He was startled. Recalling Johnny’s story of the spying native, he wondered if some wandering tribe of wild natives had taken possession of Curlie’s secret place. He thought of waking Pompee. Then, of a sudden his heart went cold. What if Pompee too were gone?
A moment of suspense and he was reassured. Pompee’s great bulk, sprawled out before the fire, was unmistakable.
“It’s all so strange,” he told himself, dropping back into his place. “I—I almost wish I hadn’t come.”
Then, like Johnny, he saw in his mind’s eye the needy natives, the children, bright-eyed boys and girls stricken with sickness from bad water and pining away without hope. Then, because he was very young and eager, his vision returned brighter than before.
“The ‘Rope of Gold’,” he said aloud. “We will find it, perhaps to-morrow.”
A quarter of an hour later Curlie Carson came tiptoeing silently through the shadows. He paused for a moment to look down at the sleepers, gave vent to a low whistle of surprise upon seeing that Johnny was gone, then stood for a moment as if in deep thought.
“Where’s Johnny?” asked Dorn, sitting up.
“Don’t you know?” Curlie’s voice showed surprise.
“No,” the boy replied. “He was here. I fell asleep. I woke up. He was gone. That is all.”
“He’s all right,” said Curlie, dropping to a place beside Dorn and drawing a blanket about him. “Gone for a walk. Be coming back presently. Anyway, we couldn’t find him in the night if we tried.”