"Yet there's nothing you can do here."
"I am here, anyway," Reade retorted. "I'm on the spot—-that's something."
"Let me run back to the house and get you some blankets," urged the superintendent. "Then you can lie down on the sand and rest. Of course I know you can't sleep at present."
"It is not necessary go back," volunteered a voice behind them. "I have the blankets."
"Nicolas!" gasped Tom, in surprise. "How did you know I was here?"
"I wake up when you talk to Meester Renshaw," replied the Mexican simply.
"I listen. I know, now—-poor Senor Hazelton!"
Nicolas's voice broke, and, as he stepped closer, Tom beheld some large tears trickling down the little Mexican's face.
"Nicolas, you're a good fellow!" cried Tom, impulsively, "but I don't want the blankets. Spread them on the sand, then lie down on them yourself until I need you."
"What—-me? I lie down?" demanded Nicolas. "No, no! That impossible is. I must walk, walk! Me? I am like the caged panther to-night. I want nothing but find the enemy who have hurt Senor Hazelton. Then I jump on the back of that enemy!"
Saying which Nicolas saluted, and, as became his position of servant, fell back some yards. But first he had dropped the blankets to the beach.