The black hunter remained in the vicinity of the pygmies all that
night, and was almost caught, for some wild dogs which hung around
the village smelled him out, and attracted to him the attention of
the dwarf savages. The hunter took to a tree, and so escaped. Then,
carefully marking the trail, he came away in the morning. When near
home, a lion had attacked him, but he speared the beast to death,
after a hand-to-hand struggle in which his leg was torn.
"And do you think we can find the place?" asked Ned, when Mr. Durban
had finished translating the hunter's story.
"I think so," was the reply.
"But is this the settlement where the missionaries are?" asked Tom
anxiously.
"That is what we don't know," said Mr. Anderson. "The native scout
could not learn that. But once we get on the trail of the dwarfs, I
think we can easily find the particular tribe which has the
captives."
"At any rate, we'll get started and do something," declared Tom, and
the next day, after the African hunter had described, as well as he
could, where the place was, the Black Hawk was sent up into the air,
good-bys were called down, and once more the adventurers were under
way.
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