Bat and his father embraced each other, and all shook hands; but no one ventured to speak.
What could they say that would not be an expression of despair.
Bat, Acteon and Austin, all three vigorous, accustomed to hard work, had been able to resist fatigue; but old Tom, weakened by privations, was nearly exhausted.
A few more days and his corpse would have been left, like poor Nan's, as food for the beasts of the province.
As soon as they arrived, the four men had been placed in a narrow pen, and the door had been at once shut upon them.
There they had found some food, and they awaited the trader's visit, with whom, although quite in vain, they intended to urge the fact that they were Americans.
Dick Sand had remained alone on the square, under the special care of a keeper.
At length he was at Kazounde, where he did not doubt that Mrs. Weldon, little Jack, and Cousin Benedict had preceded him.
He had looked for them in crossing the various quarters of the town, even in the depths of the "tembes" that lined the streets, on this "tchitoka" now almost deserted.
Mrs. Weldon was not there.
"Have they not brought her here?" he asked himself.
"But where could she be?
No; Hercules cannot be mistaken.
Then, again, he must have learned the secret designs of Negoro and Harris; yet they, too—I do not see them."
Dick Sand felt the most painful anxiety.
He could understand that Mrs. Weldon, retained a prisoner, would be concealed from him.
But Harris and Negoro, particularly the latter, should hasten to see him, now in their power, if only to enjoy their triumph—to insult him, torture him, perhaps avenge themselves.
From the fact that they were not there, must he conclude that they had taken another direction, and that Mrs. Weldon was to be conducted to some other point of Central Africa?
Should the presence of the American and the Portuguese be the signal for his punishment, Dick Sand impatiently desired it.
Harris and Negoro at Kazounde, was for him the certainty that Mrs. Weldon and her child were also there.
Dick Sand then told himself that, since the night when Dingo had brought him Hercules's note, the dog had not been seen.
The young man had prepared an answer at great risks.
In it he told Hercules to think only of Mrs. Weldon, not to lose sight of her, and to keep her informed as well as possible of what happened; but he had not been able to send it to its destination.
If Dingo had been able to penetrate the ranks of the caravan once, why did not Hercules let him try it a second time?
Had the faithful animal perished in some fruitless attempt?
Perhaps Hercules was following Mrs. Weldon, as Dick Sand would have done in his place. Followed by Dingo, he might have plunged into the depths of the woody plateau of Africa, in the hope of reaching one of the interior establishments.
What could Dick Sand imagine if, in fact, neither Mrs. Weldon nor her enemies were there?
He had been so sure, perhaps foolishly, of finding them at Kazounde, that not to see them there at once gave him a terrible shock. He felt a sensation of despair that he could not subdue.
His life, if it were no longer useful to those whom he loved, was good for nothing, and he had only to die.
But, in thinking in that manner, Dick Sand mistook his own character.
Under the pressure of these trials, the child became a man, and with him discouragement could only be an accidental tribute paid to human nature.
A loud concert of trumpet-calls and cries suddenly commenced.
Dick Sand, who had just sunk down in the dust of the "tchitoka," stood up.
Every new incident might put him on the track of those whom he sought.
In despair a moment before, he now no longer despaired.
"Alvez!
Alvez!" This name was repeated by a crowd of natives and soldiers who now invaded the grand square.
The man on whom the fate of so many unfortunate people depended was about to appear.
It was possible that his agents, Harris and Negoro, were with him.
Dick Sand stood upright, his eyes open, his nostrils dilated. The two traitors would find this lad of fifteen years before them, upright, firm, looking them in the face.
It would not be the captain of the "Pilgrim" who would tremble before the old ship's cook.
A hammock, a kind of "kitanda" covered by an old patched curtain, discolored, fringed with rags, appeared at the end of the principal street.
An old negro descended.
It was the trader, Jose-Antonio Alvez.
Several attendants accompanied him, making strong demonstrations.
Along with Alvez appeared his friend Coimbra, the son of Major Coimbra of Bihe, and, according to Lieutenant Cameron, the greatest scamp in the province.
He was a dirty creature, his breast was uncovered, his eyes were bloodshot, his hair was rough and curly, his face yellow; he was dressed in a ragged shirt and a straw petticoat. He would have been called a horrible old man in his tattered straw hat.
This Coimbra was the confidant, the tool of Alvez, an organizer of raids, worthy of commanding the trader's bandits.
As for the trader, he might have looked a little less sordid than his attendant. He wore the dress of an old Turk the day after a carnival. He did not furnish a very high specimen of the factory chiefs who carry on the trade on a large scale.
To Dick Sand's great disappointment, neither Harris nor Negoro appeared in the crowd that followed Alvez.