We were descending a short hill, covered with a stunted growth of brush, which tripped us up more than once, when my companion suddenly uttered a howl and tumbled over me in his effort to retreat.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Spiders, or crabs, as big as your foot,” he cried. “Look! look!” He pointed to several holes in the sand, beside a small brook. At the entrance to each hole sat an enormous land crab, gray in color, with round, staring eyes, well calculated to give anyone a good scare.
“They are only crabs, and won’t hurt you, unless you try to catch hold of them,” I laughed. “Alano told me of them, and I’ve met them before.”
“More of the beauties of this delightful country,” said Burnham sarcastically.
I advanced and stamped my foot, and instantly each crab scampered for his hole, in the clumsy fashion all crabs have. I fancied some of them hissed at us, but I might have been mistaken.
The brook crossed, we ascended the next hill and entered a plantain grove where the fruit hung in profusion on all sides. We found some that was almost ripe, and made a refreshing meal.
“Hullo, Mark!”
The welcome voice rang out from a grove of oaks on the other side of the plantains. I started, then rushed ahead, to find myself, a minute later, in Alano’s arms, with Captain Guerez looking on, highly pleased.
“We thought you were killed!” ejaculated my Cuban chum, when our greeting was over. “Where on earth have you been?”