa Jack’s foot.”