The poor man could hardly take care of himself.
Doubtless they were taking all three to some district remote from the province of Angola.

But who was carrying the still sick child?
"His mother; yes, his mother," Dick Sand repeated to himself.

"She will have recovered strength for him; she will have done what these unhappy female slaves do, and she will fall like them.

Ah! may God put me again in front of her executioners, and I--" But he was a prisoner! He counted one head in this live-stock that the overseers were driving to the interior of Africa.

He did not even know whether Negoro and Harris themselves were directing the convoy of which their victims made a part.