“Very truly yours,

“John V. Townsend, Captain.”

As Randolph Rover ceased reading there was a brief silence, broken by Tom.

“So the man who died held a letter.  And what is in that, Uncle Randolph?”

“I will read it to you, boys, although that is a difficult matter, for the writing is uneven and much blurred.  On one part of the sheet there is a blot of blood —­ the blood, I presume —­ of the poor fellow who was trying to deliver the communication.”

Unfolding the stained document, Randolph Rover bent closer to the table lamp that he might read the more easily.  As for the boys, they fairly held their breaths, that no spoken word might escape them.

“The letter is addressed to me,” said the uncle.  “But the envelope is, as you can see, very much torn.  I will read,” and he did so.

“Niwili camp, on the Congo,

“July the 18th, 189—.

“Dear brother Randolph: 

“If, by the goodness of God, this reaches you, I trust that you will set out without delay to my, assistance.

“I write under great difficulties, as a prisoner, of the Bumwo tribe of natives, ruled by King Susko.

“I have discovered the secret of a gold mine here, and the king will not let me go, fearing that I will tell the outside world of my discovery and bring the English or French here to slay him and his followers.  They know nothing here of Americans.

“I entrust this to the care of an English sailor who is going to try to make his escape.  I cannot go myself, having had my leg broken by a blow from one of my jailers.

“I am sick and weak in body, and it may be that I will soon die.  Yet I beg of you to do what you can for me.  If I die, I trust you to be a father to my dear boys, Dick, Tom, and Sam, and ask Martha for me to be a mother to them.

“The king expects soon to remove to another camp at a place called Rhunda Konoka (the Water Well).  Perhaps he will take me along, or else he may slay me.

“All those who were with me are dead excepting several natives who have joined the Burnwo tribe.

“Good-by, and do what you can until you are certain that I am dead.

“Your loving brother,

“Anderson Rover”

When Randolph Rover ceased reading he saw that there were tears in the eyes of all of the boys, and that his wife was also crying.  His own voice had had to be cleared continually.  To all the letter was like a message from the grave.

“And that is all?” questioned Dick, breaking the silence.

“That is all, my boy —­ and the letter was written about a year ago!”

“But we’ll go in search of him!” put in Tom, quickly.  “He may be alive yet.”

“I thought I would go,” answered Randolph Rover, “and I thought, possibly, that I might take Dick with me.”