But he saw nothing of a nature to make him uneasy.
However, when he had rejoined the American, he suddenly gave him the following question, which the latter could little expect:
"Mr. Harris," he asked, "you have not met a Portuguese, named Negoro, in the night?"
"Negoro?" replied Harris, in the tone of a man who does not understand what is said.
"Who is this Negoro?"
"He was the cook on board," replied Dick Sand, "and he has disappeared."
"Drowned, perhaps," said Harris.
"No, no," replied Dick Sand.
"Yesterday evening he was still with us, but during the night he has left us, and he has probably ascended the steep bank of this river.
So I asked you, who have come from that side, if you had not met him."
"I have met nobody," replied the American; "and if your cook has ventured alone into the forest, he runs a great risk of going astray. Perhaps we shall overtake him on the way."
"Yes; perhaps!" replied Dick Sand.
When the two returned to the grotto, breakfast was ready.
It was composed, like the supper of the evening before, of alimentary conserves, of corned beef and of biscuit.
Harris did honor to it, like a man whom nature had endowed with a great appetite.
"Let us go," said he; "I see that we shall not die of hunger on the way!
I shall not say as much for that poor devil of a Portuguese, of whom our young friend has spoken."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Weldon,
"Dick Sand has told you that we have not seen Negoro again?"
"Yes, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice.
"I desired to know if Mr. Harris had not met him."
"No," replied Harris; "so let us leave that deserter where he is, and think of our departure—whenever you are ready, Mrs. Weldon."
Each took the pack which was intended for him.
Mrs. Weldon, assisted by Hercules, placed herself on the horse, and the ungrateful little Jack, with his gun strapped on his back, straddled the animal without even thinking of thanking him who had put that excellent beast at his disposal.
Jack, placed before his mother, then said to her that he would know how to lead the gentleman's horse very well.
They then gave him the bridle to hold, and he did not doubt that he was the veritable head of the caravan. * * * * *
CHAPTER XVI.
ON THE WAY.
It was not without a certain apprehension—nothing seemed to justify it, however—that Dick Sand, three hundred steps from the steep bank of the river, penetrated into the thick forest, the difficult paths of which he and his companions were going to follow for ten days.
On the contrary, Mrs. Weldon herself, a woman and a mother, whom the perils would make doubly anxious, had every confidence.
Two very serious motives had contributed to reassure her; first, because this region of the pampas was neither very formidable on account of the natives, nor on account of the animals which were found there; next, because, under the direction of Harris, of a guide so sure of himself as the American appeared to be, they could not be afraid of going astray. Here is the order of proceeding, which, as far as possible, would be observed during the journey:
Dick Sand and Harris, both armed, one with his long gun, the other with a Remington, kept at the head of the little troop.
Then came Bat and Austin, also armed, each with a gun and a cutlass.
Behind them followed Mrs. Weldon and little Jack, on horseback; then Nan and Tom.
In the rear, Acteon, armed with the fourth Remington, and Hercules, with a hatchet in his belt, closed the march.
Dingo went backwards and forwards, and, as Dick Sand remarked, always like an uneasy dog seeking a scent.
The dog's ways had visibly changed since the "Pilgrim's" shipwreck had cast it on this sea-coast.
It seemed agitated, and almost incessantly it kept up a dull grumbling, rather lamentable than furious.
That was remarked by all, though no one could explain it.
As to Cousin Benedict, it had been as impossible to assign him an order of marching as Dingo.
Unless he had been held by a string, he would not have kept it.
His tin box strapped to his shoulder, his net in his hand, his large magnifying glass suspended to his neck, sometimes behind, sometimes in front, he scampered away among the high herbs, watching for orthopters or any other insect in "pter," at the risk of being bit by some venomous serpent.
During the first hour Mrs. Weldon, uneasy, called him back twenty times.
It was no use.
"Cousin Benedict," she finished by saying to him, "I beg you very seriously not to go far away, and I urge you for the last time to pay attention to my entreaties."
"Meanwhile, cousin," replied the intractable entomologist, "when I perceive an insect?"
"When you perceive an insect," replied Mrs. Weldon, "you would do well to let it go in peace, or you will put me under the necessity of taking your box away from you."
"Take away my box!" cried Cousin Benedict, as if it were a question of snatching away his heart.
"Your box and your net," added Mrs. Weldon, pitilessly.
"My net, cousin!