He went about the search with only half a heart.  Only a little while before he had received the news of what had happened in the slave mart that afternoon.  It seemed incredible.  To have her fall into Umballa’s hands thus easily, when he and Bruce Sahib had searched the jungle far and wide!  Well, she was alive; praise Allah for that; and where there was life there was hope.

Later Kathlyn was standing under the cell window gazing at the yellow sunset.  Two hours had gone, and no sign of Umballa yet.  She shuddered.  Had she been alone she would have hunted for something sharp and deadly.  But her father; not before him.  She must wait.  One thing was positive and absolute:  Umballa should never embrace her; she was too strong and desperate.

“Kit!”

“Yes, father.”

“I have a sharp piece of metal in my pocket.  Could you . . .  My God, by my hand! . . . when he comes?”

“Yes, father; I am not afraid to die, and death seems all that remains.  I should bless you.  He will be a tiger now.”

“My child, God was good to give me a daughter like you.”

She turned to him this time and pressed him to her heart.

“It grows dark suddenly,” he said.

Kathlyn glanced toward the window.

“Why, it’s a baboon!” she exclaimed.

“Jock, Jock!” cried her father excitedly.

The baboon chattered.

“Kit, it’s Jock I used to tell you about.  He is tame and follows me about like a dog.  Jock, poor Jock!”

“Father, have you a pencil?”

“A pencil?” blankly.

“Yes, yes!  I can write a note and attach it to Jock.  It’s a chance.”

“Good lord! and you’re cool enough to think like that.”  The colonel went through his pockets feverishly.  “Thank God, here’s an old stub!  But paper?”

Kathlyn tore off a broad blade of grass from her dress and wrote carefully upon it.  If it fell into the hands of the natives they would not understand, If the baboon returned to camp . . .  It made her weak to realize how slender the chance was.  She took the tabouret and placed it beneath the window and stood upon it.

“Jock, here, Jock!”

The baboon gave her his paws.  Deftly she tied the blade of grass round his neck.  Then she struck her hands together violently.  The baboon vanished, frightened at this unexpected treatment.

“He is gone.”

The colonel did not reply, but began to examine his chains minutely.

“Kit, there’s no getting me out of here without files.  If there is any rescue you go and return.  Promise.”

“I promise.”

Then they sat down to wait.

And Ahmed in his search came to the river.  Some natives were swimming and sporting in the water.  Ahmed put a question.  Oh, yes, they had seen the strange-looking ape (for baboons did not habitate this part of the world); he had gone up one of the trees near by.  Colonel Hare had always used a peculiar whistle to bring Jock, and Ahmed resorted to this device.  Half an hour’s perseverance rewarded him; and then he found the blade of grass.