WORKING ON NED’S THEORY.
At daybreak Frank Shaw stood in the screened porch facing west, watching and waiting for the return of Nestor and Jimmie. It had been a long night for him, but he had kept his vigil alone, knowing that his chums needed all the rest they could get.
Many times between midnight and morning the noises of the tropical forest had taken on the semblance of human voices, and then he had crept out from the screens to listen intently for some indication of the approach of his friends. But they had not come, and now he was anxious to set out in search of them.
While he stood there with his brain filled with forebodings of evil, he heard a step in the cottage, and then Jack Bosworth stood by his side, bright and exuberant of spirit after his long sleep. He stood silent for a moment, looking out into the wonderful jungle and then turned to Frank.
“Great country,” he exclaimed, sweeping a hand toward the gorgeous thickets.
“A dangerous country,” Frank said.
“And a country for an appetite,” cried Jack. “I’ll get the boys up and we’ll have breakfast. Why,” he added, turning back to the porch after glancing over the row of bunks, “where’s Ned?”
“He went away at midnight,” was the reply, “and hasn’t returned. I’m afraid something serious has happened to him.”
“And you have been watching for him all night?” asked Jack. “Why didn’t you waken me? I reckon I’m entitled to a fair share of what’s going on here, be it good or bad.”
Frank told the story of the night briefly and Jack listened with a frown on his brow. His fingers clenched at mention of the bomb which had been placed under the floor of the cottage.