At all events, Dick had formed his opinion of Harris.  He felt in him a traitor!  He only awaited an occasion to unmask his disloyalty, to have the right to do it, and everything told him that this opportunity was near.

But what could be Harris’s secret end?  What future, then, awaited the survivors of the “Pilgrim?” Dick Sand repeated to himself that his responsibility had not ceased with the shipwreck.  It was more than ever necessary for him to provide for the safety of those whom the waves had thrown on this coast!  This woman, this young child, these blacks—­all his companions in misfortune—­it was he alone who must save them!  But, if he could attempt anything on board ship, if he could act on the sea, here, in the midst of the terrible trials which he foresaw, what part could he take?

Dick Sand would not shut his eyes before the frightful reality that each instant made more indisputable.  In this juncture he again became the captain of fifteen years, as he had been on the “Pilgrim.”  But he would not say anything which could alarm the poor mother before the moment for action had arrived.

And he said nothing, not even when, arrived on the bank of a rather large stream, preceding the little troop about one hundred feet, he perceived enormous animals, which threw themselves under the large plants on the brink.

“Hippopotami! hippopotami!” he was going to exclaim.

And they were, indeed, these thick-skinned animals, with a big head, a large, swollen snout, a mouth armed with teeth which extend a foot beyond it—­animals which are squat on their short limbs, the skin of which, unprovided with hair, is of a tawny red.  Hippopotami in America!

They continued to march during the whole day, but painfully.  Fatigue commenced to retard even the most robust.  It was truly time to arrive, or they would be forced to stop.

Mrs. Weldon, wholly occupied with her little Jack, did not perhaps feel the fatigue, but her strength was exhausted.  All, more or less, were tired.  Dick Sand, resisted by a supreme moral energy, caused by the sentiment of duty.

Toward four o’clock in the evening, old Tom found, in the grass, an object which attracted his attention.  It was an arm, a kind of knife, of a particular shape, formed of a large, curved blade, set in a square, ivory handle, rather roughly ornamented.  Tom carried this knife to Dick Sand, who took it, examined it, and, finally, showed it to the American, saying: 

“No doubt the natives are not very far off.”

“That is so,” replied Harris, “and meanwhile——­”

“Meanwhile?” repeated Dick Sand, who now steadily looked Harris in the face.

“We should be very near the farm,” replied Harris, hesitating, “and I do not recognize——­”

“You are then astray?” quickly asked Dick Sand.

“Astray! no.  The farm cannot be more than three miles away, now.  But, I wished to take the shortest road through the forest, and perhaps I have made a little mistake!”