Загублений світ
It was Dreadful in the Forest
Iwasnotabsolutelyaloneintheworld.Downatthebottomofthecliff,andwithincallofme,waswaitingthefaithfulZambo.Iwenttotheedgeoftheplateauandlookedover.Sureenough,hewassquattingamonghisblanketsbesidehisfireinhislittlecamp.But,tomyamazement,asecondmanwasseatedinfrontofhim.Foraninstantmyheartleapedforjoy,asIthoughtthatoneofmycomradeshadmadehiswaysafelydown.Butasecondglancedispelledthehope.Therisingsunshoneredupontheman’sskin.HewasanIndian.Ishoutedloudlyandwavedmyhandkerchief.PresentlyZambolookedup,wavedhishand,andturnedtoascendthepinnacle.InashorttimehewasstandingclosetomeandlisteningwithdeepdistresstothestorywhichItoldhim.
"Devilgotthemforsure,MassaMalone,"saidhe."Yougotintothedevil’scountry,sah,andhetakeyoualltohimself.Youtakeadvice,MassaMalone,andcomedownquick,elsehegetyouaswell."
"HowcanIcomedown,Zambo?"
"Yougetcreepersfromtrees,MassaMalone.Throwthemoverhere.Imakefasttothisstump,andsoyouhavebridge."
"Wehavethoughtofthat.Therearenocreepersherewhichcouldbearus."
"Sendforropes,MassaMalone."
"WhocanIsend,andwhere?"
"SendtoIndianvillages,sah.PlentyhideropeinIndianvillage.Indiandownbelow;sendhim."
"Whoishe?
"OneofourIndians.Otheronesbeathimandtakeawayhispay.Hecomebacktous.Readynowtotakeletter,bringrope,—anything."
