Aleck was gone the best part of three hours.  When he returned he was accompanied by Cujo.  The latter announced that all of the other natives had fled for parts unknown.

“The inn is deserted,” announced Aleck.  Even that colored wife of the proprietor is gone.

“And did you find any trace of Dick and my uncle?” asked Sam.

“We found out where dat struggle took place,” answered, Aleck.  “And Cujo reckons as how he can follow de trail if we don’t wait too long to do it.”

“Must go soon,” put in Cujo for himself.

“Maybe tomorrow come big storm —­ den track all washed away.”

Tom sighed and shook his head.  “You can go on, but you’ll have to leave me behind.  I couldn’t walk a hundred yards for a barrel of gold.”

“Oh, we can’t think of leaving you behind!” cried Sam.

“I’ll tell you wot —­ Ise dun carry him, at least fe a spell,” said Aleck, and so it was arranged.

Under the new order of things Cujo insisted on making a scouting tour first, that he might strike the trail before carrying them off on a circuitous route, thus tiring Aleck out before the real tracking began.

The African departed, to be gone the best Part of an hour.  When he came back there was a broad grin of satisfaction on his homely features.

“Cujo got a chicken,” he announced, producing the fowl.  “And here am some werry good roots, too.  Now va dinner befo’ we start out.”

“Right yo’ am, Cujo!” cried Pop, and began to start up a fire without delay, while Cujo cleaned the fowl and mashed up the roots, which, when baked on a hot stone, tasted very much like sweet potatoes.  The meal was enjoyed by all, even Tom eating his full share in spite of his swollen ankle, which was now gradually resuming its normal condition.

Cujo had found the trail at a distance of an eighth of a mile above the wayside hostelry.  “Him don’t lead to de ribber dare,” he said.  “But I dun think somet’ing of him.”

“And what do you think?” asked Tom, from his seat on Aleck’s back.

“I t’ink he go to de kolobo.”

“And what is the kolobo?” asked Sam with interest.

“De kolobo old place on ribber-place where de white soldiers shoot from big fort-house.”

“A fort!” cried Tom.  “But would the authorities allow, them to go there?”

“No soldiers dare now —­ leave kolobo years ago.  Place most tumble down now.  But good place fo’ robbers.”

“I see.  Well, follow the trail as best you can —­ and we’ll see what we will see.”

“And let us get along just as fast as we can,” added Sam.

On they went through a forest that in spots was so thick they could scarcely pass.  The jungle contained every kind of tropical growth, including ferns, which were beautiful beyond description, and tiny vines so wiry that they cut like a knife.

“This is tough,” remarked Sam.  “But I suppose it doesn’t hold a candle to what is beyond.”