"See whom?" questioned Henry.
"That black drunken scoundrel on horseback."
"What are you talking about, Dick? I've seen no horseman."
"Didn't a native just pass you on the trail, riding a pony like mad and lashing the poor brute with a rawhide quirt?"
"Nope,--I reckon you must have been seeing things, Dick," and Henry started to laugh.
"'Seeing things,' nothing! Look at that red welt across my back, if you think I've been 'seeing things'!" shouted Dick, and he turned while Henry examined with amazement the angry looking ridge across the broad, sun-browned shoulders.
"I see it, right enough, Dick, but--you say a man on horseback did it?"
"Yes, and if he didn't pass you on the trail then he turned by this hut and went off into the bush, and I'm going to get him and thrash him before this day is over," said Dick, and having delivered his outburst he rushed off towards the clump of bushes, tall grass and cabbage palms, clustering close to the far corner of the hut.
"Hold on, Dick," called Henry, "we can't get through that jungle without our clothes. You stay here on watch while I go back and fetch them. The rest of the liberty party will be along any time now and they will lend us a hand."
"I don't need any help to thrash that cowardly Spig,"[#] muttered Dick, but seeing the wisdom of Henry's suggestion he consented to wait.