Tom grinned before he spoke.
“Jaggers, sir!”
“Seldom out except of a night, Tom.”
“Fevers, sir!”
“Only in the low river-side parts, Tom. We’re hundreds of feet above the river here.”
“Snakes in the grass, sir!”
“Pooh, Tom! They always glide off when they hear one coming.”
“Not my sort, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom in an anxious whisper. “They’re a dangerous sort, with a kind of captain, and he’s a half-breed. If you will have it, and won’t listen to reason, you must. Mas’r Harry, there’s snakes in the grass—Indian-looking chaps who watch your every step, sir. You haven’t thought it; but I’ve always been on the look-out, and as they’ve watched you, I’ve watched them. But they got behind me to-day, Mas’r Harry, and saw me; and I don’t know what to think—whether Muster Garcia has sent ’em, or whether they think you are looking for anything of theirs. You don’t think it, Mas’r Harry, but at this very minute they’re busy at work watching us.”
I started slightly at one of his remarks, but passed it off lightly.
“Pooh, Tom!” I said. “Who’s dreaming now?”