"Eh?"
"I had you ticketed wrong. A beachcomber.... There must be something plenty important where we're going, or you wouldn't be so anxious to get there. What is it? Treasure, of course, but—jewels? Or what?"
Garth chuckled. "There may be. I don't know. Don't care."
"Hm-m." Sampson was silent, baffled. Garth's mind swung back to that ever-present question. Had he killed Doc Willard? Very soon, now, he might know the answer.
But that was important only to him. The vital point was the black notebook Doc had with him.
After a time Captain Brown stirred and sat up. Then the others. The men were a little panicky, but the presence of Brown and Sampson calmed them.
Garth, relieved of guard duty, had fallen asleep almost instantly.
He woke at dawn. Red twilight filtered down from above. The others were lying motionless in their blankets. Sampson's big body was huddled at the base of a tree.
Wearily Garth got up and went over to the giant. "Sampson!" he called. "Wake up! We've got a job—"
He stopped. Sampson's eyes were open, fixed and blank, and his dark cheeks had a significant ruddy flush.