“He can’t get better at once. I think it was that yellow fruit he ate which has made him sick. You and I didn’t take any and we’re all right.”
“Then Bob is poisoned.”
“I’m afraid so. Still this may be the worst of it. As long as he has gotten along so far, with nothing more than a high fever, I’m sure he’ll pull through.”
But the fever was bad enough. Bob began to weaken under the attack. The second day he could not raise himself in bed. He reclined there with closed eyes and his breathing was more labored.
“Why doesn’t the professor come!” exclaimed Ned.
“I tell you what I believe!” exclaimed Jerry. “Mr. Snodgrass is being detained by those negroes!”
“Do you think so?”
“I do. I believe they had a plot to get possession of all our things. We scared off those who came to the camp but the others have Mr. Snodgrass a captive, I’m sure.”
“What are we going to do? If Bob doesn’t get some other medicine soon—he’ll die.”