Rodd’s toilet did not take him long, for though the water was clear and tempting as it rippled on the sand, the recollection of what might possibly be there in the way of ravenous fish, if even there were no reptiles, kept him from venturing for a swim, while when he suggested to the Spaniard the possibility of bathing in safety, the man looked at him in surprise, and his words were tinged with contempt as he said—
“Bathe! What for?”
Rodd did not answer, but turned his back quickly and hurried away to where Morny was questioning Joe Cross and the cook about whether the men they had succeeded in the watch had heard anything in the night.
“Here, catch hold of me, you two,” Rodd gasped out, “and help me away there among the trees.”
“Hah! What’s the matter?” cried Morny. “Are you taken bad?”
“Horrid. Don’t talk to me. Get me out of sight. I am going off.”
Morny and Joe each caught him by an arm and hurried him in amongst the trees.
“Don’t be frightened,” gasped out Rodd. “Oh, that Spanish chap! He’ll be the death of me!”
“Why, you are laughing!” cried Morny angrily. “How dare you frighten us like this!”
“I—I—I—I—” gasped out Rodd—“couldn’t help it, old fellow. Oh, that Spaniard!”