With a gesture Rhonda signified her inability to explain. "I haven't the remotest idea," she said. "He just avoids me as though I were some particular variety of pollen to which he reacted. Do I give you hives or hay fever?"
Marcus laughed. "I can imagine, Rhonda, that you might induce high temperatures in the male of the species; but to suggest hives or hay fever—that would be sacrilege."
Naomi Madison came from the tent. Her face was white and drawn. "My God!" she exclaimed. "How can you people joke at such a time? Why, any minute any of us may be killed!"
"We must keep up our courage," said Marcus. "We cannot do it by brooding over our troubles and giving way to our sorrows."
"Pulling a long face isn't going to bring back Major White or those other poor fellows," said Rhonda. "Every one knows how sorry every one feels about it; we don't have to wear crêpe to prove that."
"Well, we might be respectful until after the funeral anyway," snapped Naomi.
"Don't be stupid," said Rhonda, a little tartly.
"When are they going to bury them, Mr. Marcus?" asked Naomi.
"Not until after dark. They don't want the Bansutos to see where they're buried."
The girl shuddered. "What a horrible country! I feel that I shall never leave it—alive."