“Look out fo’ yourselves!” came in Aleck’s voice.  “Dis am a trap!”

“A trap!” repeated Dick, when of a sudden a half dozen men rushed at him and Randolph Rover and surrounded the pair.  In a twinkle, before either could use his pistol, he was hurled flat and made a prisoner.

“Bind them, men,” ordered Villaire sternly.  “And bind them well, so that escape is impossible.”

“Run for the house, Aleck!” yelled, out Dick, before those on top of him could choke him off.  “Save Tom and Sam!

“I will!” came from the faithful black.  And off he sped at top speed, with three or four of Captain Villaire’s party after him.  Cujo also went to the house, bewildered by what was going on and hardly knowing how to turn.

Randolph Rover fought desperately and so did Dick.  But the two were no match for the six men who had attacked them, and ere they knew it the Rovers were close prisoners, with their hands bound behind them and each with a dirty gag of grass stuffed in his mouth.

“Now march, or you will be shot,” came in bad English from one of the Villaire party.  And as there seemed nothing better to do they marched, wondering why they had been attacked and where they were to be taken.  Their arms had been confiscated, so further resistance was useless.  When Dick lagged behind he received a cruel blow on the back which nearly sent him headlong.

A journey of several hours brought the party to a small clearing overlooking the Congo at a point where the bank was fully fifty feet above the surface of the stream.  Here, in years gone by, a rough log hut had been built, which the African International Association had once used as a fort during a war with the natives.  The log hut was in a state of decay, but still fit for use and almost hidden from view by the dense growth of vines which covered it.

The men who had brought Randolph Rover and Dick hither evidently knew all about the hut, for they proceeded to make themselves at home without delay.  Taking the Rovers into one of the apartments of the dilapidated building they tied each to the logs of the walls, one several yards from the other.

“Now you must wait until Captain Villaire returns,” said the leader of the party in French.  He will be here before daylight.”

“But what does this mean?” demanded Randolph Rover.

“He will tell you what it means,” grinned the brigand, and walked away to another part of the hut, which was built in a long, rambling fashion, and contained a dozen or more divisions.

“We are in a pickle,” remarked Dick dismally.  “This is hunting up father with a vengeance.”

“We won’t despair yet, Dick.  But I would like to know what this means.”

“It probably means robbery, for one thing, Uncle Randolph.  And it may mean death.”  And the youth, shuddered.

“If I am not mistaken I saw some of these rascals hanging around the hotel in Boma.”