“Leave that to me,” said his companion, as he crept cautiously up to the recumbent figure of Waishlahla, with the intention of taking possession of his “roer.”
The savage chief lay flat on his back, with his brawny arms extended over his head; and when Frank leaned over him he saw that his jaw had dropped, and that his eyes were wide open and staring.
But there “was no speculation in those eyes”—for Waishlahla was stone dead!
In an instant it flashed across Frank’s mind what had happened.
“He must have taken the chloroform!” he exclaimed. “I left the bottle in the pocket of my blouse.”
“What?” cried Tom, looking over his shoulder, “you don’t mean that!”
“There cannot be a doubt about it,” said the other. “See, the man is quite stiff and cold; he must have been dead four or five hours.”
“Then, depend upon it, they’re all in the same boat!”
And such proved to be the case.