He started off, weapons in hand. Winthrope made a languid effort to take possession of the pot. But Miss Leslie pushed him aside, and wrapping all in the antelope skin, slung it upon her back.
“The brute!” exclaimed Winthrope. “To leave such a load for you, when he knew that I can do so little!”
The girl met his outburst with a brave attempt at a smile. “Please try to look at the bright side, Mr. Winthrope. Really, I believe he thinks it is best for us to exert ourselves.”
“He has other opinions with which we of the cultured class would hardly agree, Miss Leslie. Consider his command that we shall go thirsty until he permits us to return to the cliffs. The man’s impertinence is intolerable. I shall go to the river and drink when I choose.”
“Oh, but the danger of malaria!”
“Nonsense. Malaria, like yellow fever, comes only from the bite of certain species of mosquitoes. If we have the fever, it will be entirely his fault. We have been bitten repeatedly this morning, and all because he must compel us to come with him to this infected lowland.”
“Still, I think we should do what Mr. Blake says.”
“My dear Miss Genevieve, for your sake I will endeavor not to break with the fellow. Only, you know, it is deuced hard to keep one’s temper when one considers what a bounder–what an unmitigated cad–”
“Stop! I will not listen to another word!” exclaimed the girl, and she hurried after Blake, leaving Winthrope staring in astonishment.
“My word!” he muttered; “can it be, after all I’ve done–and him, of all the low fellows–”