Dick Sand, who was watching the animal—­for all was danger—­asked himself if some beast or some native was not concealed in the high papyrus of the bank.  But he soon saw that the animal was not agitated by a sentiment of anger.

“One would say that Dingo was crying!” exclaimed little Jack, clasping Dingo in his two arms.

Dingo escaped from him, and, springing into the water, when the boat was only twenty feet from the bank, reached the shore and disappeared among the bushes.

Neither Mrs. Weldon, nor Dick Sand, nor Hercules, knew what to think.

They landed a few moments after in the middle of a foam green with hairweed and other aquatic plants.  Some kingfishers, giving a sharp whistle, and some little herons, white as snow, immediately flew away.  Hercules fastened the boat firmly to a mangrove stump, and all climbed up the steep bank overhung by large trees.

There was no path in this forest.  However, faint traces on the ground indicated that this place had been recently visited by natives or animals.

Dick Sand, with loaded gun, and Hercules, with his hatchet in his hand, had not gone ten steps before they found Dingo again.  The dog, nose to the ground, was following a scent, barking all the time.  A first inexplicable presentiment had drawn the animal to this part of the shore, a second led it into the depths of the wood.  That was clearly visible to all.

“Attention!” said Dick Sand.  “Mrs. Weldon, Mr. Benedict, Jack, do not leave us!  Attention, Hercules!”

At this moment Dingo raised its head, and, by little bounds, invited them to follow.

A moment after Mrs. Weldon and her companions rejoined it at the foot of an old sycamore, lost in the thickest part of the wood.

There was a dilapidated hut, with disjoined boards, before which Dingo was barking lamentably.

“Who can be there?” exclaimed Dick Sand.

He entered the hut.

Mrs. Weldon and the others followed him.

The ground was scattered with bones, already bleached under the discoloring action of the atmosphere.

“A man died in that hut!” said Mrs. Weldon.

“And Dingo knew that man!” replied Dick Sand.  “It was, it must have been, his master!  Ah, see!”

Dick Sand pointed to the naked trunk of the sycamore at the end of the hut.

There appeared two large red letters, already almost effaced, but which could be still distinguished.

Dingo had rested its right paw on the tree, and it seemed to indicate them.

“S.  V.!” exclaimed Dick Sand.  “Those letters which Dingo knew among all others!  Those initials that it carries on its collar!”

He did not finish, and stooping, he picked up a little copper box, all oxydized, which lay in a corner of the hut.

That box was opened, and a morsel of paper fell from it, on which Dick Sand read these few words: