Part 36 (1/2)

”Either Negoro does not know this country,” went on d.i.c.k Sand, ”and then he would have every interest in not losing sight of us----”

”Or?” said Tom, who anxiously regarded the novice.

”Or,” replied d.i.c.k Sand, ”he does know it, and then he----”

”But how should Negoro know this country? He has never come here!”

”Has he never been here?” murmured d.i.c.k Sand.

”It is an incontestable fact that Dingo acts as if this man whom he detests were near us!”

Then, interrupting himself to call the dog, which, after some hesitation, came to him:

”Eh!” said he; ”Negoro! Negoro!”

A furious barking was Dingo's reply. This name had its usual effect upon him, and he darted forward, as if Negoro had been hidden behind some thicket.

Harris had witnessed all this scene. With his lips a little drawn, he approached the novice.

”What did you ask Dingo then?” said he.

”Oh, not much, Mr. Harris,” replied old Tom, jokingly. ”We asked him for news of the s.h.i.+p-companion whom we have lost!”

”Ah!” said the American, ”the Portuguese, the s.h.i.+p's cook of whom you have already spoken to me?”

”Yes.” replied Tom. ”One would say, to hear Dingo, that Negoro is in the vicinity.”

”How could he get as far as this?” replied Harris.

”He never was in this country that I know of; at least, he concealed it from us,” replied Tom.

”It would be astonis.h.i.+ng,” said Harris. ”But, if you wish, we will beat these thickets. It is possible that this poor devil has need of help; that he is in distress.”

”It is useless, Mr. Harris,” replied d.i.c.k Sand. ”If Negoro has known how to come as far as this, he will know how to go farther. He is a man to keep out of trouble.”

”As you please,” replied Harris.

”Let us go. Dingo, be quiet,” added d.i.c.k Sand, briefly, so as to end the conversation.

The second observation made by the novice was in connection with the American horse. He did not appear to ”feel the stable,” as do animals of his species. He did not suck in the air; he did not hasten his speed; he did not dilate his nostrils; he uttered none of the neighings that indicate the end of a journey. To observe him well, he appeared to be as indifferent as if the farm, to which he had gone several times, however, and which he ought to know, had been several hundreds of miles away.

”That is not a horse near home,” thought the young novice.

And, meanwhile, according to what Harris had said the evening before, there only remained six miles to go, and, of these last six miles, at five o'clock in the evening four had been certainly cleared.

Now, if the horse felt nothing of the stable, of which he should have great need, nothing besides announced the approaches to a great clearing, such as the Farm of San Felice must be.

Mrs. Weldon, indifferent as she then was to what did not concern her child, was struck at seeing the country still so desolate. What! not a native, not a farm-servant, at such a short distance! Harris must be wild! No! she repulsed this idea. A new delay would have been the death of her little Jack!

Meanwhile, Harris always kept in advance, but he seemed to observe the depths of the wood, and looked to the right and left, like a man who was not sure of himself--nor of his road.