e. It is very plain that that was the case with our two boys."

"Yes," said the doctor, "and they would have done more wisely if they
had sat down at once and waited till Mak came to them. This he would
have done, of course. But it is wonderful what an instinct these people
born in the wilds display under such circumstances. But this is a
splendid slice of luck. One has heard and read of the pigmy inhabitants
of Africa--Pliny, wasn't it, who wrote about them?--and there were the
bushmen of farther south. I once saw one of them, a little tawny
yellow-skinned fellow, a slightly made little chap about as big as a boy
eleven years old, a regular pony amongst men, and as strong and active
as a monkey. But you say these miniature men you saw were black?"

"Oh, yes. They seemed in the darkness there darker than soot."

"Well, Sir James, we must have a look at them," continued the doctor.

"I wonder whether they are the same race as our explorers have
described."

"Oh, they may or may not be, sir. There's plenty of room in Africa for
such tribes. What do you think about them?"

"I am most interested," said Sir James, "and as the boys say that as
soon as the little fellows found that Mark's intentions were friendly
they were quiet enough--"

"Yes, father; in a dull, stupid, heavy sort of way they seemed quite
disposed to be friends. Besides, Mak seemed to do what he liked with
them."

"That's satisfactory," said Sir James. "We don't want to set the doctor
to work extracting arrows from any of us, and I am thoroughly averse to
our using our weapons against any of these people, big or little. We
had better have a halt here, doctor, for some hours, and make Mak
understand that we want to visit the tribe."

"Then you will come too, father?"

"Certainly, my boy; I shall go with the doctor and have a look at them
myself."

"Go with the doctor?"

"Yes. Well, I suppose you have seen enough of them?"

"No," said Mark; "I wanted to take Dr Robertson myself, and get him to
see if he could do anything for that poor little fellow's wound."

"I was thinking of that myself," said the doctor; "but from your
description, Mark, I am afraid that we are too late."

"Yes," said Dean gravely; "I think he's dying."

"Why too late?" said Mark. "It's only a wound."

"Only a wound," said the doctor, smiling. "It must have been a very bad
one."

"It's horrible," cried Dean.

"That's why I say that I'm afraid it's to