At that moment Drew came staggering toward them out of the mist with his gun over his shoulder and his head down as he gazed at the ground, looking as if at any moment he would fall.
“Ah!” cried Panton, excitedly. “I had quite forgotten you, Drew.”
“Eh?” said the botanist, stopping short. “Someone call?”
“Yes; I—Panton. Come here.”
“He’s got it, too, Billy,” said Smith. “I say, what’s the matter with all on us? Was it that water we drunk?”
“No, I aren’t drunk!” cried Wriggs, suddenly dropping his good-tempered idiotic manner. “If you says I’m drunk, Tommy Smith, I shall hit yer. Smell that!”
He placed a big tarry fist close under his messmate’s nose, and then, as if amused thereat, he began to laugh again.
“I never said such a word, Billy,” said Smith, taking the big fist, opening it out again, and clapping his hand into it loudly before pumping it affectionately up and down. “I said it was the wa— tlat tlat tlat—Oh, I say, matey, I am thirsty.”
“Eh?” said Drew, dreamingly, in answer to a question. “Where’s Lane? Yes, where’s Lane?”
“Ah!” cried Panton, starting up now, and looking wildly round. “Yes, I understand, I think. It was the gas—the volcanic gas in that mist. For heaven’s sake rouse yourself, Drew. Lane’s in there still, and we must fetch him out. Here, all of you come and help.”