“Mistake or no mistake,” he thought, “those villains intended a horrible fate for someone—and they have got that other wretched prisoner in there yet. I am going to find out what it means or die in the attempt!”
And it was with determination in his mind that Henry Roberts at last raised himself to his feet once more. He tucked the note and bank-bill away in his pocket and wrapped up the food.
“At first, I thought it might have been poisoned,” he observed, “but I guess that is not very likely under the circumstances. It may come in very handy, for all I can tell.”
He had now made up his mind that there was no longer any chance of his being pursued, and he saw very plainly that his enemies had taken him to the lonely spot and left him with the intention of allowing him to free himself, as he had done.
“However, they probably took pains to lose me,” he thought, “so that I could not come back to revenge myself.”
As this thought entered his mind, Roberts instinctively put his hand to his back-pocket where his revolver had been. Sure enough, he found that it had not been returned to him.
“A wise precaution!” he muttered.
His first purpose now was, of course, to get back to the road, so that he might find some kind of habitation.
“I must get to the mines, and get my cousin to help me,” he thought.
The task seemed likely to be a difficult one, for in the darkness Roberts had no way of telling which way he had come. It was by no means a pleasant prospect, that of getting lost in the jungle country.