Even in that trying moment, the younger was impressed by the singularity of his friend's actions, though there was no opportunity to ask an explanation.
The savages could be plainly heard, as they hurried past, evidently believing they would overtake the fugitives the next minute and certain of locating them, wherever they might be.
Sure enough, they had not gone fifty feet, when they detected the trick and turned about to catch the whites before they could steal any distance from the trail.
"We must leave," said Ashman; "we are too close to the path, and they are sure to find us."
Johnston made no answer, and, instead of following him, sank heavily to the ground, with a groan.
"Great heaven! what is the matter, Aaron?" gasped his friend.
"I'm done for," was the feeble reply; "never mind me: look—out—for—for—good-bye!"
Struck almost dumb by an awful fear, Fred forgot the natives for the time and stooped over his friend. It was as he suspected; the poor fellow had been struck full in the back by one of the poisoned javelins. The exclamation which he uttered at the moment of receiving the wound was that which puzzled Ashman. The sailor had withdrawn the weapon, and the wound bled but little. The young man, however, identified it on the instant.
"Aaron, rouse up!" he called, shaking his shoulder; "fight off your drowsiness!"
He suddenly ceased, for at that moment, he realized that his companion was dead. Thus fearfully did the virus do its work.