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.
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