Toward the end of the afternoon, Pedro, Jack and Ken decided to take the burro and all heavy supplies and push on ahead of the others.
“We’ll make camp and have supper ready by the time the rest of you get there,” Jack promised. “With Hap sick, you can’t go as fast as we can. I’m worried about him.”
“If he isn’t better tomorrow, we’ll have to turn back and forget Burton Monahan,” declared Willie morosely. “Bad luck is coming in large doses now.”
Before pressing on, Ken and Jack persuaded the Scout leader to take another measure of quinine.
“This may be just a passing attack,” he said, trying to reassure them. “Tomorrow will tell. If I get down, leave me, and start back to Cuya.”
“Oh, sure,” Jack joked. “We’ll toss you to the Indians!”
Nevertheless, he and Ken were well aware that Mr. Livingston’s illness, coupled with loss of their supplies, might add up to a very serious situation.
“We’re about at the end of our trail,” Ken remarked after they had left the slower party. “Hap may snap out of his sickness, but I have a feeling he’ll be worse tomorrow instead of better.”
“Same here,” agreed Jack, studying the crude map the leader had given him. “It begins to look as if we’re licked! But then, we never had too good a chance from the start. Our clues were too vague.”
“Sometimes I think we made an error not to team up with Captain Carter. He’s a reptile all right, but I’ll bet he could have led us to Burton Monahan.”