“But we should have heard it!” answered Michel Ardan.

“But what if we came too late?” exclaimed J.T.  Maston in an accent of despair.

Michel Ardan did not find any answer to make.  Maston and he resumed their interrupted walk.  From time to time they shouted; they called either Barbicane or Nicholl; but neither of the two adversaries answered.  Joyful flocks of birds, roused by the noise, disappeared amongst the branches, and some frightened deer fled through the copses.

They continued their search another hour.  The greater part of the wood had been explored.  Nothing revealed the presence of the combatants.  They began to doubt the affirmation of the bushman, and Ardan was going to renounce the pursuit as useless, when all at once Maston stopped.

“Hush!” said he.  “There is some one yonder!”

“Some one?” answered Michel Ardan.

“Yes! a man!  He does not seem to move.  His rifle is not in his hand.  What can he be doing?”

“But do you recognise him?” asked Michel Ardan.

“Yes, yes! he is turning round,” answered Maston.

“Who is it?”

“Captain Nicholl!”

“Nicholl!” cried Michel Ardan, whose heart almost stopped beating.

“Nicholl disarmed!  Then he had nothing more to fear from his adversary?”

“Let us go to him,” said Michel Ardan; “we shall know how it is.”

But his companion and he had not gone fifty steps when they stopped to examine the captain more attentively.  They imagined they should find a bloodthirsty and revengeful man.  Upon seeing him they remained stupefied.

A net with fine meshes was hung between two gigantic tulip-trees, and in it a small bird, with its wings entangled, was struggling with plaintive cries.  The bird-catcher who had hung the net was not a human being but a venomous spider, peculiar to the country, as large as a pigeon’s egg, and furnished with enormous legs.  The hideous insect, as he was rushing on his prey, was forced to turn back and take refuge in the high branches of a tulip-tree, for a formidable enemy threatened him in his turn.

In fact, Captain Nicholl, with his gun on the ground, forgetting the dangers of his situation, was occupied in delivering as delicately as possible the victim taken in the meshes of the monstrous spider.  When he had finished he let the little bird fly away; it fluttered its wings joyfully and disappeared.

Nicholl, touched, was watching it fly through the copse when he heard these words uttered in a voice full of emotion:—­

“You are a brave man, you are!”

He turned.  Michel Ardan was in front of him, repeating in every tone—­

“And a kind one!”

“Michel Ardan!” exclaimed the captain, “what have you come here for, sir?”

“To shake hands with you, Nicholl, and prevent you killing Barbicane or being killed by him.”

“Barbicane!” cried the captain, “I have been looking for him these two hours without finding him!  Where is he hiding himself?”