Then in his throbbing head there was a question that kept on repeating itself--that cry he had last heard as of someone calling piteously, something about his father, and who could it be? This went on and on for what seemed to be an endless time, and he could make out nothing else, till someone spoke in a deep, gruff voice, and said, "Yes, my lad, it is a very bad job, and I say, thank my stars I hadn't the watch." "Ay, messmate, and I say the same. The cooking was more in my way." "Buck--Dan Mann," thought Mark, for he recognised the voices; but he could not make out why it was he was lying there, nor whose father it was somebody had been calling to. He tried to think, but the more he tried to make out what it all meant the greater grew the confusion, and at last he felt too weary to try, or the power to continue the effort failed, for he lay quite still in a stupor. When his senses began to return again the sun had attacked--or so it seemed--his other side. There was a peculiar gnawing in his shoulder, and now and then a stinging pain as from a red hot ray, and while he was trying to puzzle it out, a hand was gently laid upon his forehead, where his head was most charged with pain, and he made a feeble effort to turn where he lay upon his back. "Who's that?" he said. "Oh, Mark! Mark!" came in a familiar voice; and that voice seemed to give back the power to think. "You, Dean! What does it all mean?" "Oh, don't you know?" Mark was silent, for like a flash came the recollection of what had passed--his going to seek his cousin, his sitting asleep, and the big Illaka standing close by in possession of the watcher's rifle, doing the duty that had been neglected. "I was beginning to be afraid that I should never hear you speak again, and you mustn't speak much, I'm sure, while you are so dreadfully weak. But I must talk to you a little. You do feel a little better now?" "Better? No." "Oh, Mark, old fellow, don't say that!" "I'm wounded, am I not?" "Oh, yes, dreadfully; and I have been in despair. I couldn't have borne it, but Buck kept giving me hope. There were days, though, and nights, when you hardly seemed to breathe." "Days and nights!" whispered Mark. "What do you mean? Wasn't it yesterday? Or was it to-day, just before dawn?" "Oh, Mark! Mark! It was weeks ago!" Mark was silent for a few minutes, as he lay thinking. "Weeks!" he said, at last, and he lay perfectly silent. "Where are we now?" "Right away in the wilds somewhere, where our friends brought us after they carried us off that night. I have hardly thought of that--only of you." "Our friends!" said Mark, at last. "Who are our friends?" "Buck and Dan and the two blacks." "Buck and Dan!" almost whispered Mark. "I heard them talking, and thought it was a little while ago."