And, truly, the giant’s strength reassured Jack a little.

Meanwhile the rain must soon fall, and then it would in torrents, poured out by those clouds in condensing.  What would become of Mrs. Weldon and her companions, if they did not find a shelter?

Dick Sand stopped a moment near old Tom.

“What must be done?” said he.

“Continue our march, Mr. Dick,” replied Tom.  “We cannot remain on this plain, that the rain is going to transform into a marsh!”

“No, Tom, no!  But a shelter!  Where?  What?  If it were only a hut—­”

Dick Sand had suddenly broken off his sentence.  A more vivid flash of lightning had just illuminated the whole plain.

“What have I seen there, a quarter of a mile off?” exclaimed Dick Sand.

“Yes, I also, I have seen—­” replied old Tom, shaking his head.

“A camp, is it not?”

“Yes, Mr. Dick, it must be a camp, but a camp of natives!”

A new flash enabled them to observe this camp more closely.  It occupied a part of the immense plain.

There, in fact, rose a hundred conical tents, symmetrically arranged, and measuring from twelve to fifteen feet in height.  Not a soldier showed himself, however.  Were they then shut up under their tents, so as to let the storm pass, or was the camp abandoned?

In the first case, whatever Heaven should threaten, Dick Sand must flee in the quickest manner.  In the second, there was, perhaps, the shelter he asked.

“I shall find out,” he said to himself; then, addressing old Tom:  “Stay here.  Let no one follow me.  I shall go to reconnoiter that camp.”

“Let one of us accompany you, Mr. Dick.”

“No, Tom, I shall go alone.  I can approach without being seen.  Stay here.”

The little troop, that followed Tom and Dick Sand, halted.  The young novice left at once and disappeared in the darkness, which was profound when the lightning did not tear the sky.

Some large drops of rain already began to fall.

“What is the matter?” asked Mrs. Weldon, approaching the old black.

“We have perceived a camp, Mrs. Weldon,” replied Tom; “a camp—­or, perhaps, a village, and our captain wished to reconnoiter it before leading us to it.”

Mrs. Weldon was satisfied with this reply.  Three minutes after, Dick Sand was returning.

“Come! come!” he cried, in a voice which expressed his entire satisfaction.

“The camp is abandoned?” asked Tom.

“It is not a camp,” replied the young novice; “it is not a village.  They are ant-hills!”

“Ant-hills!” exclaimed Cousin Benedict, whom that word aroused.

“Yes, Mr. Benedict, but ant-hills twelve feet high, at least, and in which we shall endeavor to hide ourselves.”

“But then,” replied Cousin Benedict, “those would be ant-hills of the warlike termite or of the devouring termite.  Only those ingenious insects raise such monuments, which the greatest architects would not disown.”