“Ah, villain!  I am going to strangle you at last!”

There was nothing more to do.  The Portuguese gave no sign of life, struck, it maybe said, by divine justice, and on the very spot where the crime had been committed.  But the faithful dog had received a mortal blow, and dragging itself to the hut, it came to die there—­where Samuel Vernon had died.

Hercules buried deep the traveler’s remains, and Dingo, lamented by all, was put in the same grave as its master.

Negoro was no more, but the natives who accompanied him from Kazounde could not be far away.  On not seeing him return, they would certainly seek him along the river.  This was a very serious danger.

Dick Sand and Mrs. Weldon took counsel as to what they should do, and do without losing an instant.

One fact acquired was that this stream was the Congo, which the natives call Kwango, or Ikoutouya Kongo, and which is the Zaire under one longitude, the Loualaba under another.  It was indeed that great artery of Central Africa, to which the heroic Stanley has given the glorious name of “Livingstone,” but which the geographers should perhaps replace by his own.

But, if there was no longer any doubt that this was the Congo, the French traveler’s note indicated that its mouth was still one hundred and twenty miles from this point, and, unfortunately, at this place it was no longer navigable.  High falls—­very likely the falls of Ntamo—­forbid the descent of any boat.  Thus it was necessary to follow one or the other bank, at least to a point below the cataracts, either one or two miles, when they could make a raft, and trust themselves again to the current.

“It remains, then,” said Dick Sand, in conclusion, “to decide if we shall descend the left bank, where we are, or the right bank of the river.  Both, Mrs. Weldon, appear dangerous to me, and the natives are formidable.  However, it seems as if we risk more on this bank, because we have the fear of meeting Negoro’s escort.”

“Let us pass over to the other bank,” replied Mrs. Weldon.

“Is it practicable?” observed Dick Sand.  “The road to the Congo’s mouths is rather on the left bank, as Negoro was following it.  Never mind.  We must not hesitate.  But before crossing the river with you, Mrs. Weldon, I must know if we can descend it below the falls.”

That was prudent, and Dick Sand wished to put his project into execution on the instant.

The river at this place was not more than three or four hundred feet wide, and to cross it was easy for the young novice, accustomed to handling the oar.  Mrs. Weldon, Jack, and Cousin Benedict would remain under Hercules’s care till his return.

These arrangements made, Dick Sand was going to set out, when Mrs. Weldon said to him: 

“You do not fear being carried away by the falls, Dick?”

“No, Mrs. Weldon.  I shall cross four hundred feet above.”