“As you please,” replied Harris.

“Let us go.  Dingo, be quiet,” added Dick 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.

Mrs. Weldon shut her eyes so as not to see him.

After a plain a mile in extent, the forest, without being as dense as in the west, had reappeared, and the little troop was again lost under the great trees.

At six o’clock in the evening they had reached a thicket, which appeared to have recently given passage to a band of powerful animals.  Dick Sand looked around him very attentively.  At a distance winch far surpassed the human height, the branches were torn off or broken.  At the same time the herbs, roughly scattered, exhibited on the soil, a little marshy, prints of steps which could not be those of jaguars, or cougars.

Were these, then, the “ais,” or some other tardi-graves, whose feet had thus marked the soil?  But how, then, explain the break in the branches at such a height?

Elephants might have, without doubt, left such imprints, stamped these large traces, made a similar hole in the impenetrable underwood.  But elephants are not found in America.  These enormous thick-skinned quadrupeds are not natives of the New World.  As yet, they have never been acclimated there.

The hypothesis that elephants had passed there was absolutely inadmissible.

However that might be, Dick Sand hardly knew how much this inexplicable fact gave him to think about.  He did not even question the American on this point.  What could he expect from a man who had tried to make him take giraffes for ostriches?  Harris would have given him some explanation, more or less imaginative, which would not have changed the situation.