"Not exactly. I've been trying to think it out, because I expected you'd be asking about him. It strikes me that the last I saw of him was the night I was going the rounds after the search for that Irish prisoner. Perhaps he's tired of being shut up?" "No," I said emphatically. "Those blacks are men who are very fond of running wild." "Joeboy wouldn't forsake me, Sergeant," I said impressively. "Perhaps you're right. He always did seem very fond of you--never happy unless he was at your heels; but he hasn't been hanging about the hospital, you see. It looks like as if that Irishman had given him a crack on the head too, and pitched him down one of the mine-holes." "Oh no; horrible!" I said. "Glad you take it that way," said Briggs grimly, "because it would be bad for the water. Well, there's only two other things I can think of just now. One's that he might have been shot by the enemy when driving in the cattle." "Is it possible?" I said, in alarm. "Well, yes, it's possible," said the Sergeant; "but I didn't hear any one hint at such a thing happening." "Oh, surely the poor fellow hasn't come to his end like that! Here, what was your other idea?" "I thought that, being a keen, watchful sort of fellow, perhaps he might have caught sight of our prisoner escaping." "Ah!" I ejaculated. "Yes; and knowing what I do of my gentleman, it seemed likely that he might have followed him just to see that he didn't get into more mischief, particularly if he saw him upset you two." "No, no; he couldn't. We saw no sign of him," I said excitedly.--"Did you, Denham?" "Who could see a fellow like that in the dark?" cried Denham peevishly. "It is possible that, knowing what he did of Moriarty's treatment of me, he may have felt that he had a kind of feud with him, and watched him." "For a chance to say something to him with one of those spears he carried," said Denham, suddenly growing interested in our remarks. "Oh no. I don't think he would use his assagai except in an emergency." "That would be an emergency," said the Sergeant. "I've thought it out over my pipe, and this is what I make of it: he has followed Master Moriarty, and I expect that we shall never hear of him again." "What! Joeboy?" I cried. "No; Master Moriarty." "But that would be murder--assassination," I cried. "You can use what fine words you like over it," said the Sergeant gruffly; "but I call it, at a time like this, war; and when Mr Joe Black comes back--as I expect he will, soon--and you ask him, he'll say he was only fighting for his master; and that's you." I was silenced for the moment, though my ideas were quite opposed to the Sergeant's theory. But Denham spoke out at once.