“Frank! Frank! wake up!” cried Mark “Please try to rouse yourself.”
“Wha—what happened to me?” was the uncertain question.
“You fell unconscious, don’t you remember? I guess it was the spider bite did it. Please rouse up.” And as Frank tried to settle back once more Mark shook him vigorously.
It was all of two hours before Frank roused up sufficiently to stand on his feet. His eyes were much swollen and he felt sick at his stomach. But the poison had now spent its force and from that time on he grew gradually better. But the swelling of his hand remained for several days.
The night passed without sleep on Mark’s part, for he was afraid to leave off watching Frank. To pass the early morning hours, Mark dressed one of the curassows, covered it with mud, as he had been taught by Cubara, and placed it in the hot ashes of the fire to bake. By the time the sun came up the bird was done and to Mark it proved delicious eating, although Frank declared he could taste nothing on account of the poison still in his system.
“I’m as weak as a rag,” declared the younger boy. “When I stand up my legs fairly tremble under me.”
“Then we had better not attempt to do too much to-day,” answered Mark, trying to speak cheerfully.
“But we must get back to camp, Mark. What will they think of our absence?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. But getting back will not be so easy. Remember, we must first locate the river.”
“We ought to be able to do that by the position of the sun.”