Bidding the blacks follow close at his heels, he sped across the few yards of rock that separated the temple from the stairs, sprang down the steps, and fell insensible at the feet of his friend, Roydon Leigh.
The rescue party had arrived in the very nick of time.
CHAPTER XXV.—THE SHARK-CHARMER IS CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP.
After all, Jack was but human. His fortitude, strung to a tense pitch by those terrible days and nights of danger, snapped, in presence of actual safety, like an overdrawn bow.
A pitiful spectacle he presented, his clothes torn to ribbons, his hands and face grimy, bloodstained, yet ghastly in their pallor. Don uttered a cry and flung himself on his knees beside his chum. He thought him dead.
“No, not dead, thank God! Only done up. He'll be all right soon,” said Captain Leigh, with his hand upon Jack's heart, which still beat, though faintly; and taking out a pocket-flask he poured a few drops of brandy between the drawn, bloodless lips of the unconscious lad.
Under this stimulating treatment Jack soon came round. Needless to dwell on the confusion into which his thoughts were thrown by the sight of the familiar faces bending over him. His bewilderment, however, was but momentary. Memory returned with a rush and spurred him to action and speech. He sat bolt upright.
“Have you got the rascal?” he demanded in eager tones..