I've heard a story about a race of big natives that have their
stamping ground in this section, and I'm going to try for a few
specimens. I know how much you want a giant.'"
"Well?" asked Tom, after a pause, for the circus man had ceased
talking and was staring out of the opened library window into the
garden that was just becoming green.
"That was all I ever heard from poor Jake," said Mr. Preston softly.
"Bless my insurance policy!" gasped Mr. Damon. "You didn't tell me
that! What happened to him."
"I never could find out," resumed Mr. Preston. "I never heard
another word from him, and I've never seen him from the time I
parted with him to go after the animals. The letter saying he was
going after the giants was the last line of his I've seen."
"But didn't you try to locate him?" asked Tom. "Didn't he have some
companions--some one who could tell what became of him?"
"Of course I tried!" exclaimed Mr. Preston. "Do you think I'd let a
man like Jake disappear without making some effort to find him? But
he was the only white man in his party, the rest were natives. That
was Jake's way.
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