As she
ran on, hoping against hope that she had hit upon the direction
that would lead her eventually to the great river, she came suddenly
upon a familiar spot.
At one side of the trail, beneath a giant tree, lay a little heap
of loosely piled brush--to her dying day that little spot of jungle
would be indelibly impressed upon her memory. It was where Anderssen
had hidden her--where he had given up his life in the vain effort
to save her from Rokoff.
At sight of it she recalled the rifle and ammunition that the man
had thrust upon her at the last moment. Until now she had forgotten
them entirely. Still clutched in her hand was the revolver she
had snatched from Rokoff's belt, but that could contain at most
not over six cartridges--not enough to furnish her with food and
protection both on the long journey to the sea.
With bated breath she groped beneath the little mound, scarce daring
to hope that the treasure remained where she had left it; but, to
her infinite relief and joy, her hand came at once upon the barrel
of the heavy weapon and then upon the bandoleer of cartridges.
As she threw the latter about her shoulder and felt the weight of
the big game-gun in her hand a sudden sense of security suffused
her. It was with new hope and a feeling almost of assured success
that she again set forward upon her journey.
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